Back Beat

by Sloan, Ryleigh

Walking back into the house, I take a tour of the rooms. The bathroom has a shower big enough for ten people, and I have to fight the urge not to think about what I’d like to do to Blair in there. So much for getting a grip. I unpack my suitcases and take a shower, then collapse into the bed that’s way too big and far too cold without someone to share it with.

  Now there’s a first.

  I turn over and stare out of the windows, realizing I haven’t closed the curtains. I don’t bother to get up. I have to be up at the ass crack of dawn anyway, so I might as well enjoy the sunrise.

  I drift off to sleep, equally as excited and concerned about seeing Blair the next day.

  16

  Dean

  I’m woken by polite knocking on the door, and I swing my legs off the bed before scrubbing a hand over my face to get the sleep from my eyes. I slept in. I should’ve been up an hour ago, and the light beaming in from the large windows did nothing to deter my sleep. I must’ve been more wiped than I realized.

  I slip on a pair of sweats and open the door to find Blair dressed in black shorts and a hoodie. Despite it being autumn, the temps are pretty moderate here and from everything I looked up, can still get quite warm in the afternoons.

  “Would you like to come in?” I move aside, and she steps in. “I overslept and need to run through the shower. I can make you coffee; the owners of the lodge were kind enough to supply a Keurig.” I wink at her, and she chuckles.

  “Do you even know how to operate one?”

  She’s baiting me, and I love it. “For your information, I still wash my own clothes.” This is met with skepticism, but I don’t blame her. “I do.” I shrug. “No one should have to do someone else’s dirty laundry. It’s not cool.”

  I walk over to the Keurig and switch it on, then get the cups ready and select the pods. “Do we have time? I just need five minutes to shower.”

  “We’ve got about thirty minutes till breakfast, so take your time.” Thoughts of me taking my time with Blair pop unbidden into my mind, and I mutter something about her taking care of the coffee while I shower so I can get out the room. I’m in the bathroom and have the door closed in a heartbeat. Reaching into the shower, I set the mixer to the right temperature and step under the spray.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I get Blair out of my mind? I want to go back into the living room and drag Blair in here with me, but thirty minutes isn’t enough time to do what I want to do with her. My rigid cock is testament to that. I want to take my time with her, taste and tease every inch of her body, but she’s forbidden. I have no right thinking of Blair this way. It’s a complete leap over the line, never mind crossing it.

  I take hold of my cock and contemplate rubbing one out so I can stop thinking about her this way, but I doubt it will help.

  Get it together, Dean. You can’t beat one out with Blair in the next room.

  I set the shower temps to freezing and grab my body wash. It might be beautiful weather here in South Africa, but the cold water hits like needles and soon sorts out my problem.

  17

  Blair

  Dean and I grab some breakfast and head toward a table at the back. I expected him to go full-on bacon and eggs, but he has a bowl of granola and yogurt with a side of fruit, and that surprises me. I look at my own plate heaped with every kind of animal protein known to mankind and don’t feel the tiniest bit guilty. I need comfort food right now, and comfort food is what I’m going to have.

  Dean spears a piece of melon with his fork and pops it into his mouth. Some of the greek yogurt collects on his lip, and his tongue darts out to lick it up. For a moment I forget how to chew, and when Dean tilts his head to the side, I realize I’ve been staring.

  “You’ve got a little something…” I press a finger to my own lip to show him where the food is supposed to be, except he doesn’t have any residual yogurt on his mouth anymore, I just want to watch him lick his lips again. He does, and I’m relieved I don’t whimper or sigh. Dean has a bottom lip designed for biting and sucking and all things delicious, but he is off-limits.

  I take another forkful of eggs and cram them into my mouth before I’m tempted to lie to the guy again. He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his apple juice. “Hungry?”

  “Starved,” I say once I’ve swallowed my food. I’m too close to Grams’ kitchen to risk getting caught speaking with my mouth full. I may be twenty, but I’m not too old for a wooden spoon to my butt for bad manners.

  “Is that all you’re having? I didn’t peg you for a fruit kinda guy. I thought you’d be all about the bacon and eggs.”

  He spears a piece of pineapple and twirls the fork in his hand. “This is just to warm my stomach up. Don’t think I didn’t miss the stack of pancakes they’ve got going.”

  “Grams’ pancakes are the best. But be warned, they are highly addictive.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  We chat about our schedule for the next few days and what kind of rehearsal time we can get in. This might be an unscheduled work trip amongst everything else, but I want Dean to experience the reserve for all it has too.

  Dean has just got back from retrieving his third helping of pancakes when my dad comes over to the table. He bends and kisses me on the cheek while giving Dean a brusque good morning. I’m embarrassed about my father’s behavior and wish he’d give Dean a break. Dean gave up his two-week break to help me. Why does my dad think this is a bad thing?

  “Hey, kiddo. Joseph just radioed to say the lion in Camp Six got into a fight with a lioness and isn’t in good shape. I’m gonna head out in the chopper. You wanna tag along?” It seems like a truce after what happened last night, and I’m grateful for it. My dad isn’t the kind of guy to offer apologies, and after what happened to Papaw, I don’t want things to be strained between us. Life is too short.

  I look over at Dean. “How do you feel about helicopters?”

  “Funny enough, they don’t bother me.”

  “Want to go on a trip?”

  “Blair,” my dad interjects. “It’s not safe for Dean to come along.”

  I wave my hands. “Of course it is. Once we dart the injured lion, we won’t have to worry about him, and when we land the helicopter, you know the lions are all going to hightail it out of there. Besides, he can stay in the chopper if it looks too dangerous.”

  My dad thinks about it for a long time and, realizing I probably won’t shut up about it, gives in. “Fine, but any sign of danger and you better stay the hell in the chopper.” My dad points an accusatory finger at Dean.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I stifle a chuckle. Dean looks like a teenager asking a dad if he can take his daughter to prom. A dad with guns.

  ♫

  About half an hour later, we’re geared up and in the helicopter, flying south toward Camp Six. We all have our headsets on so we can hear each other, but I don’t want to interrupt Dean taking in everything around him. He looks like he is experiencing sight for the first time as his head whips all over the place. A herd of thirty or more giraffes scatter when we come around the mountain, and Dean’s eyes go wide.

  A little over a minute later, my dad calls over the headsets and points to the pride of lions to the east. There are at least a dozen of them, and three male lions are circling the injured one. Usually, we leave nature to take its course here, but this was the first lion my father bought and he’s sentimental about it.

  I reach for the tranq gun and scoot over closer to the edge of the doorway. This helicopter doesn’t have doors which makes game counting easier. My seat belt pulls taught around my waist as I lean further out the helicopter, and my dad banks right so I can get a closer look. I can hear Dean curse into the headset. I shoot a look over my shoulder, and he’s staring wide-eyed at me, half leaning out the chopper.

  I don’t have time to dwell on that as I raise the tranquilizer gun and get the injured lion i
n my scope. The rest of the pride scatter as we get lower to the ground. Dust and loose pieces of grass fly around us in a whirlwind and stick to my clothes and hair. I take a deep breath and shoot, hitting the lion in the back of the neck, and watch him lope off. It doesn’t take long for him to succumb to the drugs and his injuries and he collapses, his tongue lolling out his mouth.

  Dean inhales sharply, and I speak into the mic. “It’s just a sedative. He’ll be fine once it wears off.”

  I can’t tell if my explanation helped or not because my dad lands and we literally have minutes to work. The moment the skids hit the ground, I undo my seat belt, grip my backpack, and run, all the while looking to see if any of the lion’s buddies have decided to come check out the scene. I don’t see anything as I kneel in front of the sedated lion. His eyes are still open and his breathing is heavy, but he lets out a few soft roars to warn me off. We don’t have much time at all, and I need to work fast. My father kneels in front of me, and Dean is by my side.

  “I thought I told you to stay in the helicopter,” my dad all but snarls.

  “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d like to help.”

  There isn’t time for a pissing contest between my dad and Dean, so I hand Dean my backpack after taking out two injections. “Grab me the antibiotic ointment and saline.”

  Dean rifles around in my bag while I put on some gloves and inject the lion with a little more sedative, just to buy me a few more minutes. The gash along his ribs is longer and deeper than it looked from the sky, and I don’t want this guy waking up groggy and grumpy and out for blood.

  While my dad stands guard, his rifle at the ready, Dean hands me the saline and I go furiously to work cleaning out the wound. I make sure it’s free of dirt, and inject the antibiotic straight into the gash. When I’m done with that, I hold my hand out, and Dean presses the antibiotic cream into my hand. We work wordlessly and effortlessly as I make sure every inch of the cut is covered in the bright green cream.

  “Can you hand me the—”

  Dean holds out the suture kit, and within moments I have the first stitch in. My gloved hands slip on the ointment, and Dean doesn’t miss a beat. He drops the backpack and squeezes the cut together to make a seamless line. “This good?” he asks.

  “Perfect.”

  It takes forty-seven stitches inside and out to close up the lion, but all in all the job takes less than fifteen minutes. When we’re done, I take the gloves off, pack everything back in the bag, and hand Dean the bottle of saline which he uses to wash the blood off his hands. He didn’t squirm once, and I have to say it impresses the hell out of me. Especially since it took me a long while to get rid of the gag reflex when I first started helping my dad.

  “Great job.” My dad holds out his hand to shake Dean’s, and my heart soars. I don’t know why it’s important to me that my dad like Dean. It’s not like he’s ever going to see him after this season of the show is over, but it is and my relief is paramount. It’s also telling.

  Dean beams, his eyes alight with excitement and something else. Something I really don’t want to believe and certainly shouldn’t dwell on. As we head back to the helicopter, I tell myself it’s all just the adrenaline. That it wasn’t desire I just saw in Dean’s eyes. That this is all wishful thinking.

  18

  Blair

  We’ve been over the bridge sixteen times, and I still can’t get the transition right which is annoying since this is my own song and I should have it nailed by now. Dean has been working on it with me for days, and finally it is done. The third note on the second stanza trips me up time and again, and Dean is growing increasingly frustrated. I don’t blame him; I’m not focused, and I’m all over the place. He keeps stopping me and making me do it from the beginning, and as much as I know he is only trying to help, I’m getting irritated.

  Things have been a little weird since we had our moment after stitching up the lion. At least I thought it was a moment. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s definitely been a shift in Dean’s attitude. He seems more reserved. More contained than he normally is. When he helped me write the song, it almost felt like the days back at the studio, but the minute we were done for the day, Dean would head off to his chalet and I’d head to the hospital to see Papaw. It was a massive relief to see him improving more and more every day, but then I’d spend most of the night trying to figure out why Dean was so different.

  I shake my hands out and walk over to the window of the great room. It’s beautiful outside, and for the first time since I started the competition, I wish I didn’t have anything to do today but lie next to the pool. It’s a chilly day, cooler than it usually is for autumn, but with a nice heavy sweater and a cup of tea, I could lie on a lounger and just space out. Stop thinking for a while.

  “Let’s take it from the top.”

  I stifle a sigh and close my eyes. I doubt this is much fun for him either. “Can I have a minute?”

  His sigh is audible, but he mutters “Sure,” and I pick up my iced coffee from where it’s sitting on the table against the window. My mom brought it on the way back from the hospital. It was a celebratory drink of sorts because they are allowing Papaw to come home tomorrow. Iced coffee is my favorite indulgence, and here in the warmth of the great room, I can enjoy it without getting too cold. I swirl the ice around the plastic cup, the sound distracting me for a moment from the constant white noise in my head.

  Thoughts and distractions have been whirling in my head like tumbleweeds the entire morning, and I just need an off switch. Dean is usually always so enthusiastic and happy; he’s never been irritable and impatient with me before, and while I don’t blame him, it’s outside of the scope of how I’m used to working with him. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect him to always shout my praises from the rooftops, but he doesn’t quite seem present lately, and I wonder if he regrets coming here.

  Dean’s tapping on the notepad brings my attention back to the moment, and I take a long sip of my iced coffee. “What are you doing?”

  I turn to him in surprise, relishing the taste of the cool coffee at the back of my tongue. “What do you mean? I thought you said I could have a minute?”

  He walks over to where I’m standing at the window. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of his confident swagger. It isn’t one of those intentional ones guys get when they are walking in a room and are sure girls are watching them. This is a walk of a man who has it all together. Someone who knows what he wants and exactly how to get it. Someone who has it all. And I find myself wishing I was one of the things he wants. I shake the thoughts from my brain.

  He reaches me and snatches the cup from my hand, jiggling it so the ice rattles against the plastic. “This is the worst thing for your voice right now, Blair. You know this.”

  I reach over and snatch it back. “Hey!” Taking a sip, I look at him over the rim, my eyebrow raised in defiance. Damn, I’m being a brat, but what the hell is his problem?

  Dean glares at me, and I glare right back. I’m not intimidated by him. After a while he throws his hands in the air. “Fine. We’ve done enough, let’s call it a day.” He doesn’t wait for my response; he stalks out the room, the resounding click a finality that makes my stomach trip. And not in a good way.

  I sink to the chair next to the table and feel crappy. Dean gave up his vacation to come and help me, and I’m not playing the game. I wanted this. I wanted this life more than I wanted anything else. If I’m serious about it, I have to be able to separate what’s going on in my personal life and put that aside while I’m performing. Just like any job, you have to leave your personal feelings at the door.

  If I’m honest, my silly celebrity crush is getting out of control and along with my overactive imagination, I’m almost starting to think that there’s more to Dean coming over here to help me than him wanting me to win the competition. The way he looked at me on Monday made me think for the briefest of moments that maybe he
was starting to like me.

  Great, Blair, just great. This is exactly why you should’ve picked Chantelle or Kade.

  I stare at the iced coffee in my hand while shame washes over me. I’m behaving just like Danielle with her bad attitude. Disgusted with myself, I place the cup on the table and stand. I need to see Dean and apologize.

  I drive a golf cart over to Dean’s chalet, the entire time going over what I should say in my head.

  You could start by telling him straight off you’re a brat.

  I park the cart and walk over to the entrance. Raising my hand to knock, I spot Dean through the glass pane next to the door. He is sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Dread fills me, and I knock. Dean looks up in surprise. I give a shy wave through the glass and put my hands in my pockets so I can’t fidget or bite my thumb raw.

  Dean opens the door. “Hey, Blair, everything okay?”

  “Uh…yeah…can I come in?”

  He hesitates for a second, and a flush heats my cheeks. This is a bad idea.

  I point my thumb to the golf cart. “It’s…uh…not important.”

  “Please, Blair. Come inside and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  I step into the room, feeling a lot less comfortable than I did the last time I was in here. “I…uh…I just came to apologize for my attitude today. I haven’t been giving you my all, and you came all the way here to help me. I shouldn’t be repaying you this way.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but he does drop his eyes to his feet. The sinking sensation from a few minutes ago comes back with a vengeance. He’s going to tell me he’s had enough and is heading back to the States, and I realize I’ll miss him for a lot more than his coaching skills. Dean has been a great source of comfort to me, and I don’t want to lose that.

  He still hasn’t moved or said anything, and I take a step forward but stop myself before I reach out to him. “Are you okay?”

  Dean shakes his head, and trepidation fills me. “No, I’m not okay. Far from it actually.”