by Gina Watson
“This next song is a work in progress. It always is, right?” He laughed and the crowd followed him. “It’s called Beautiful Girl. There’s always that one girl that no matter what you do you can’t forget her and that’s how this song was born. I say it’s a work in progress because I’m not willing to finish writing it until I know the ending will be happy…and then they lived happily ever after. I’m dreaming I know, but if it takes my entire life I think it will have been a worthy quest. So anyway, here’s Beautiful Girl.”
A bad day at work, a sad bit of news
Wish I could have been there for you
But I failed to recognize the muse
My dreams are all that’s left of you
I missed your birthday
But what can I say
And we can’t go back anyway
Wish I could have seized the day
I’d give all of my talent
For a chance to make it right
If you’d let me repent
Eternal dark turns to light
Beautiful girl
Where did you go
Beautiful girl
I need to know
Oh, God. This song was about her. The melody was evocative and either it was hot under the lights or he was crying. Most people wouldn’t notice, but she knew emotion poured out of him when he sang. He cried a lot. He even had a few songs that made him get highly agitated and angry, but this was almost wailing. It was a beautiful, haunting tune.
He hadn’t forgotten her birthday—he’d called but it just so happened to be after midnight. He’d asked about her big day, interested in how she’d celebrated. She had nothing to share because she hadn’t done anything. Her mother and father had divorced when she was twelve and both remarried. Another year and they’d both had kids—new families. She’d felt like an intruder. They’d forgotten her twenty-second, confirming that they too saw her as a trespasser in their new lives.
I hear you’ve met somebody new
Thoughts of you with him sting
I’m undeserving, but he is too
One day you’ll rate a king
We were so good together
But now you’re with another
I’ll beat myself up forever
For me there can never be another
You’re hundreds of miles away
If I were there with you I’d be okay
But late at night when I’m sleeping
A vision of you comes drifting
Beautiful girl
Where did you go
Beautiful girl
I need to know
His eyes remained closed. When she’d been intimate with Evan Arnold, it had burned her too. She’d only ever known Cam. Sex with him was angelic, pure, and divine. She’d come close to intercourse with Evan, but in the end she just couldn’t go through with it. She knew Cam thought they’d been intimate. And they had, but they’d never gone all the way. She’d let him know tonight. She’d also let him know that thoughts of him with his fangirls made her slowly burn.
He played a few chords more and then sighed a few notes into the mic. When the song ended, he opened his eyes. Three hundred people stood frozen. “So…uh…yeah…I don’t know…like I said, I’ve yet to finish it.”
“It’s beautiful,” a woman yelled. Clapping erupted and patrons wiped at their eyes.
Harmony leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’s singing about you.”
Meg frowned. “It could be about anybody.”
Harmony’s lips pursed. “Hmm.”
***
Backstage it was megalomania. Ten passes had been given out, and yet at least fifty women were screaming and chanting to see Cam. Meg was being bounced as if she were on a rough sea. Not willing to elbow women in the chest and face to get toward the front of the mass, she found herself in the hallway, unable to see Cam. She patiently waited with her back against the wall, tapping her foot from sheer nerves.
“He’s so fucking hot…I wonder if he takes women back to his bus. I’m going to grab his crotch and tell him he’s got pussy tonight.” The vulgar woman stepped on Meg’s toe. She was about to leave when the large, beefy man from the lounge created an ear-splitting whistle that had Meg instinctively reaching for her ears.
The room full of sexually charged women turned toward the source of the sound. “Unless you’ve got a pass…out! Now! Cameron will not enter until the room has been cleared so let’s move, ladies!”
Remorsefully and vocally, the women piled out and were escorted through the back door. True to Mike’s word, only ten were left standing in the small room backstage where Meg had fallen asleep on Cam’s shoulder.
The big man turned to her and said, “Miss Price, please take your seat on the couch.” He gestured toward the room and led her to the primo spot on the loveseat.
“Thank you, Mr.”—
“You may call me Al.” He smiled.
“Thank you, Al.” He stood next to the couch. The other ten ladies stood behind masking tape on the floor. When Cam walked through the door, the ladies screamed and held various gifts and posters out for him to sign. Mike followed behind him with several magic markers and Cam grabbed one, signing the memorabilia as he alternated providing his signature and vigorously drinking from a bottle of cool water.
After he’d made it to the end of the line, he returned the marker to Mike. “You ladies won’t mind if I sit…I’m beat.” With his back to the crowd he approached Meg and winked. He sat next to her and Mike communicated to Al that the women had thirty minutes with Cam.
Questions ran the continuum from raunchy to spiritual. One woman asked which sex position was his favorite. To which he answered, “I don’t kiss and tell.”
One rather attractive woman asked, “Did you get my underwear?”
“You sent them?”
“Mmmhmm. They were the ones I wore home after we—”
Cam abruptly stood. “I think a round of beer is in order. Everybody cool with that?” Cheers erupted in the tiny, overheated backroom.
“I’m on it,” Mike answered.
Meg stared lasers at the beautiful raven-haired woman. She was sophisticated and older than them. Meg guessed mid thirties. She grasped at the burning sensation in her chest—infidelity actually did slowly burn, just as Cam’s song testified. She was about to bolt, but he grasped her hand in his with a firm squeeze. Leaning in so that only she could hear he whispered, “I’m yours, Meg. All yours. She could never fulfill me the way you can.”
She pulled away from him, but he wouldn’t let her go. Her wrist began to hurt where he held her. As if he knew he released her hand, draped his arm over her back and rested his hand on her hip, pulling her to him.
Meg pushed against him with her palms. “Let me go, I don’t want to be back here with all of these women who want to have sex with you, and many who already have.”
Suddenly it was eerily quiet. Cam let her go. When she turned her head, all of the women eyed her with disdain, wishing they could destroy her and take her place.
Meg ran from the room and out to her car. She unlocked the door and flopped down onto the seat. Her forehead met the steering wheel. She felt stupid—of course he was having sex. Whenever she’d asked him about other women, he’d never lied. However, being in the room with all of them was more than she could tolerate.
A knock at the window had her looking up. She leaned over and unlocked the door. Cam folded himself into the passenger’s seat. “Meg, I’m sorry. I’m yours now. Sometimes they follow me around. I hate it. I feel like they’re always trying to get at me.” He grabbed his shirt with force and tugged hard. “They come to the shows and backstage looking for a god and find me. I’m just a kid from Baton Rouge. They don’t know the real me.”
His words were sad. The anguish poured from him in waves. “I love you, Cam. But I can’t do the backstage thing. I wish you didn’t have to accommodate them either.” Their world was strange. She felt like Alice down the rabbit hole, having been offered a glimpse of what life with Cam would be like. Could she survive it? Did she want to? “Your song was beautiful. I need to tell you I didn’t…I never…we never went all the way. Evan and me. We almost did, but I just couldn’t do it. It wasn’t you. He was so different. I know your touch and crave it. Not his.” She picked at her nails. “I hope my admission eases your slow burn.”
“Meg,” he cried and grasped her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth for a sensual kiss. “Your admission means everything.”
Chapter 5
True to her word, Kim had left the items necessary to carry out Cam’s surprise. With all of the emotion and excitement of the concert tonight, Meg had forgotten that he wore her panties under his jeans. She sensed he’d forgotten as well. He sagged into the couch, leaned his head against the back, and closed his eyes.
Meanwhile, Meg carried the heavy box of stones into the kitchen and proceeded to heat them in the microwave. Kim had been in their circle of friends ever since she’d dated Cam’s older brother Max. Unfortunately Max was a prick—a trait Meg had divulged to his face. After Kim and Max had parted ways, Meg had remained close with the masseuse.
She’d enclosed a note in the massage kit:
Use this oil to drive him mad. Place the hot rocks according to the pictorial. Then work the oil into your hands and start with his shoulders, moving in.
She went on to describe a sensual, total body massage.
While the rocks heated, Meg took the oil and instructions into her bedroom. She placed towels over her comforter and propped pillows around to support his head. Once she was satisfied with the setup, she grabbed her frilly baby-pink robe from the hook on the back of the door. On her way to the kitchen, she stopped in front of Cam, who was asleep on the couch. She bent and massaged her lips into his—a preview of what was to come. He awoke and returned her efforts with enthusiasm. Smiling up at her with his messy hair all out of place, he looked as young as he did when they were in high school.
She straightened and held the robe out to him on her index finger.
“Put this on. You should be naked beneath the robe except for one purple thong.”
She walked into the kitchen to retrieve the rocks. He didn’t really need the robe, but she was making attempts at authenticity. She carried the bowl of rocks toward the bedroom offering a “follow me” as she passed him in the living room, standing in her pink robe.
She walked to her charging dock and speakers. Placing her phone in the cradle, she pressed the home button to activate it. She’d left her email program open and spotted an email from Toronto News Twelve with the subject: Welcome Aboard. Her stomach fluttered and she quietly gasped.
“Are you planning to have your way with me?”
His sultry voice pulled her back to the present. “You may disrobe and climb on the bed on your stomach, face in the pillows.”
“Yes ma’am. I love it when you give orders.”
She recalled her Saturday morning interview and how well it had gone. They’d watched her video footage and praised her skill and on-air presence. They’d said an in-person interview wasn’t necessary as they’d already made their decision.
She was excited for two reasons: the Toronto gig and delivering Cam’s massage. However, she’d need to place her Toronto excitement out of her mind in order to focus on Cam’s surprise.
She cued up the Civil Wars on her iPod to set the mood. When she turned to find Cam on her lavender-mist rosette, hand-pleated quilt, she laughed from her belly. Deep, cleansing laughter. The image of his bare white and muscular butt cheeks bisected by her purple lace thong had tears rolling down her face. He clenched and relaxed his ass repeatedly and she doubled over in a fit. “Oh God. Stop. I’m going to throw up.”
“I find these quite comfortable. I may buy a few in an array of colors: tangerine, plum, deep burgundy, cotton candy.” His voice was muffled. As her laughter abated she rubbed the oil into her hands.
“They come in purple, red, white, black, or beige.”
“That’s not so sexy. I thought you ladies prided yourselves on your use of soliloquy.”
“We do, but the makers of five-dollar Target panties do not.”
“Ah.”
She brought the bowl of hot stones to the bed. She gave the pictorial one last look, and then lifted a spinal stone from the bowl. The warmth felt nice against her skin and immediately activated the exotic smelling oil on her hands. Concentrated scents of cinnamon, cedar, and sandalwood hit her nostrils and she smiled. She placed the stone on his cervical vertebra as indicated by the directions. Immediately he moaned in pleasure. She set out the additional stones. “Meg, what are you doing to me?”
“It’s a hot stone massage.”
“I love you!”
She chuckled at his enthusiasm. Applying more oil to her hands, she rubbed them together to warm and activate the intoxicating aroma. As she massaged him using her knuckles and the palms of her hands to release knots from muscle, she was rewarded with his oohs and ahs. He carried most of his tension in his neck so she spent twenty minutes working the area. Once she’d sufficiently loosened his back and shoulders, she removed the stones.
“You can turn over and I’ll get your face and thighs and arms.”
“Just remember…you asked for it.” When he turned onto his back, he laced his hands behind his head and crossed his feet at the ankles, displaying the hardest erection she’d ever seen. Cocky he said, “I’m hoping this massage comes with a happy ending.”
His cock followed her around the room. She couldn’t not look at it. “A happy ending?”
“Come on, Meg. You know”—he grabbed himself and pumped hard—“a happy ending.”
She gasped. “No, Cam! We agreed to no sex during our trial relationship.”
“I hoped maybe you’d changed your mind.”
She wanted nothing more than to climb up his tight body and ride him into the sunset, but they were attempting to figure out if they should consider an exclusive relationship. As she thought of her looming move hundreds of miles away she chewed at her bottom lip.
“Meg, I can’t believe you’ve only ever been mine. Do you know how special you are to me? You’re the one. I won’t stop trying until we get our happy ending. I will live to make you happy.”
Would he? Would he give up his music career and accompany her to Toronto? She wouldn’t let him do that, of course. She only needed to know that he would do it.
“I love you, Cam. But no happy ending will come tonight.” She smiled saucily. “How about I run you a cold shower?”
“You really know how to kill the mood.” He threw a pillow at her head. He got up and walked down the hallway in her purple thong, scratching his ass the entire way. She giggled and her smile lingered. Life without him would be difficult. She loved him more than anything—even more than her career. She was torn in two directions. In one was the promise of a big journalism career. In the other was her one true love. She sighed and placed the stones back in the bowl, hoping the answers would come tonight in her dreams.
***
Cam reached his arms across the bed, seeking his lovely’s warmth. He only grasped air. “Meg?”
It was still dark out and he began to worry. “Meg?” He sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Hey.” She stood in the doorway in her tank top and tiny panties.
“You were gone.”
“I can’t sleep.” She walked to the bed, turned on the tableside lamp, and then climbed on to sit beside him, resting her back against the headboard.
“What’s on your mind?” He laced his hand with hers.
She t
ook a deep, rigid breath and his earlier worry resurfaced. “I need to tell you something.”
“I’m sensing it’s not something I’ll want to hear.”
She shrugged, “I hope you’ll be supportive of what I have to say. It’s important and means a lot to me.”
He brought her hand to his lips and placed a single kiss there. “I’ll be supportive, I promise.”
“All right.” She sighed. “I’ve been offered the lead evening anchor position for Toronto News Twelve.”
His body tensed and he sensed her eyes on him. “Wow, Meg. Toronto is a huge gig.”
“I know. It’s what I’ve been working so hard for.”
“You deserve it,” he muttered with a frown. Her words came to him as if in a tunnel. His skin stung.
“It’s far I know, but it’s Toronto. I eventually hope to get to Chicago or New York. There’s no reason for me to stay in Baton Rouge. My mom and dad have moved on and are living lives with new families. There’s no room for me there.”
Her voice cut him open as if she wielded a machete instead of words. No reason to stay in Baton Rouge. He audibly gasped, unable to hold his emotion under wraps. “I’ll never see you.” He felt his eyes fill with tears.
She straddled his lap. He placed his hands on her hips and she bent her forehead to meet his. “Cam,” she whispered. “If I didn’t have my career and you didn’t have your music I know we’d be together, but I know you need your music to survive. I would never ask you to sacrifice any part of your world for me. I can’t make sacrifices to my world either. I need this Toronto offer. It means everything. You mean everything. In a perfect world, all those things would exist in the same plane. But they don’t.”
No! He wouldn’t listen. They could make it work—all of it. She could have her big journalism job and he could have his music. They could fly back and forth. No! He had to come up with something better in order to convince her or he’d lose her. He gripped her hips tight, bruising. No! He wouldn’t, couldn’t lose her. He’d lose himself in the process.