by T Gephart
“Every single one. Some try and lie, but there is usually a tell, not many people can do it convincingly. If I have any doubts, I don’t.”
“A whore with a conscience.”
It sounded so insensitive, but I hadn’t meant it like that. Once again, my big mouth just spilled the thought with zero filter. But I was caught off guard, not only by the conversation, but his honesty. This was a new place we found ourselves in.
“Yes, a whore with a conscience.” He laughed, not offended. He probably should have been. I really wasn’t in any position to call anyone a whore; there was no way I was going to be able to wear white on my wedding day convincingly.
“So, while you aren’t dating people but sleeping with them … Do you sleep with other people?” My mouth spewed out a jumble of words that didn’t constitute a sentence by anyone’s standards. “I mean, is it one night stands generally or are there times where you continue to sleep with the same person?”
Better, but I hated how vulnerable it made me sound. Because what I really was asking was, so what exactly are we doing and do you plan on having sex with me only to go have sex with someone else?
The more I thought about it, the more I didn’t feel good about myself. I was breaking my own rules. Those damn emotions poking their head around where they didn’t belong.
“Are you asking me if I plan on sleeping with other people while I’m sleeping with you?” He waded through my stumbling mess of words and knew exactly what I was asking. He was so smart. I hated how all together he seemed to have it. It just shone a mirror on my shortcomings.
“Yes, I know you think I’m a freak.” Which given what I’d displayed recently wasn’t too far from the truth. “But I’m not great with sharing.”
If he was being honest, then I would be too. I wanted to have sex with him again. I loved that while I was with him I wasn’t thinking too deeply, that my body just let go. Maybe it’s because I didn’t need to impress him, maybe it’s ’cause he’d seen it all before. But there was a freedom that came with the sex, and the things he did to my body. And that’s what I wanted.
“You know,” Jason laughed. “You and Dan are a lot more alike than you think.”
“Please don’t compare me to him.” I recoiled in horror. “He’s a social moron with a constant boner. I’m nothing like him.”
“I meant your inability to share.” He stopped laughing, his finger tracing the line of my jaw. God, he was smooth. “I take it by your question you might like to do this again?”
“Well I’d hoped that wasn’t the last time I was ever going to have sex.” This time it was my turn to laugh. Nervously, I might add. “It was good but certainly not good enough for me to slap an eviction notice on my vagina.”
I was flat out lying. It had been that good.
“With me. Did you want to have sex again with me?”
There was that smooth, hot combination that he seemed to throw at me like a one, two punch. Not even taking into account the sex—which was out-freaking-standing—I knew I’d want more.
“Sure, I guess. I mean, if there was nothing better to do.” I lied again. Not willing to admit that I was that easy. Gah. I hated him.
“No, Angie. Without the attitude.” I guess he didn’t find my off-the-cuff answer as amusing as it had been intended. “If this isn’t something you’re into then I’ll stay away.”
Was I into it? Yes, and probably more than I should be. But all that rationality that existed in the world wasn’t around at present. It was probably dealing with other people, who it probably would have stood a better chance with. Crazy is who we were in bed with. Both of us. Because only crazy people sleep with someone they had a past with.
“Yes, it’s what I want.”
Jason Irwin was a lot of things—sexy, smart, and intense. He was not romantic, sensitive boyfriend material, in other words, he was not Ryan Gosling. Girls were not lining up with their boxes of Kleenex ready to declare their undying love, no matter how badass his abs were. Which they were—he could totally give RyGos a run for his money. And the tattoos. Ryan was too clean cut for my liking, but that was just my personal preference. But seeing as I wasn’t going to be declaring my undying love for anyone, I was okay with that.
And I wasn’t delusional. No relationship. He’d been clear about that from the start.
Eyes wide open.
It was a Hey I like sex and you like sex, so lets have sex together. Yippee. But without the messy feelings that could make the sex less pleasurable. And when I was sick of him—which eventually I would be—I could just walk away, vindicated.
And I could walk away.
“Hey, where did you go? What are you thinking about?”
He waved his hand in front of my face, pulling me back to the present. I didn’t even blink, my mouth doing what it usually did, flicking on autopilot.
“Plotting your demise. I just need to figure out a way to keep your penis viable.”
****
“This is a long ass list, Angie.” Max scanned the length of the page in front of him. “You want us to learn all these songs?”
“Yep. Let’s have some fun with them. Who knows when else we’ll get the chance to play stadiums.”
I had amused myself greatly choosing the next few musical clues in the game of fuck you Jason Irwin. Except it wasn’t so much fuck you any more, it was like an aural treasure hunt. The songs reflecting the many moods he seemed to evoke: angry, sexy, and I’m-going-to-fuck-your-shit up. I really was a ray of sunshine.
“This list looks like it’s drunk.” Joey twirled his stick, while randomly hitting the base drum. It was a drummer thing, I didn’t question. “Are we a rock band or auditioning for a fucking Vegas lounge show?”
“I can already smell the fourteen-ninety-nine buffet.” Max laughed.
“Gentlemen, where is your sense of adventure?” Rusty clapped his hands dramatically. He was late but no one had seemed to mind. “Let Angie stretch her pipes on the musical diversity, poor girl is trying to impress her new boyfriend.”
“Rusty.” I threw a guitar pick at him, hoping none of the crew walking around were paying us any attention. If they’d heard what was being talked about no one seemed to care. I’m sure shadier stuff went down on tour. Like public sex displays … oh wait. Yeah.
“What new boyfriend?” Max stopped scanning the list.
“Angie, has a boyfriend?” Joey chimed in just as interested.
My hopes of keeping my arrangement under wraps vanished before my eyes with both the guys looking to Rusty for answers. He had already displayed his inability to keep his mouth shut. I needed a more discreet best friend.
“Oops. I’ve said too much.” Rusty clutched his chest, screwing his face up in mock horror. The smirk he was struggling to hide a dead giveaway it wasn’t just a slip of the tongue. “Sorry. We were not talking about it.” The “it” whispered for effect. Killing him wasn’t completely off the table.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I started to explain, knowing Rusty would just make it worse if I left it up to him. “But I’m sorta seeing Jason.”
I wasn’t sure of what word to use. Dating was out. Fucking sounded way too crude. Sleeping with—yeah still not much better. So seeing it was. FYI the English language sucked, we needed more words to describe people we were involved with that we weren’t emotionally attached with. Something like, funfriend or pleasurepal, right ’cause that didn’t sound like a cheesy blow up sex doll or a bad porno.
“She means she’s seeing him naked,” Rusty clarified, as his stupid ass grin got wider. He was enjoying this way too much; we needed to find Rusty a girl. Someone to distract him so he didn’t have to be so interested in my life. Hopefully a fan girl who’d tie him to a bed and gag him.
My best eye daggers were fired in his direction as I folded my arms across my chest. Oh, he was history the moment he started dating, as I mentally tucked away this memory for future revenge. H-i-s-t-o-r-y. I was Italian; the whole
vendetta thing was hard-wired to my DNA. Horsehead in your bed anyone? “I hate you, Rusty.”
“Is that like you hate Jason?” Rusty continued to laugh, oblivious to my plots for my revenge. “Does that mean you’re going to want to see me naked too?” He wrapped his arms around me, his guitar hitting me in the ass as he gave me an awkward backward hug. “I’ll strip for you, babe, no problem, but we don’t want Max and Joey feeling inadequate.”
“Does he mean inadequate in that he thinks his dick is bigger than mine, because I’m positive microscopic is smaller than ridiculously huge.” Joey completely disregarded the issue of Jason, his attention diverted by a stab at his manhood. Boys. Every single one of them was packing a twelve inch penis in their own minds.
“Tell yourself whatever you need to, Joey—”
“Can we stop talking about dicks for a second here and focus?” I interrupted Rusty before the conversation degenerated into a need to contrast and compare. Sometimes I was convinced they forgot I was a girl.
“We can talk about tits if you prefer, that’s more my area of expertise.” Joey laughed, Max and Rusty joining him. The whole I’m-sleeping-with-the-guy-in-the-other-band glossed over in favor of anatomy.
“So are you guys okay with me seeing Jason? I mean, nothing is going to change with the band. I’m not leaving or anything and it doesn’t affect the tour.”
The band was my family, and while other people’s opinions didn’t matter to me, theirs did. It was important. Next to my dad, Rusty and the guys were all I had.
“Angie, see, date, fuck or whatever it is you want to call it, whoever you want. We know you’re with us.” Max’s warm smile said more than his words. There was no judgment here.
“Yeah, there is no breaking up this band.” Joey tossed a stick before catching it midair, his goofy grin putting me at ease.
“Rus?” I knew he had his reservations, knowing better than anyone how bad this could potentially end up, but his endorsement was the one I craved the most.
“Whatever makes you happy, babe.” His eyes meeting mine as he shot me a wink. “But I’m not calling him dad.”
His wisecrack earned him enthusiastic laughter from the others. They were so easily amused.
“You’re all assholes.” More guitar picks were thrown at them. The endless supply of picks and strings was a very cool perk of playing with the big boys. Thanks Power Station.
“Yeah, but you love us.” Rusty deflected the plastic shrapnel with very little effort. He was right—I loved them.
“Yeah I do. Now let’s do this sound check before the audio guy gets any angrier. He’s been giving us a stare down for the last ten minutes.”
There was a definite theme with the songs. The ones Angie would chose for her colorful finales. Last night’s effort had been “Black Widow” By Iggy Azeala. Not very subtle.
It was so obvious I wasn’t sure how I’d missed it. Each song, a new hidden message. It was kind of adorable but mostly sexy. Impressive too. That her band was able to churn out a new tune every night. Sure, occasionally they messed up, a dropped note that hardly anyone would even pick up, but for the most part they nailed it. And Angie—was flawless.
If her renditions were supposed to piss me off or offend me, she’d failed. It just made me want her more. If that could even be possible, considering I’d pretty much wanted her all the fucking time.
Not sure what kind of death wish I was rocking by making Angie and me a regular thing, but it was one I didn’t have any intention in changing. The fact she didn’t kiss my ass just made it better. Safer almost. Less chance of it ending in tears. Which is exactly what I needed to avoid.
Our time in Boston was over, with a new show—and no doubt new song—awaiting us at our next destination.
New Haven was next.
My fingers mindlessly ran across the keys, playing some tune that had been stuck in my head for days. The messed up bed served as an impromptu stand. It wasn’t even a song I’d been working on, just noise, but I kept playing it anyway.
“Is that Chopin?” Angie walked in from the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around her body, another twirled around her head.
“Nope, just noise.” I stopped playing, flexing my fingers as I lifted them off the keys.
“Well it was good. I liked it.” She sat in my lap, her hands moving my fingers back to the keys. “Play for me.”
“Maybe later.” My fingers found a better place to be as they wrapped around Angie’s waist.
“Fine, be a spoilsport.” Her hands went down to the keyboard as she tried unsuccessful to make something sound musical. “I’m pretty sure I remember it.”
“I know what you’re doing each night.” I figured having the conversation while she was half-naked on my lap meant less chance she’d be able to pull a dodge and run.
“Blowing your mind with my amazing sex moves? I didn’t think I was trying to hide it.” She didn’t look up from her fingers, bung notes flying left, right and center.
“Sex moves isn’t a thing, Angie.”
“Sure it is, and if its not then I’m copyrighting that tomorrow. Because it should be. It’s okay Jase, you’ve got them too, just not as impressive as mine.”
“That’s not what I meant, but your diversion tactics are also impressive.” My hands moved on top of hers, no longer able to suffer the torture of her rendition. My assist meant at least her fingers were hitting the right keys even if the timing was jacked-up.
“So what did you mean?” She ditched the playing altogether, her body twisting toward me. Those eyes I loved so much sent a shiver right down to my cock as they gave me their full attention.
“I know what you are doing with the songs. It’s cute.” My fingers picked up where hers had bailed, the notes ringing out despite the distraction.
“Cute? Cute?” she scoffed. “Take it back before I start playing again and prove how uncute I am.” Her hands T-rex’d in front of her ready to assault my keyboard.
“Fine, it’s not cute,” I conceded, not wanting the ebonies and ivories to be subjected to her wrath. Or my ears for that matter. As a keyboard player, she made an excellent guitarist. “Clever then. Inventive.” My offered replacements.
“Those adjectives are much better. Your instrument is safe.” She lowered her hands and settled back into my lap, appeased.
“And sexy as hell,” I added, no longer interested in the bullshit I was playing.
“Really?” She didn’t even try and hide how pleased she was. “Tell me more about how sexy it is.” The smile it earned me worth every second.
“Very sexy.” I leaned in closer. “You need visual demonstration?” My hand moved to her thigh, sliding under her towel.
“Nope. Not right now.” She sprung up out of my lap, grabbing the phone off the nightstand. “I’m ordering room service. I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to find what you want on the menu.” I leaned back into my chair and watched her bite her lip as she waited to order.
“Fine,” She tossed the phone to the side as she settled again in my lap. “Just wait until my encore tonight, buddy. We’ll see who wants what from the menu.” Her mouth fusing to mine as my hands got busy.
We eventually did order food, but only after we’d both had our fill of each other. Which didn’t leave much time for anything else. Not a problem as far as I was concerned.
So when I found myself a few hours later in my usual spot stage side while she sang, I couldn’t help but grin at her song choice.
“Buttons.” By Pussy Cat Dolls. And loosening up her buttons was not a fucking problem at all.
****
East Rutherford, New Jersey.
“So, why the Army?” Angie leaned over the front of my treadmill; the only part of her body currently getting a workout was her mouth.
“Give me two miles and I’ll tell you.” My head tilted to the treadmill beside me that could use some feet on the belt.
“How about you
run them for me and I’ll give you a blowjob.” She smirked.
“Jesus, Angie.”
“Is that a yes? Talk and run, you’ll be rewarded later.” She leaned over the display and cranked up the speed slightly. “And feel free to take your shit off at any time”
Had to hand it to her. She made an excellent case.
My past wasn’t something that was publicized. Lawyers, NDA’s and a lot of coin kept the shit buried. That, coupled with the fact most people who knew anything about it weren’t the most reliable sources, meant People magazine would be running another feature on Kim Kardashian’s ass before they’d get anything on me. Plus—for the cheap seats—I was the keyboard player. Fucks given, total of none.
“I got into trouble as a teenager, more so than most because I was running with a bunch of morons whose future looked set to include orange jumpsuits. And my moving in the wrong circles saw me making some choices that weren’t the best for my personal growth. So it was either serve jail time or enlist.”
My chest burned from having to talk while my feet kept moving, my neck starting to prickle with sweat.
“You were a criminal?”
Cue the wide-eyes and open jaw that I was one hundred percent expecting.
“I had a juvie record, it’s sealed. Breaking and entering, petty larceny, destruction of property, getting into fights. Nothing huge but enough to get me on the wrong side of the law. But I got a DUI when I was seventeen, almost killed myself by wrapping my car around a tree. So I made the change.”
“Wow. Jason. Um.”
“Not what you thought I was going to say, right?”
“No.”
“See, not so honorable am I?”
She didn’t answer, her hand reaching over and pulling the emergency stop key, the belt underneath my feet grinding to a sudden stop.
“Fuck me.” Her eyes spelling out exactly what those words meant, her lips parted in invitation.
“We’re in a hotel gym, Angie. Security cameras. People.” Not to mention I was slick with sweat and smelled like yesterday’s gym socks. “You don’t need to prove a point.”
“I’m not trying to prove a point. Fuck me anyway.”