by B. B. Hamel
And it’s fucking hot as hell. I’m so hard I can barely stand it. I fuck her with my fingers and lick her little clit faster and faster. Her hips start to grind against me and I know she’s getting there. I press my palm tighter and she bites me, but I don’t stop.
She comes a second later. I keep my hand over her mouth and I think I’m able to keep her quiet enough. Fortunately, Nathan’s playing his guitar the whole time. I keep fucking her pussy through it, licking her clit, until she finally loosens and collapses back onto the bed.
“Oh, fuck,” she says when I finally move my hand.
I grin at her and slide back up to my original position. She’s panting and breathing deep but manages to get her panties and shorts back on.
“You said you were bored,” I whisper, and kiss her on the cheek.
I roll off the bed and climb back up to my bunk.
It’s silent for a little while. I’m grinning the whole time.
“I need to get bored more often,” she finally says, and I just laugh.
14
Delia
We get to the venue and I’m still buzzing with Chase’s touch.
It’s like a secret we were sharing back there in the tiny little bunk. I know how immature and wrong it is to do that sort of stuff with other people nearby, but I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to. The look in Chase’s eyes told me everything I needed to know.
He was hungry for me. Practically starving. I could tell that he was going to get a taste, one way or another.
Of course, it helped that I needed him to touch me just as badly.
It was like I was a kid again, flirting with a boy on the bus. Except this boy is a rich rock star with the tongue of a god. I always though lead singers would be great with their mouths, but apparently bassists are the way to go.
The guys help the roadies unload the gear while I supervise. Karl is nowhere to be seen, but Chase says that’s not unusual.
“He drives himself.” He lugs his big guitar case as I walk alongside him. “Doesn’t want to get stick in a bus with us for hours at a time.”
“Why, think he’d kill you all?”
“Probably. You heard Landon snoring, right?”
I laugh lightly, looking up at him with something like a sparkle in my eyes. Ever since that ride, I’ve been feeling the vibe between us in a way I hadn’t before.
They get set up and start soundcheck while I retreat back into the green room. It’s a small little room in the back of the theater this time with a big mirror on one side, a table with beer and snacks on another, and a single couch along the far wall. I sit up on the corner of the couch, scrolling through my phone and trying to ignore all the messages I’ve gotten ever since this all started.
It’s hard to really understand how my life had changed ever since I married Chase. I went from a nobody to someone in the spotlight, and everyone suddenly wants to get in touch. Old friends, old boyfriends, old enemies, they all want to message me with congratulations.
It’s weird, but the world’s fooled. They may all think Chase is still a lying, womanizing asshole, but they at least believe in our little lie. I don’t know what’s scarier, the fact that everyone might find out the truth, or the fact that they really might not.
I don’t know how it’s not obvious we made all this up. There are some people online making those claims but mostly they’re treated like conspiracy theories. It’s scary how quickly people want to band together to believe in this, and how quickly the people pushing for truth are ignored or silenced.
I want to say that they’re crazies, but they’re right. I wonder what they’d think about all the other conspiracy theories if they learned that Chase and I only got married for publicity after all. They’d probably really buy into their nuts 9/11 truther bullshit.
I put my phone down just as the door opens and Karl steps in. I can still hear the band warming up down the hall as he approaches the snack table.
“Never any real damn food,” he grumbles, taking a handful of chips. “I gotta start negotiating for sandwiches or something.”
“It’s not a bad spread, all considered.”
He shrugs a little bit, looks at the beer, hesitates, and finally grabs one. “Been to a lot of these,” he says to me, sipping his drink, “and they’re never good.”
“Yeah?”
“Promoters and owners don’t wanna waste money on food. They wanna make talent happy enough to go on and play a good show, but not too happy, you know?”
“Not really,” I say, laughing. “I did a tour once, but we didn’t get any food at all. I mean, I was just happy to get paid.”
He grins and leans up against the table. “I remember those days.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure, in the beginning, back when I was repping bands that didn’t know shit from shit. We had to scrimp and save for everything.”
“No mega tour buses back then?”
“Nope,” he says, grinning a little. “Things were actually both easier and harder, though.”
“How’s that?”
“Music was a bigger part of people’s lives,” he says. “Promoters paid more money, even to smaller acts. You could get by as a midlist act back then, touring once or twice a year. You’d make decent cash. I mean, you’d never get famous, but not everyone needed that.”
“Now though?” I ask, curious about where he’s going with this.
“Now it’s all consolidated. You’re either a big fish or a small one about to be swallowed by a big fish. People don’t care as much about music as they used to, I guess became we have amazing TVs now or whatever the fuck kids are doing these days.”
“YouTube,” I say.
“YouTube, fine, we have YouTube.” He sighs, shaking his head. “It was harder back then too, though. More competition all over the place. Promoters could be real bastards, some of them wouldn’t pay. We had to learn real fast which places actually paid and which didn’t. Some of them only let you play for tips, which was garbage.”
“Nobody ever tips the band,” I say.
“I know. Instead of flowers, people should throw cash onto the stage.”
“I wouldn’t complain about that.”
“Nobody would. It’s the dream, really.”
“Sounds like we should’ve all become strippers.”
He grins a little at that, almost despite himself. “Not a bad idea.”
He takes another long drink and I can see him back in the day, younger and feisty, out there scrapping with the other bands, trying to make it happen. He wasn’t a musician, but he was an important part of all this music business crap.
Now he’s older, maybe a little slower, but he knows a lot more. He’s seen things, enough to be useful without having to fight for absolutely everything.
I see why the guys keep him around. He’s difficult to work with and can be a controlling asshole, but he knows what he’s doing. It’s pretty obvious to me that without a guy like Karl playing damage control, this band would’ve fallen apart a long time ago.
You can’t have a bunch of rock stars last this long without some serious management help. Karl’s the glue keeping them going, whether they know it or not.
“Let me ask you something,” he says, after a short silence.
“Sure.”
He clears his throat, sips his drink. “You’ve been in this world a little while now,” he says. “You see what it’s like, the constant scrutiny, the constant worry, the public breathing down your neck, judging everything you do…” He trails off, eyebrow raised.
“I definitely appreciate celebrities more than I ever have,” I say finally. “Is that your question?”
He shakes his head. “You haven’t run away. I’m trying to figure out why.”
I bite my lip. “I want the contract.”
“The record deal.”
“Exactly.”
“How do you know they won’t give you the deal and end up just shelving your work anyway? Just b
ecause you sign with a label doesn’t mean they’ll actually put anything out.”
I shrug a little. “I guess I believe in myself. With a shot, I’ll make it.”
“That’s the right attitude to have.”
“Plus,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Didn’t you already have your shot?”
I stare at him for a second. Painful memories come flooding back, the embarrassing failure, the self-loathing, the anger.
“That didn’t work out,” I say finally.
“Ah, so you need two shots.”
I suddenly feel that anger spike. “What is your problem?” I snap at him. “You’ve hated me since day one.”
“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I just think you’re a liability.”
“None of this was my choice. Chase wanted it, and I went along with his plan.”
“You have agency here, whether you think you do or not.”
“Imagine someone you’ve always liked comes to you and says, here’s a chance to make your dreams come true. Do you really have a choice?”
He shrugs. “I guess not. But that doesn’t matter.”
“What does matter, then?”
He pushes off the table and walks over to me. I watch as he sits down at the other end of the couch and turns in my direction.
“When all of this is over, are you going to let him go?”
I stare at him without saying anything for a second. “I don’t think I’ll have a choice.”
“Of course you will.” He raises an eyebrow. “Did you sign a prenup?”
“No,” I say.
“Maybe it didn’t occur to you yet, but it will eventually. Once you’re married to a guy like Chase, you become entitled to certain things. A large chunk of his money, for example, even a percent of his royalties.”
I gape for a second. “You think… you think I’ll take his money when we divorce?”
“Of course I do. You’d be stupid not to.”
“It never… I hadn’t…” I don’t even know how to respond to this. “Of course I won’t do that.”
“Like I said, you’d be stupid not to. Chase should’ve thought of it before he signed the papers.”
“You could’ve warned him.”
“And been the bad guy again?” He shakes his head. “I know I’m on thin ice with these guys as it is. They hate having a moderating voice around, but my voice is the only thing keeping them from doing some truly stupid shit. Unfortunately, you’re one of the sacrifices I’ve had to make.”
“Sacrifices?”
“I didn’t want you around,” he says. “I wanted Chase to wait it out, but he couldn’t. He’s one of the more levelheaded guys I’ve ever managed, but this set him off. I honestly hoped he’d see all the problems with this little plan before he went through with it, but he either didn’t think or didn’t care, and here we are.”
I watch Karl for a second longer. I feel like I’m always having this conversation with him. It’s really hard to look up to him while knowing he truly despises me.
“Let me ask again, when this is all over, will you let Chase go?”
I look way. I don’t answer immediately. I don’t think I possibly could let Chase go, at least not totally. I’d always want to be a part of his life, as a friend at the very least. But I know that’s not what Karl means.
“Yes,” I say softly. “I’ll let him go.”
“Good.” Karl sighs and slowly stands. “I know this is uncomfortable. I really don’t hate you, although I bet you’re thinking right now that I do.”
“Hard not to come to that conclusion.”
“Well, don’t. You’re smart and talented. In another life, I’d rep you. Unfortunately, we’re living this one.”
He walks away without another word, beer cradled against his body.
I stare after him as the music drifts in from the soundcheck again. Karl leaves the door open so I can hear it when they finish up.
I know I have to let Chase go. Despite everything, he’s not really mine and never was. I have to let him do what he wants because that’s the deal we struck.
We’re using each other. There’s nothing really here, no real life, no real relationship. We’re just old friends engaged in a mutually beneficial business arrangement.
Sure, it’s messy and confusing, but I’m a big girl. I can handle a little uncertainty.
In the end, I’m not going to steal from Chase. That’s what it would be: stealing. He’d never tell the truth, it would ruin him.
No, in the end, I’ll go quietly. I’ll take what’s promised to me, and I’ll be happy. Maybe I’ll wonder what else I could’ve done differently, but I won’t regret a thing.
I make up my mind just as Chase walks into the door. He smiles at me, walks directly toward me.
“Hey there, pretty girl.”
I smile back. All my certainty drifts away into the wind.
How am I supposed to let go of him when this is over? I don’t want his money, I don’t want his fame… I don’t want any of his things.
I just want him.
I can pretend all I want, lie to Karl, lie to myself, but the truth is simple. I don’t know if I can let him go, if push comes to shove.
I don’t know if I want to walk away from this feeling.
I don’t know if I can.
15
Chase
We’re back on the bus for an overnight drive when I decide to check my phone.
That’s always a mistake. Ever since this whole thing started, nothing good’s come of looking at my phone. I should ignore it, pretend like it doesn’t exist. I can get through this tour without checking it a million times like an obsessive teenager.
But of course, that’s not what I do. Of course I pull it out of my pocket and I check it like a moron.
I have more messages than usual but I always have a lot. I just ignore them like normal and go right into my browser, pulling up the TMI website like usual. I don’t expect to see anything…
… except my name is plastered at the very top.
“PLAYBOY CHASE LEWIS CHEATS!”
I stare at the headline, dread forming like a black pit in my stomach. I know what it’s about, but I can’t stop myself. I scroll through the whole article, reading it all.
More girls came forward. This time, they’re not claiming I’m into anything weird, which I appreciate. At least they’re being honest. One anonymous source even said that I was the best fuck she’s ever had.
Well, I’m sure that’s true. But it doesn’t help my situation.
Because they all claim to have been with me within a couple weeks of my marriage.
That’s fucking bad. James must be digging and digging hard. I was wondering why we didn’t see him in Nashville, and now I know. He’s been busy with his sources.
Ever since that Ava article, people have been wondering what’s true and what isn’t. Now James adds fuel to the fire, and the conspiracy nuts are going crazy.
“Are you okay?”
I look up from my phone. I’m sitting in the main part of the bus, while everyone else is back in their bunks, sleeping or at least trying to.
Except for Delia, apparently.
“More shit,” I say to her, and I hand her the phone.
I watch her expression shift from confusion to anger to dismay. She hands me back the phone, looking numb.
“This is my fault.”
I sigh, turning it off. The room is dark, and the highway lights slip past like stars. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. If I hadn’t slipped that about us not being together long to Ava, this wouldn’t have come out.”
“I think it would’ve, sooner or later.”
“How?”
“They dig,” I say. “They dig and dig and eventually they’d find something. We rushed into this marriage with zero backstory, zero preparation. I just thought… it worked for Joss.”
“But Joss wasn’t already under the spotlight.�
�
“Exactly.” I sigh, feeling exhausted suddenly.
I hadn’t been able to sleep. I’ve been so high, so excited since the show. I don’t know what it is. Something about playing our music for all those fans, the excitement of it, the rush. And afterward, I get to see Delia, her beautiful smile, the way she hugs me, congratulates me. It feels so fucking good.
I didn’t know what I’ve been missing.
Now I get it. Now I know why Joss wants a family, why he loves Grace so much. Why Joss and Nathan fought so hard and for so long over Nathan’s ex.
Feeling this way can really fuck you up.
I should’ve seen this all coming sooner or later. Karl tried to warn me early on, told me this was a bad idea, but I can’t help it. He didn’t expressly forbid me. Actually, he said he wasn’t even angry.
Disappointed, probably, but not angry.
I wish he had been. Maybe it would’ve scared me into making the right choice, but probably not.
Delia sits down on the couch next to me. I look over at her and try to smile.
She smiles back. I feel something shift, something jitter.
I can’t see this as a mistake. I know it’s starting to crumble around me, and eventually I’m going to get caught and own up to this, but for right now I can’t see it as an error. Just having Delia around me is amazing right now.
It’s strange. I’m trying to pinpoint when this shift happened. It was gradual, a little here, a little there, and suddenly she makes me happy just sitting in a room with me. Despite her mistakes, I still get excited.
I don’t blame her for this, either. I really do mean that. The Ava article just sped up a process that was bound to happen sooner or later. I just wish we had more time together without the world getting in the way.
“So what do we do?” she asks me. “I could always, you know, go away.”
“That’d be even worse.”
“I know. They’d accuse you of killing me.”
“Of course, I mean, I am a criminal mastermind.”
“Hardly,” she says, grinning at me. “I can’t see you masterminding much of anything.”