by Lauren Rowe
The waitress returns with our drinks. Will takes a shot off the tray and hands it to me and then double fists two shots for himself. “Ready, OAP Cruz?”
I nod and we throw back our shots together.
Will offers me one of the other shots remaining on the tray and I put up my hand, so he grabs it and throws that one back, too, hands me the champagne glass off the waitress’s tray, and places the beer and remaining shots on the table in front of us.
I glance at Jonas and discover he’s been watching me. For how long, I have no idea. He raises his glass, slowly, ever so slowly, apparently asking me if I’m good. I raise my champagne and he smiles thinly. I flash him the “okay” sign and he sloooowly turns his attention back to Reed, his eyes blazing.
“Just tell me already,” Will says. “Or I’ll make you do another shot.”
“Oh, you’ll make me do a shot? How would you do that, pray tell?”
“Bad choice of words. I’ll request you do another shot.”
“Mmm hmm. You’re used to getting everything you want, aren’t you, Mr. Hip Hop Star?”
“Nowadays? Yes. Everything I want. Pretty much. Yep.”
I make a sad face. “Except Carmen.”
“Ooph. Are you trying to make me cry again?”
“Yes. I’m sadistic like that.”
“‘Except Carmen’ is exactly right,” he says. “And not getting to find out what O-A-P stands for. That’s an even bigger tragedy than losing Carmen.” He makes a sad face.
“Aw, sad Will.”
“Very, very sad Will.” He makes his face look even sadder. Oh, man, he’s adorable.
“Oh, jeez. Stop, please,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I’m a sucker for a man with sad eyes—just ask my hunky-monkey husband. Okay, I’ll tell you.”
His face lights up.
“But it’s our little secret, okay?”
He smiles broadly. “Absolutely. I promise.” He crosses his heart.
I pause. What the fuck am I doing right now? “You promise you’re not gonna tell anyone?”
He crosses his heart again.
“I’m serious, Will.”
“No lie. I promise. My word is my bond.”
“Okay.” I bite my lip. I’ve definitely got his undivided attention. I lean right into his ear. “Orgasma the All-Powerful.”
He leans back from my face, in total shock. “Are you shitting me right now?”
“No, I am not shitting you right now, sir. That’s what O-A-P stands for. Orgasma the All-Powerful. Boom shaka laka.” I drain my entire glass of champagne.
“Holy shit. Not at all what I expected. You’re telling me you’ve got a hidden tattoo, maybe even in your secret garden is what I’m guessing, that says Orgasma the All-Powerful?”
“Well, no, my tattoo just says ‘O-A-P.’ But that’s what it stands for, yes.”
He glances at Jonas and back at me with blazing eyes. “I’m so fucking jealous of your husband right now. Damn, girl.”
I shrug. “He’s not complaining.”
“Holy shit, girl. This deserves a shot.” He hands me one of the alcohol-filled glasses on the table in front of us and grabs one for himself. We clink and down the shots.
“Why are you Orgasma the All-Powerful?” he asks, his face on fire. “Please tell me the reason is exactly what I think.”
“Well, what do you think?”
“That orgasm is your superpower or some shit like that.”
I can feel my cheeks burst into flames.
He claps and hoots. “I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”
I press my lips together, my cheeks blazing.
He laughs. “Aw, don’t clam up on me now, OAP. Tell me the rest.” He leans in and smiles at me. “If you don’t voluntarily tell me everything I want to know, I’ll just keep feeding you shots ’til you do.”
I can’t suppress my smile.
“Come on, Cruz. You know you’re dying to tell me the rest. We’re besties, remember?”
I roll my eyes and exhale. “Before I met my husband, I’d never had an orgasm. And then I met Jonas, and he showed me what I’d been missing.”
“Get the fuck out of here. Never once before your husband?”
“Never once.”
“Not even while masturbating?”
I shake my head. “So, thanks to Jonas, the man of my dreams, I became Orgasma the All-Powerful—an orgasmic superhero. Powerful in a brand new way. The End.”
“But you’d had sex with other guys before Jonas, right?”
“Yes. Many times.”
“And never once?”
“Never once.”
“How many guys tried and failed?”
“Tell me again why I’m sitting here in a Bangkok nightclub, drunk off my ass, telling my entire sexual history to the guy with the hottest song in the entire world right now?”
“Don’t question it. Just roll with it. How many guys before your husband?”
“Four,” I say. “Two long-term boyfriends, two drunken one night stands.”
“And you never got off with any of them?”
I shake my head. “Never.”
“But did they... try? I mean, you know, did they go down on you? Did they touch you where it counts? Did they at least... try?”
I shrug. “Yeah, they tried—as best they could, I guess. But even when they tried their damnedest, it didn’t happen. And lots of times, I faked it, so they probably didn’t realize it wasn’t happening for me, which is shame on me, in retrospect. But then my magical fuck wizard of a husband came along and changed everything.”
“Your magical fuck wizard?” He laughs.
“Oh.” I put my hand over my mouth. “I really shouldn’t have said that. I’m so effing drunk. Please pretend I never said that. I need to stop talking now.”
“No, no. Don’t stop talking. I’m a vault, OAP. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
“Did your husband succeed on the first try?”
I shake my head.
“Second try?”
I shake my head.
“Ah, he was a persistent motherfucker, huh?”
“My husband believes in sexual excellence. Sexcellence he calls it.”
“Holy fuck.” He shakes his head gleefully for a moment. “I’m putting that into my next song. Can I have that?”
“Be my guest. From our home to yours, dear friend. Hmm. I might have to create a greeting card for that one.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Drunk rambling.”
He laughs. “This is amazing.” He’s practically wiggling in his seat, he’s having so much fun. “So what did Jonas do to you that finally did the trick?”
I bite my lip. This is not a normal conversation. I haven’t even talked about this stuff with Kat. This mega-superstar is the last person in the whole world I ever thought I’d get to meet in my lifetime, let alone have even a five-minute conversation with, let alone talk to about this. How did we get on this topic in the first place?
“Aw, come on, OAP. Did he do Fifty Shades of Grey shit on you? He figured out you like getting whipped or spanked with a paddle or some shit like that?”
“No, nothing like that. No accessories. Jonas emphatically doesn’t do accessories. He just uses what God gave him and he uses it well. He just ... figured me out. Or, more accurately, he helped me figure myself out.”
Will’s eyes are blazing. “That’s really, really sweet.”
“Thank you.”
“But it’s a big ol’ bunch of bullshit.”
I’m aghast. “No, it’s not bullshit.” I jut my chin at him. “It’s the God’s truth.”
“Well, okay. Not bullshit. I mean it’s not specific enough to be the truth. It’s like, you know, the kind of bullshit you say when you don’t want to tell the whole truth. The truth lies in details.”
I nod. Well, yeah, that’s true.
“Gimme details, OAP. Details.” He claps his hands excitedly. �
�What exactly did Mr. Sexcellence do to you that was so different from all those who came before him? Why were you able to have an orgasm with him and not the others?”
I glance at Jonas and warmth spreads throughout my body. God, I love that man. “Why are you so interested in this, Will? I think you’ve barreled right into it’s-none-of-your-business territory now.”
He scoffs. “Take one hundred random guys—a million random guys—and every single one of them, without exception, would want to know exactly what I’m asking you right now: What the fuck did that motherfucker do to you to set you off? If he knows something I don’t know about how to get a woman off, then I wanna fucking learn it and do it, too.”
I shrug. “He’s just talented, that’s all. I’d even say gifted.”
“No, no. Don’t give me some kind of soulmate bullshit, OAP. We’re too good of friends for you to do me that way.”
I laugh.
“You had sex with four guys and flatlined, and then this guy comes along and you explode off the charts. Was it his looks? Because I can plainly see he’s not an ugly dude.”
I glance at Jonas again and sigh. “Yeah, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he? But, no. That wasn’t it.”
“Okay, then, what? I want specifics. This is the most interesting conversation I’ve had in a very long time. All I need is a tub of popcorn and this would be better than watching the fucking Avengers.”
“Sorry, Will. I’ve already told you enough. I’m married to the man of my dreams, and he figured me out—emotionally, physically, and spiritually. He loves me more than life itself, and giving me pleasure is his top priority. The End. Okay, now back to you. What part of fame has been the hardest on you? Now that you’ve achieved what you’d probably dreamed about, literally, what’s next to shoot for? And, as an artist, when you reach the stratosphere, as you’ve now done, do you feel pressure to live up to your fans’ expectations, or do you keep your sights set on your own artistic fulfillment?”
He belly laughs. “Oh hell no, OAP. From now on, I’m the one who’s going Oprah on your ass, not the other way around.”
“Nope. I’ve told you what I’m gonna tell you. End of fucking story. Now stop being a pervert and order us some more drinks, Mr. Fancy-Pants. My buzz is wearing off.”
He laughs again. “Damn, girl, you don’t take any shit, do you?”
“I’m Latina, I told you. Taking shit is antithetical to my molecular structure.” I make a motion like I’ve locked up my mouth. “I’m done being a drunken blabbermouth. The novelty of your fame has worn off, and now you’re just some rich, charismatic guy asking me personal questions that are none of his effing business.”
“Whoa. OAP Cruz just laid down the fucking law.”
I laugh.
Will looks over at Jonas. “That’s one lucky son of a bitch right there.”
“No, I’m the lucky one,” I say. “Believe me.”
Just as Will is clinking my glass and officially christening me as “OAP Cruz,” Reed and Jonas walk over to us. Jonas leans down to my ear. “All good, baby?” he asks. His eyes are intense. Smoldering.
I nod. The hair on the nape of my neck is standing up at the look on his face.
Reed pulls Will aside to say something into his ear, and Jonas assumes Will’s newly vacated seat next to me. “You were talking to that guy for a long time,” Jonas says, putting his arm around me, his jaw muscles pulsing. “What were you two talking about for so long?”
“Oh, gosh, lots of things. Let’s see. Josh. Tattoos. How he’s still totally hung up on his ex-girlfriend, Carmen. The fact that I’m married to the most incredible man alive. I dunno. Everything. Nothing.”
“You seem pretty buzzed,” Jonas says. “Are you okay?”
I give him two thumbs up. “Freaktastic, baby. Having a blast, actually. I told you—I’m on a mission to accomplish complete and utter irresponsibility tonight. So far, so good.”
Will nudges Jonas on the shoulder and puts out his hand. “Hey, man. Nice to meet you. I’m Will. Sarah was just telling me about you.”
“Great to meet you,” Jonas says, shaking Will’s hand. “Congrats on everything.”
“Thanks.” Will motions to me. “That woman of yours takes zero shit.”
“You already figured that out?” Jonas beams at me. “Yeah, she kicks my ass pretty hard when I need it.”
“I’m sure it’s pleasant when she does.”
Jonas looks at me, like he’s trying to figure out what Will’s referring to. “Yeah. Always,” he finally answers. He squints at me.
“So, hey, I gotta do a couple songs downstairs in a few minutes. You two wanna watch from the VIP section at the front of the stage?”
“Awesome!” I exclaim, leaping up from the couch with excitement—but then I look at Jonas and it’s plain we’re not on the same page. I sigh. Duh. What am I thinking? Asking my sweet Jonas to stand on a crowded dance floor watching a frickin’ hip-hop performance is tantamount to asking my sweet fishy to climb a tree. “But, actually,” I say, backtracking, “I think Jonas and I would rather watch your performance from up here on the balcony. Fewer people.”
Jonas squeezes my hand. “No, baby. Go. Have fun. Hey, Reed,” he says. “Would you mind taking Sarah downstairs to the VIP area with you? Keep her safe?”
“Yeah, sure. No problem. Actually, Sarah can watch the show from the wings with me. And Barry will be with us, too. She’ll be well taken care of.” He points to the large black guy with the massive arms who’s been keeping watch throughout most of my conversation with Will.
“Just return her to me safe and sound, okay? She’s irreplaceable,” Jonas says, squeezing my hand.
I can’t stop myself from squealing with excitement.
“I’ll bring her right back to the balcony when Will’s set is over,” Reed assures Jonas. “I promise.”
“But seriously, Reed,” Jonas says. “This place is really crowded. Keep her close, okay?”
“Yeah, of course. No worries.”
I throw my arms around Jonas’ neck and kiss him deeply. “I’m so excited. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Have fun, baby. But be safe. Be smart.”
“I will, baby. God, I love you, Jonas Faraday.”
Chapter 18
Sarah
It turns out the Thai hip-hop group Will collaborated with on a new song is called “Time’s Up,” spelled for American audiences as “Thaime’s Up.” (Clever, right?) And right now, all five of the Thaime’s Up boys are bouncing around the stage, rapping out clipped syllables and sounds that mean absolutely nothing to me (but which apparently mean a whole lot to the screaming people from Thailand in the audience). Will is standing right in front of Reed, Barry, and me offstage in the wings, waiting patiently for his cue to burst onstage and blow the roof off the place.
“This is their biggest hit,” Reed says into my ear about the Thai group. “These boys are huge here in Thailand.”
I nod. The crowd’s reaction to them has made that abundantly clear.
I’ve never watched live music from offstage before, and I have to say, it’s the best view in the joint. Not only can I see the performers up close and personal (though from slightly behind and to the side), but I can also simultaneously see the audience members’ faces as they’re watching the show, too—and it’s a pretty damned cool way to watch live music, I must say. It heightens the musical experience to see so many expressions of rapture all at once.
I glance up toward the balcony and easily spot Jonas’ hulking frame among the few people remaining up there. I wave at him from behind Will’s shoulder and he immediately waves back, smiling at me. He’s virtually alone up there now—pretty much everyone else from the VIP area came downstairs to watch the show—and I’m sure that’s just the way Jonas likes it.
The song ends and one of the hip-hop guys says something singsong-y into his microphone. The crowd cheers and applauds enthusiastically.
A new bass-heavy beat begins p
laying, and the crowd explodes yet again, this time in obvious recognition of the forthcoming song. One of the Thai guys shouts, “2Real!” into his microphone, and Will’s body in front of me visibly pumps up, instantly transforming into the swaggering rapper the world expects him to be. When the Thai rapper onstage yells, “2Real!” into his microphone a second time, Will bursts onto the stage with maximum swagger, spewing a rapid-fire string of percussive rhymes as he goes—and the crowd goes freaking ballistic.
I don’t recognize this particular song—I’m guessing it hasn’t been released in the States yet (if it’s ever going to be?)—but, oh my God, I already love it. Or maybe I’m just mesmerized by Will’s performance, regardless of the song, because the boy is magnificent. Will’s rapping in English while the hip-hop group raps in Thai—all of it to an infectious beat thick with unusual horn riffs and heavy bass—and the result is like Asian-infused crack for my ears. For the first half of the song, I seriously cannot peel my eyes off the stage or stop my body from shaking and gyrating, but midway through the song, I’m suddenly aching to share this enthralling moment with Jonas. I peel my eyes off the six men bouncing around onstage and look up to the balcony, hoping Jonas is enjoying this as much as I am.
Wowzers. Jonas isn’t bouncing and gyrating to the music, not even a little bit. He’s standing stock-still and staring at me, his eyes smoldering even from this distance. Clearly, I’ve done something—though what I have no idea—to turn my sweet Jonas into Jonas the Great White Shark.