“Then what’s the issue?” Mom asked. “Have you told her how you feel?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“She had this whole interview in Vogue a few months back where they were asking her about dating, and she said she didn’t want to be in a relationship right now. And when we spent Labor Day at her summer house and the internet was talking about us, she said she wasn’t worried about it because we weren’t in a relationship, and there was nothing to lose. So I was, like, ‘okay, I’m just a hookup. I’ll find myself another girl while she’s in Europe.’”
“Oh, Blair, don’t tell me you found another girl.”
“Uh, yeah, I did. Because Reagan flat out told me there was nothing to lose with me. She said she doesn’t want a relationship in Vogue. I’m not gonna be the person to suddenly change that.”
“So, she buys you a book, mushes in her seat anytime you speak or look at her, spends all day with you, and then is going to spend the night in your bed?”
I threw my hands over my face. It was all too confusing. Reagan Moore was so fucking confusing the more I analyzed it. “God, I have no idea what she wants.”
“Gee, Blair, I don’t know, have you ever tried talking to the girl?”
I dragged my hands down my face and then found my mom smirking behind her wine glass as if she enjoyed watching my struggle. “I don’t know what to say to her.”
“Says the songwriter.”
“You don’t get it. Ever since Labor Day, everything has felt different.”
“Good different?”
“Fucking scary different. I haven’t seen her since then, and when I saw her for the first time today, everything was different. I felt so insecure and nervous. We kept holding hands under the dinner table and blanket, and we’ve never done that before—”
Mom lowered her wine glass. “Oh my God, she likes you! Now go be a mature adult and talk to her about it.”
“The next time we kiss, it’s going to mean something. I don’t think I see her as a hookup anymore. I even want to kiss her on her forehead.”
“You make it sound like that’s an obstacle.”
“Forehead kisses are intimate, Mom. You don’t forehead kiss someone you’re using for sex.”
“Dear child of mine, those are called feelings. Get acquainted with them. It means you care about her, and I can tell by the way she looks at you that she cares about you too. You’re already treating her so much differently than girls you’ve called your girlfriend.”
“That’s because she’s different. That’s because she—”
“Gives you butterflies?”
Just the thought of her gave me butterflies like it was doing at that exact moment. “Yeah.” I relaxed into my mom’s grip. “That.”
“How about you stop acting like this is a game and talk to her. If you don’t act, she’ll find someone who will.”
Then, the patio door slid open. Mom and I glanced back at Reagan stepping out onto the patio in my buffalo plaid sweatpants and my black Queen T-shirt, and holy hell, was she even more attractive in my clothes. How was I supposed to talk to her when all I could do was stare?
“Hi, guys, mind if I join?” she said.
While still studying every inch of Reagan wearing my clothes, I could feel my mother eyeing me.
“Actually, I’m going to follow your lead, Reagan,” Mom said and grabbed her wine. “I should get back to Greg and maybe finish reading my book. Today was a long—but good—day.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks so much again, Karen, for everything today. It really means a lot to me.”
“Of course, honey. Anytime. I’m so glad you spent it with us. You’re always welcome here. You two enjoy your talk.” And that was when my mother gave me that motherly direct order with a stare and a lightly creased brow. I got these many times growing up. The seventh time she asked me to clean my room. The third time she asked me to stop playing the drums. Anytime I talked back to her, Gramps, or Grandma. The worst communication a mother could give. That motherly stare.
When Mom went back inside, she took all the oxygen on the patio because as Reagan inched closer, I thought my heart was going to sprint right out of my chest.
In addition to never making the first move, it was no surprise that I never told a girl how I felt about her—probably because I never had feelings worthy enough to go into a full-fledged monologue. Alanna and I had known each other since freshman year of college, didn’t start casually hooking up until the year after she graduated, and then one day, she told me she wanted to be exclusive. So, I agreed because my thought literally was “why not?” My girlfriend before Alanna, Carrie, those two years I spent at USC, we never put a label on it, but she was the one who told me she really liked me. I also thought she was really, really hot so I thought that meant I liked her a lot too. My high school girlfriend, Rachel, asked me to be her girlfriend senior year, and I wanted a girlfriend because I felt as if that would prove to my friends that I was gay and not just saying shit. But I did like Rachel. She made me laugh, and kissing her gave me tingles on my lips. I liked her the way people liked their high school girlfriend of four months.
Reagan threaded her fingers around my belt loop and pulled me into her. She glanced up, and I wondered what the hell was going through her head because she did a really good job shielding it.
“Why are you so quiet?” she said. “Everything okay?”
“Um, do you…do you think we could talk?”
“Of course.”
I scratched the back of my head. “Like, a serious talk.”
That prompted her to take her fingers out of my belt loop, and I could already feel their absence. She took a step back and crossed her arms, as if preparing for the serious talk.
“What’s wrong?” she said cautiously.
“What’s going on with us?”
The scared frown appeared on her face the same way my face probably looked when my mom told me I had to talk to her. Terrified, as if this was the conversation she dreaded the most, which made me feel as if I chugged sour milk.
“Oh wow,” she said at the same time she exhaled. “Um…I…I don’t…”
I wanted to jump off the balcony. That was what I really wanted to do. How she could tell me she had no idea what we were doing after everything that happened in one day amazed me. And angered me.
“Stop playing a game with me,” I said.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I feel like everything with you is a game. You’re really trying to tell me you have no idea what’s going on with us after what happened today? You buy all of your hookups first editions of their favorite book?”
Calm down. Take a deep breath. You’re sounding aggressive, I told myself.
“No, I don’t.” The harshness in her tone matched mine.
“Then what are we doing, Reagan? Don’t you think we need to have this conversation?”
“Of course, I think we need to have this conversation.”
“Okay, then let’s have it.”
“After you.” She motioned me to go ahead.
“Fine,” I said, fingers clenching around the railing. “I want to know why you think you have nothing to lose with me.”
Her eyebrow furrowed more. “What?”
“On the plane back from Gaslight Shores, you said you didn’t care about the drones getting pictures of us because you had nothing to lose with me. Because we weren’t in a relationship. That fucking hurt, you know.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant—”
“Yeah? Well, I took that as a sign that we weren’t anything. So, while you were in Europe, I found someone else to sleep with.”
“You did?” She loosened her crossed arms, and it sounded as if my confession knocked the wind right out of her.
“How was I supposed to know anything? All we did was have sex. The whole time you were over there, you gave me no indication that you cared about me more than just some hoo
kup. Not even once. You had an interview in Vogue that said you didn’t want to be in a relationship—”
“Blair, you broke up with your last girlfriend because you didn’t want a relationship. Why would I talk about relationships with someone I’m sleeping with who’s terrified of them?”
“I’m not terrified of them—”
“And that interview was done back in April, for the record. More than six months ago.”
“You’re not answering my question. What are we doing?”
“We’re fighting.”
I let out a sigh that came from the pit of my stomach. “What. Are. We. Doing?”
“I don’t know, Blair!” She threw her hands in the air. “I have no idea what we’re doing or what the hell you want or what the hell I want or what the hell we’re supposed to do. I don’t know.”
“Am I just something casual and meaningless to you, or am I something more?”
“I bought you that book. I think that says what you want to know.”
God, this woman was difficult.
“I want you to actually say it.”
She let out a frustrated sigh and looked at the maroon sky for a second. “You’re more than casual.”
Finally, my fingers unraveled their grip. I could finally let out that breath I’d been holding. “I wasn’t expecting today to be good at all,” I admitted. “Because it’s the first holiday without my grandparents and everything, but it was actually really great, and that’s because of you. I really like you, Reagan, and it really scares me.”
She took a step closer to me. “Why?”
“Because I’m selfish and clueless and bad at relationships.”
“I’m selfish, not really clueless, and also bad at relationships.”
“I don’t know what’s right for me right now. I thought it wasn’t the right time to be in a relationship, but now with you, it doesn’t feel right not to be in a relationship. I just know that the thought of you makes me so happy and less lonely, and the thought of you with someone else nauseates me.”
“That’s how I feel right now knowing you found someone else. I…I don’t know how to process it. It keeps playing in my head, you two doing all the same things we used to—”
“She’s not you, if that’s any consolation.”
I could tell by looking at her face she was just as scared as I was. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t supposed to catch feelings, and we weren’t supposed to care if the other person slept with someone else. We were supposed to use each other for sex and keep each other company during our lonely nights on tour.
I guess that was exactly why we fell into this trap.
“Tell me more about the girl,” Reagan said softly.
“She’s gone if you want her to be.”
Another step closer, and her hands rested on the waist of my jeans. “I want her to be.”
“Consider it done.”
I tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, and then ran the back of my hand down her soft cheek before I pulled her in for a kiss. She inhaled deeply when her mouth parted, and her tongue welcomed mine, buzzing my lips and everything below my waist. I was right. This kiss was so different. It was hungry and passionate and deep and slow and tender and furious all at the same time. We breathed into each other, cupped each other’s faces securely, and when we took turns kissing and sucking on the other’s neck, she tilted her head back as if each suck was getting rid of the emotions from her body like venom.
Somehow, we made it to my room, but I wasn’t sure how. By the time I kicked my door shut, I had already peeled off the flannel pants and T-shirt. But just like the kiss, the sex was different. Our kisses were deep and hungry. Our movements were slow and tender. I even opened my eyes at one point to marvel at her face, and when I did, I caught her doing the same thing, and we stared deep into each other while warm electrical currents swarmed through me as our naked bodies grinded against each other. We held each other tightly, exchanging soft moans in each other’s ears and mouths. This time, I didn’t want to rush it. I wanted to fully enjoy the sensation of her breasts against mine. I wanted to take my time sucking murmurs from her neck, tracing circles around her nipples with my tongue, feeling them harden in my mouth, holding her undulating body in my hands. And when we both came, all the feelings I’d been bottling up the past few months escaped me at the same time they escaped her. That never happened to me before. It made me feel so much closer to her that we shared that blissful moment together.
I got the truest sense of how much had changed in that day because this time, as we collected our breaths and wiped the sweat from our foreheads, her arms brought me into her body, and I rested my cheek on her breasts. She cradled my shoulders like the perfect big spoon that she was. I listened to how fast her pulse sped, and I could feel mine beating at the same pace as hers.
But just when I thought I couldn’t feel happier and more complete, she kissed me softly on the forehead, and everything felt so right for the first time in a long time.
Chapter Nine
“Oh my God, hi!” Reagan yelled from the other end of the hallway backstage in Greenville, South Carolina.
She leapt into my arms, wrapped her legs around my waist, and I caught her, twirling her around while giving her face a kissing attack.
She’d spent all of December with her family in Nashville and then January traveling Asia and Australia.
And now, here we were on the first day of February, and I was so glad to see her again and so glad to be back on tour.
While she clung to me, I scampered to an empty hallway, pushed her back against the cinderblock walls, and took hold of her lips. As our tongues danced sensuously, she fisted my hair and gently pulled on it, and that pull elicited an involuntary moan out of me. I loved it when she pulled my hair like that.
“I’ve missed you,” I said, allowing her to drop to the floor.
“I missed you too.” She giggled as I kissed and sucked the other side of her neck. “Geez, Blair, you’re in a good mood.”
I stopped kissing and met her eyes, smiling when I saw her satisfied grin. “I’m sorry. I had to steal you for a little bit.”
“I’m completely okay with that.”
“Really? I thought you’d put up a fight. We’re kinda being risky right now.”
“Well, I’m a little deprived of female attention, so it’s worth the risk.”
“Okay, good.”
I planted my lips back on hers and took in a deep inhale of her taste as our mouths welcomed each other’s tongues for a few moments before she pulled away.
“You wanna know what I think we should do?” she said.
I looked up at the wall and attempted to suck in a grin. “I could think of a few things.”
“First, we need to celebrate the fact that you’re nominated for a fucking Grammy.”
That was the best Christmas present when the Grammy nominations came out, and the song I wrote with Isaac Ball was one of the Best Song nominees…along with Reagan’s first single off her latest album. I still couldn’t believe it. My very first Grammy nomination. There was a lot of crying and celebrating between Mom and Miles, and Mom reminded me that Gramps wasn’t nominated for a Grammy until he was in his forties. In total, Gramps won four Grammys: two for songwriting and two for music producing. I was only alive for his producing Grammys, and I remember staying up late with Grandma when I was nine, watching the awards live and screaming with her when he won, and he gave us both a shout-out in his speech. He won his second one when I was fourteen, and he again mentioned me as his inspiration.
I hope he knew that he was my inspiration. He would always be.
“Yeah, I can think of a few ways to celebrate,” I said. “With my competition.”
Reagan was nominated for two: one for Best Music Video and another for a song she collaborated on with a DJ, a song that wouldn’t stop playing in the clubs, the one that was up against my song.
“At the same time we
celebrate our number one hit,” she said. “How does it feel that a Midnight Konfusion song is number one right now?”
“Pretty fucking amazing. Thanks for reminding me of all the great things happening.”
Our song released a few weeks before Christmas, and just like the usual in the music industry, Reagan Moore being attached to our song sent it soaring up the charts. Right before Christmas, we filmed the music video with the director known for having aesthetically pleasing videos, beautiful cinematography, plot, camera angles, you name it. I guess when you’re the best in the music industry, you can hire the best director.
Probably what helped the song was the video. Reagan told the director, Devon Gualtieri, that she wanted to take a risk, which floored me as well as her. Reagan wanted the video to match the lyrics and sound of the song—slow yet sultry—and the video portrayed that. We kissed in pink and blue lights, there was a shot where I laid her down in bed, and we kissed some more; we danced under a streetlamp. But as sultry as the song was, Devon Gualtieri made it tasteful. Her shots highlighted our chemistry. It told a story about two girls liking each other, and there was still a bit of innocence behind it that made it sexy but sweet.
So, the song was number one, and the video was number one online and had been for six weeks. It also sparked a lot of media attention because girl-next-door Reagan Moore was getting in bed with someone—something never portrayed in her other music videos. And not just anyone; she was getting in bed with a woman, finally addressing the “is she or is she not into women” question that had been following her around unanswered.
And boy, was the internet excited about that video.
Reagan Moore’s Sexy New Music Video with Blair Bennett.
Midnight Konfusion’s Blair Bennett Seduces Reagan Moore in Brand-New Video.
Everyone Is Shipping Reagan Moore and Blair Bennet Right Now, and Here’s Why.
Plus, on top of all of that, Miles and I were invited to the Meraki Music and Arts Festival, one of the largest music festivals of the season that brought in around three hundred thousand people over the course of the four-day weekend. The opportunity to perform at one of the largest music festivals was beyond exciting.
Hammers, Strings, and Beautiful Things Page 16