Midnight Blue

by L.J. Shen

  “Gina,” he rasped her name like a dirty secret.

  I peeked at them through the peephole, every bone in my body shaking with rage.

  “Darlin’, if you only had a clue.”

  Darlin’. He dropped the G. For Gina.

  I was so consumed by their moment, I found it hard to breathe.

  “Oh, I saw.” She laughed, her sultry voice perfect against his skin, nothing like my high-pitched one. “Your cock’s all over the Internet, Alex.”

  To that, he said nothing.

  He stopped by my door, took out his chewed gum from his mouth, plastered a small note into it, and slammed it against the peephole.

  Then I heard his door open.

  Then I heard his door close.

  I opened mine quickly, slipping my arm to take the note he’d left for me.

  YOU ARE THE GLUE.

  I turned around, squeezing my eyelids and banging my head against the door.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The sound was faint, but it was there. The exasperation in her movement lit something in me. I felt her pain. Tasted it on my lips and savored it like hot honey on my tongue.

  I smiled into my kiss with what’s-her-face. My tool, my container, my bait. My prop for this lesson.

  Finally, Stardust was beginning to get it.

  It.

  Us.

  We were going to fuck. Her head banging against the door assured me of that. Lucas was going to pay.

  He was going to pay for giving Will the keys to my apartment when I was on tour and Fallon OD’d. He’d found her.

  Lucas was going to pay for giving Fallon Will’s phone number when she’d asked for it to thank him after he’d rushed to save the day. Pay for helping them slip under the radar at the Grammys three years ago, when she was on my arm but ended up fucking Will in the bathroom.

  Pay for all of those things with the most precious thing money couldn’t buy.

  Lucas was going to pay for them with his heart.

  Indie: Anyone up?

  Jenna: I am. It’s the middle of the night there. What’s wrong?

  Indie: Nothing’s wrong. Sorry. A question for future reference—is Alex allowed to bring girls to his room? I mean, they might have alcohol or drugs…

  Jenna: They might, but they probably won’t. Yes. It’s fine.

  Jenna: Or maybe it’s not completely fine for YOU…

  Indie: All is good. I just wanted to make sure.

  Jenna: Did you tell him about the ten-minute song?

  Indie: Yes. He’s keeping it. The crowd went nuts for it today. He also wrote a political song.

  Jenna: Of course he did.

  Indie: It’s great, actually.

  Jenna: Great will get you nowhere in the music industry. He needs catchy. And fast. People DNF three-minute songs these days.

  Indie: DNF?

  Jenna: Do. Not. Finish. How are you two getting along?

  How much time do you have, lady?

  Indie: Well, he’s no longer actively trying to get rid of me.

  Jenna: And Blake? You and him are on the same wavelength?

  Indie: We are. Are you?

  Jenna: Did you actually just ask me that question?

  Indie: Yup. I had nothing to lose. Jenna needed me there. Plus, they weren’t exactly secretive about hating each other.

  Jenna: Blake and I are complicated. I have contracts to sort through. Keep me updated.

  Hudson: :-O

  Singapore.

  I spent the plane ride Skyping with Nat and Ziggy, curled on the sofa by the window.

  Alex was wearing Wayfarers and a black hoodie, his arms folded over his chest, draped on a couch, asleep. He had earbuds in his ears and looked like the closest thing to women’s porn while being fully clothed. I tried to tell myself it was a good thing that he’d done what he did with Gina. It clarified what we were, and more importantly—what we weren’t.

  “He came back in the middle of the night.” Nat rubbed her red eyes, bouncing Ziggy on her thigh. Her hair was a knotted mess. “Drunk as hell and reeking of puke. Said he’d been looking for the killer all day. Knocked on people’s doors. Yelled at them. Do you realize how crazy this sounds? He needs help, Indie. Fast.”

  She was right, of course. I was starting to believe my brother needed much more than a job. He needed rehab. With the money I was making, we could afford to send him to a decent one. Even more incentive to stay on tour and tolerate Alex. I cleared my throat, glancing sideways to make sure no one was listening.

  “Eleven weeks and I’ll be home,” I soothed. “Just hang in there, Nat. I promise, I’ll set him straight when I’m back.”

  “It’s like he’s not even the same person anymore. I mean, I get it. He’s still hurting. But…I married a stranger. I had a baby with a stranger. I look at him and don’t see the boy who serenaded me outside my window. I see a slacker who doesn’t want to get better. A slacker that boy would have hated.”

  I opened my mouth, about to answer, when the flight attendant breezed in, wearing a satin, baby blue uniform and the best customer service smile I’d seen in years.

  “Gentlemen, Miss Bellamy, we’re getting prepared for landing. Please buckle up.”

  “I need to go.” I wrinkled my nose, hating to cut off the conversation prematurely.

  Nat looked older, like her last few nights had been as long as years.

  “At least tell me you’re having fun over there? It would make me feel a lot better.”

  “Sure.” I smiled. “Great time.”

  “Manage to catch a glimpse of any English rock star sausages?” She replaced her exasperated frown with a heartened sniff.

  Oh, God.

  Alex’s pouty lips twitched, even through his pretense of sleep. My face burned all the way up to my roots, then down to my toes. She couldn’t have known he was right there. The plane was quiet, with everyone either napping or watching a movie.

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” he announced at the same time from his place on the sofa, flicking his sunglasses to a nearby table and standing up. He swaggered toward me, his devil-may-care smirk on display. My heart did that thing again, where it disobeyed my mind and wanted to jump into Alex’s hands.

  What the hell was Winslow doing?

  “Oh, she saw my cock, all right.” He dropped on the loveseat next to me, breaking the news like it was an international matter. His arm snaked behind me, his chin almost resting on my shoulder. “And she stared. Real long. Which prompted me to ask her how many cocks she’d seen in real life, a question I still have no answer to. Maybe you could enlighten me. Cute kid, by the way.”

  Natasha’s jaw dropped, and if it weren’t for the fact Ziggy had managed to slip out of her embrace and skip away toward the kitchen, she’d be sitting there and ogling Alex until we were back on US soil.

  “You look great in real life,” she breathed out, eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Not technically real life, but I’ll take it.” Alex’s broad, tight shoulder brushed into mine, and I winced, inching away from him. “I’m trying to convince Indie to warm up to me. How do you think I should do that?”

  You’re trying to get me into your bed, I wanted to correct. And here’s the first thing on your to-do list: don’t ask me to hook you up with random chicks named Gina.

  “She likes cycling.” Nat’s smile was sinister and sweet at the same time, and I wanted to be that way. Dangerous and unassuming at the same time. “She would cycle all day if she could. So, I’d start with that.”

  He nodded. “Good idea, Natasha.”

  “Oh, wow. You know my name.”

  “I pay attention when she speaks.” He was putting his charmer face on. Great. No one could say no to that, Nat included.

  “He’s a keeper,” my sister-in-law said before turning off the camera.

  I shook my head. He was the op
posite of a keeper. He was the guy I knew for sure was going to walk away. I shut the laptop screen, my heart drumming against my throat. Alex tilted his body forward, his lips close to my shoulder blade.

  “I’m going to have you,” he whispered, “glue.”

  My eyes burned, and I stared ahead at Alfie’s blond curls as he looked down, playing a Nintendo game.

  For the first time in a long time, I knew I was in deep trouble.

  Something I couldn’t control.

  Because Alex Winslow was a broken vase.

  But I wasn’t the glue. I was the stupid cleaner who was about to try to pick up the pieces and, inevitably, get cut.

  The minute I stepped into my hotel room, I started pacing.

  Fingers laced behind my neck, I walked in circles. My limbs felt different. Shorter, heavier, more tense. It was the lack of physical exercise and all the crappy food, I concluded. I hadn’t cycled at all since we’d started the tour, plus, Alex had a thing for gas station sandwiches and street food, which left us without decent catering, and therefore, eating junk or too-rich room service most of the time.

  I dropped my head, worrying my lip. Being away from home felt like a betrayal. Guilt ate at my insides for not being able to help Nat with Ziggy when she needed me the most. But what truly horrified me was that I still found myself being occupied with Alex Winslow’s privates when so much was at stake.

  A knock on the door made my head shoot up. All the hotel rooms I’d been in so far were different—some bright and some dark, some classically furnished and some contemporarily decorated—yet held the same melancholy of a place that never offered true intimacy. This room had peachy walls, high ceilings, and linen the color of gold. It looked luxurious beyond words, like something you would copy and paste from a bridal catalog. And I couldn’t enjoy it when my loved ones were suffering two continents away.

  Another knock, this time harder.

  “Geez, I’m coming.” I made my way to the door, still dressed in my black and white plaid dress, one of the first I’d made for myself. My hair was a mess, and my eyes were red-rimmed. I swung the door open. Alex stood on the other side of the threshold.

  He’d changed from his usual plane attire. Now he was wearing skinny jeans and a Smiths T-shirt.

  He looked delicious.

  He also looks like a man who slept with someone else last night, Little Miss Dementia.

  “What do you want, Winslow?” I cut straight to the chase. I had neither desire nor the need to be polite to him. He shouldn’t even be walking around by himself. Where was Blake?

  “Stardust.” He rolled the nickname on his tongue, his British accent slicing through the letters prominently.

  “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure? Also, am I talking to the charming, playful Alex today, or to the jerk who made me help him score last night?” I quirked an eyebrow, collecting my hair into a high and messy bun.

  “Glad we finally established I’m charming.”

  “Sometimes, when you’re trying to be. Big difference.”

  “But it’s working?”

  “Not really,” I lied.

  “All walled up and waiting to be defrosted. That’s how I like you.” He grabbed my hand and jerked me out of my room in one swift movement. “You’re like a piece of delicious toffee in a thin wrapper. It’s tedious work to peel your layers off, but whatever’s waiting for me inside is too sweet to pass. I’m about to smash those walls of yours to dust. It will take you years building them back, but I won’t be there when it happens, so no big deal.”

  I glued my feet to the carpeted floor, looking around us. He had a show in six hours. He was probably going to try for some hanky-panky in the hallway. He ushered me down the hall, and I dragged my feet like he was leading me straight to the gates of hell. Still, I couldn’t turn around and leave him in the hallway, alone and dangerously free to do whatever he wanted. Besides, there was a surprise at the end of this journey, and I wanted to see what it was. Alex slapped his open palm against the elevator button and turned around. He crowded me with his body. I stepped back. He stepped forward. A tango I was getting used to by now.

  “Where’s Blake? Why are you here?” My eyes narrowed.

  “Chained him to my bed and nailed him to the headboard.”

  “Does he know you’re with me?” I ignored his stupid joke.

  He bowed a playful brow. This particular expression drove me mad. It implied I was his cute baby sister who’d just made macaroni art and showed it to him.

  “Let’s get one thing straight. Blake? He’s on my payroll. Waitrose? On my payroll. Alfie? Gross human being and on my payroll. So are you. You’re answering to me, and right now I wanna be with you. So I will. It’s really that simple, you see.”

  I opened my mouth to say something that would make me feel crappy and push him away, but the elevator pinged and he pulled me in by the little belt of my dress, my back slamming against the wall. He leaned against the opposite wall, and that’s how we stared at each other, like two opponents in a very screwed-up game.

  For the first time, he seemed to notice how red my eyes were. He squinted down at me. “What’s on your mind?”

  “My brother is acting up back home. It worries me. Natasha is pretty much taking care of Ziggy by herself, and working full time, and…”

  And I was blabbing. I looked away, at the mahogany wood and mirrors around us.

  He didn’t say anything, and for that I was grateful. I didn’t need empty words of encouragement. I knew my situation, owned up to it, and was working toward fixing it. The elevator slid open and we both stepped out. Alex directed me to the hallway behind the main reception, not the front entrance of the hotel, where we walked through a darkened passage leading to the underground parking lot. I said nothing and felt everything. When he finally stopped, I looked up from my feet and saw two blue city bikes. My eyebrows shot up.

  “Bikes,” I breathed.

  “Perceptive,” he sassed.

  I swear British people were born with more sarcasm running in their veins than blood.

  I laughed, swatting him lightly across the shoulder, too relieved to get mad at him. I ran to one of the bikes and swung one leg over it, squeezing the handles in my palms. They felt different from my bike at home. The seat was higher than I was used to and the fabric was tougher—not as worn-out as mine. I kicked the brake, allowing the bicycle to slide a few feet forward inside the hot and humid underground parking lot. It was mostly empty.

  “I could cycle around here and blow off some steam,” I voiced my thought aloud. He was still standing next to the other bike, staring at me.

  “Or”—his voice was particularly un-icy—“you can get your little bum outside.” Just as he said that, he slammed a button on the concrete wall behind him and the metal garage gate slid up, light pouring in inch by inch. My eyes widened at the skyscrapers and huge, dazzling harbor spread before me. My breath caught in my throat. I gulped in the Merlion spitting water, the integrated resort of Marina Bay, and the unbelievably systematized cityscape. Before I knew it, his elbow touched mine and he was on his bike next to me.

  “No helmets?” I grinned despite my best intentions. Manwhore or not, I missed biking around the city. And it was just a little trip. Not a love declaration.

  “I like to live on the edge.” He licked his lower lip.

  “I like to live safely within the lines,” I retorted.

  “It’s a comfortable place to be, but nothing ever grows there.”

  We rode through the Merlion Park. He had his shades on and the same Burberry cap he’d worn at the laundromat, so no one could have guessed he was Alex Winslow, the man who kept the paparazzi awake at night. The sky was gray; the air was dense and moist. The weather reminded me of the apocalypse, and maybe it was fitting, because he’d destroyed so many of my walls that day.

  Everything was clean and foreign. I might’ve been a more experienced cyclist, but he had longer legs and the stamina to keep up w
ith me. We cycled silently for forty minutes before he jerked his head toward a little coffee shop by the promenade.

  “Thirsty.” A statement, not a question.

  I nodded, and we both took a curve and rested our bikes outside the small café. We were about to head inside, but then he hesitated, took one look at the busy tables outside the shop, and groaned.

  “Go order. I’ll wait out here,” he said, swinging his long leg back on the bike and staring ahead at the sapphire ocean.

  I made my way to the counter, relishing the idea that, unlike him, I could. I wouldn’t know how I’d feel if I couldn’t even order coffee or a sandwich without the fear of being ambushed or photographed.

  I placed an order for two coffees, two waters, and a pastry we could split. When I turned around, I saw him throwing little rocks he held in his fist into the peaceful water, still on his bike. He looked…happy. Like he wasn’t used to doing something so mundane and casual. Alex smiled when I got back and hoisted myself back up on my bike, and my heart almost threw itself at him like a stupid groupie throwing panties. That heart of mine was starting to feel a lot like a liability. I wished I could surgically remove it and stay alive. I handed him his coffee and water, putting my cup of joe to my lips.

  “What are you thinking about now?” he asked, his eyes still hypnotized by the water.

  I wondered why he wanted to know that all the time. Did he really find inspiration in whatever’d gone through my head? Then something even more depressing occurred to me—no one else had asked me that in years. Not since my parents died. Craig and Natasha, they loved me, but they were too busy surviving to care. Feeling wanted and desired was addictive, and he doped me. If you want to put a spell on someone, make them feel special. That would do the trick.

  “I’m just wondering”—I let the hot liquid burn my tongue, but continued without even flinching—“why are you after me? You seemed to want me gone, and now you want to sleep with me.”