Once in a Lifetime: (Becky) (Unnamed Duo Book 1)

by Luana Ferraz

  “You were right, by the way,” I say as I walk back to my guitar. “You do look good on TV.”

  Then he smiles. The honest smile. My smile.

  ***

  Do you know what’s something I hadn’t noticed before? How difficult it is to get a moment alone. We’re constantly surrounded by people everywhere we go—the roadies, the band members, Neil and Seth, the venue’s staff. Suddenly, there are people everywhere, all the time.

  ‘Was my behavior in accordance with your standards?’ Tyler texts me.

  ‘A+’ I text back, already smiling.

  ‘So, where’s my demonstration?’

  I swear, I try to reward him. We meet up backstage, first checking our dressing rooms, which are populated, then trying to find an empty room—there’s none. All the rooms that aren’t locked have people inside. We try the bathroom, but decide against it since it would be an easy place for the others to find us. We walk up to the balcony and find Neil there, on a call meeting. He casts suspicious glances at us as we walk back down.

  “Let’s just do it here,” Tyler says, stopping in the middle of the corridor.

  And I’m tempted. It’s dark, and there’s no one around, and he smells so good.

  “There you are!” Jake comes out from one of the doors. “Your presence is being requested over here.”

  Tyler hesitates for a second before sighing and following him. I grunt in frustration. I’m walking back to my dressing room when he texts me.

  ‘Meet me under the stage in five.’

  ‘Gross,’ I reply. Yet, I find myself walking to the stage to find a way under it. I’ll decide if Tyler is worth the effort after I see how filthy the floor is.

  I’m distracted with those thoughts, so I only spot Tristan and Paul when they’ve already seen me. Tristan is sitting behind his drums while Paul is kneeling beside him. Both of them turn to me wide-eyed. Paul immediately starts to fumble with the plates, but I have the impression he wasn’t adjusting the instrument before I made an appearance.

  “There,” Paul says after half a second. He stands up and starts to leave, but then turns around and points to Tristan. “Remember what I said.”

  He waits until Tristan nods and then rushes past me, without even glancing up.

  “What did he say?” I ask.

  “Just the usual,” he shrugs. I don’t know what the usual is, and I actually couldn’t care less about anything Paul says, so I don’t insist. When the silence starts to drag on, Tristan asks, “What are you doing here?”

  I hesitate. I can’t say why I came back to the stage, but I also can’t leave without a word.

  “Well…” I look around. An idea forms when I spot one of the acoustic guitars. “I was thinking about practicing a little more.”

  He frowns. He doesn’t believe me. “Did you seriously forget the lyrics?”

  “No,” I lie. “I’m just trying to annoy your brother.”

  “Now I believe you,” he smiles, looking at me with a funny expression. “Did he give you a hard time during your trip?”

  “When does he not?” I joke and he chuckles again. “He didn’t, though, actually. In fact, he was quite… helpful,” I feel the urge to clarify. I owe him that.

  “He can be.” Tristan’s eyebrows rise an inch and he nods slowly.

  I feel things quickly escalate to awkwardness. So, I walk to the guitar and pick it up. When I start to play, Tristan follows, reciting the lyrics with me. Only then I realize he has a beautiful singing voice. I play it a second time, trying to harmonize with him. He laughs, but we manage.

  “Don’t you want to join my band?” I ask, making him laugh again. “I bet Pete would approve.”

  He stops laughing a little too suddenly, looking back at me with wide eyes.

  “Did he… did he tell you?” he asks.

  My heart starts to race. I obviously don’t know what he’s talking about, but I want to know. So, I use the strategy I use on Pete—say nothing until he assumes things and starts blabbering. It works. I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “God, of course he told you, you’re his best friend,” he sighs, burying his face on his hands. “Is he mad? I bet he’s mad, isn’t he? He hasn’t talked to me the whole day.”

  “He isn’t mad. Not at you, anyway,” I say. It’s not a lie. And I still have no idea what we’re talking about, so I continue, “He’s more mad at himself.”

  “But it’s not his fault,” he argues. “I was the one to initiate it.”

  I sit very still. Things start to connect together in my head. I don’t have time to get to my own conclusions, though, because Tristan spells it out.

  “He did kiss me back, though.”

  Fuck! They… they kissed??? When did this happen? How?

  “Y-you—” he stops himself, staring at me with wide eyes. “You didn’t know?!”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m also failing to conceal my absolute shock.

  “Fuck!” he yells, standing up and starting to pace back and forth. “Fuck, why do I have to fuck everything up?”

  “Tris,” I get up, too, following him. “Calm down.”

  “Calm down?!” he yells again. I don’t blame him—telling a person to calm down is really dumb. “How can I calm down? I just potentially ruined his relationship and my chances of being friends with him!”

  “I don’t think… I don’t think that’s accurate,” I say. Now, Pete’s recent behavior makes total sense.

  “He won’t even look at me!”

  “Well, what did you expect?” I blurt out, making him stop. He looks… hurt. Damn. “Look, he’s really… he’s in a very delicate situation right now.”

  “I know,” he sighs, defeated. “I knew it and I did it anyway.”

  That doesn’t sound good. It sounds like he took advantage of the situation. Did he? Does it matter? Pete kissed him back. Pete kissed Tristan while trying to solve his problems with Lindsey and didn’t tell me about it. How could he look me in the eye and not even hint at it? I was right to be concerned.

  “Do you like him?” I ask.

  He seems surprised by the question. He looks at me, frowning at first, but then kind of smiling.

  “Yeah,” he says with another sigh. “Yeah, I like him a lot.”

  “You should talk to him, then,” I find myself saying.

  “And say what?” he scoffs. “Apologize? I’d be lying because I’m not really sorry for what I did. But I also didn’t want to hurt him. Or Lindsey. I really like Lindsey, too.”

  “Tell him… tell him exactly that,” I suggest.

  I’m not sure it will do any good. I probably would just stay away if I was him. Hide until the tour is over and then run home and forget anything happened. I might still do it, actually.

  “Okay,” he sighs. I smile, trying to be reassuring. “Can we… can we keep this between us?”

  “Of course!” I tell him and the next thing I know he’s hugging me. It feels a lot like Pete’s hugs—full-body, bone-crushing. I hug him back.

  When he lets me go, he looks at me with a funny face. “Do you like him?”

  “Pete?” I ask.

  “No,” he smiles, “my brother.”

  I widen my eyes again. I feel my cheeks flush. My stomach somersaults inside my body. I can’t answer.

  “Okay,” he says after a while. “I won’t tell him.”

  ***

  I burst back into my dressing room fully intending to confront Pete and his secret-keeping ways. He’s not alone, though. He, Lindsey and Seth are sorting through our new batch of merch.

  “Right on time!” Seth beams. “Come have a look, we have a few different items.”

  I walk over to them, still casting a betrayed glance at Pete. He notices it. He notices my stare has meaning. Which unfortunately means he starts to actively avoid me.

  I follow him around—both physically and with my eyes—but I only have a chance to tell him we need to talk when we’re gett
ing mic’ed up for the show.

  After it—which was remarkably better than yesterday—he engages in conversation with Neil and Jake. I try to drag him to the merch booth, but he manages to make Neil intercede and stop us.

  When The Hacks finish their set and we all gather together backstage, I decide I’ve had enough.

  “Let’s go out,” Pete suggests loudly before I have the chance to say a word. “Let’s go dancing.”

  I observe his frightened expression, ready to refuse it and make him talk. But something in his eyes remind me I’ve been such an awful friend lately. There’s a reason he didn’t tell me about the kiss. There’s a reason he still doesn’t want to talk about it.

  “Okay,” I end up saying. Let him have it his way.

  The decision quickly turns into a celebration for us and our upcoming article, so everyone decides to join in. This time, we decide to run back to the hotel and get properly ready. That is, as properly ready as a bunch of tired musicians on tour can.

  I shower and change as fast as I can. I still have ten minutes to spare when I’m ready, which I vainly decide to spend doing my make-up. I know, I know. Priorities.

  I’m the last one to get to the lobby, which yields me a round of applause.

  “Thank you, thank you, I try,” I roll my eyes.

  “Definitely worth the wait,” Tristan smiles, offering me his arm.

  “Why, thank you,” I lace my arm with his, purposefully avoiding Tyler’s eyes. The whole turn of events with Pete meant I stood him up earlier. I’m not ready to find out how mad he is. “Is it possible that I am your type?”

  “Maybe for tonight,” he grins, lighting up the whole place.

  “Okay, guys,” Tyler clears his throat. “The cars are waiting outside.”

  This time we pick a less popular and more secluded place, trying to follow Neil’s recommendation. It’s still a club—dark, loud music, drunk people dancing—but it feels a lot more tasteful. Once inside, we immediately split into smaller groups, which I’m grateful for, since I’m not looking forward to spending the whole evening with Todd and his sidekick Paul.

  I follow Lindsey to a table on the back, while Tyler and Pete head over to the bar to order us drinks.

  “This is nice,” she comments when we sit down. “And you look amazing.”

  “Well, you’re one to talk,” I say, looking down at her little black dress.

  “Date night and all,” she blushes.

  “Is it?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.

  “Isn’t it?” She gives me the same look, and then I blush.

  The boys come back with the drinks and Tristan. I get anxious because I don’t know if they talked, but when the conversation starts to flow easily, I relax. Apparently, everyone is trying to behave. The chat gets louder and more animated as our blood levels of alcohol increase. The group splits again, as Pete, Lindsey and Tristan talk among themselves, excluding Tyler and me. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, but I can’t stop watching them.

  “What is going on between them?” Tyler whispers to me after a while.

  “I think they might be planning a threesome,” I joke, already maybe too drunk.

  “I think they picked the wrong brother, then,” he says and I turn my head to him. My heart jumps in my chest because he’s closer than I expected.

  “Would you be interested?” I ask.

  “Not with Pete,” he says, and does that thing where he stares into my eyes and then at my lips. It’s becoming scarily familiar.

  “Do you wanna dance?” I ask suddenly. I need to regain a bit of space.

  “I thought you didn’t dance?” he frowns.

  “Maybe you can teach me.”

  His eyes widen the same way they did in rehearsal. I smile. I like it. He doesn’t answer, but guides me to the dance floor anyway.

  It starts off so awkwardly that I almost regret suggesting it. Our movements are slow and restrained. Our eyes wander over every part of each other, but never meet. An image of him humping and twerking forms on my mind, and I turn around. You’re not his type.

  I feel him getting closer. I glance back and sync my body with his. He’s still not touching me, so I take one step back. We fit perfectly. He puts his hands on my waist, so lightly I can barely feel them. I put my hands over his, trying to show him it’s okay, and he leans even closer. I can feel his breath on my neck and it starts getting hard to move.

  I reach my hand back, grabbing his hair—his smooth hair. I remember touching it last night. I remember how his lips felt on mine, the taste of his tongue, the way he smelled. Shit. This is torture.

  One of his hands travels to my stomach, pulling me tighter against him. I cock my head to the side, pulling my hair out of the way, and his mouth touches my skin. I can barely conceal the shiver, and that seems to give him confidence. The kissing becomes harder and moister. He works his way up my neck with patience I certainly can’t match until he reaches my earlobe.

  I turn around and his mouth finally meets mine.

  It’s the best kiss yet. His lips are soft and delicious, his tongue moves slowly against mine. I can taste the vodka and strawberries on it. His fingers gently caress the back of my neck. His other hand firmly holds me by the small of my back. There’s no space between us and, somehow, I still want to get closer.

  He breaks away, cupping my face with the hand that was on my waist. He looks at my lips intently.

  “It doesn’t smear,” he whispers. I smile. Which makes him smile. We need to get out of here.

  “Do you want to go somewhere else?” I ask.

  His eyes travel up to meet mine. Again, he doesn’t even answer—he just nods and the next thing I know he’s leading me out the club by the hand.

  He calls an Über before we even step outside. We’re about to continue what we started while we wait when we notice a group of girls across the street staring at us. One of them waves and the other two giggle. They’re drunk. They’re fans. I’m mortified.

  “Can we take a selfie?” They stumble in our direction.

  “My God, you’re so hot,” one of them says while Tyler tries to be professional.

  “This is really happening, then,” another one points to me.

  “Guys, come on,” Tyler snorts, in an ‘as if’ tone.

  You’re not his type.

  But he didn’t mean it like that, right? He’s just trying to divert them. Trying to play it cool. If he didn’t want me, what just happened inside wouldn’t have happened at all. He could just easily pick anyone else to bring back to his room. As he must have done after every other concert.

  Shit. I try to shush my brain, but the spell is broken. The heat and dizziness from a minute ago is crispy clear air. I start to shiver.

  The four minutes we have to wait for the car are excruciating. When it finally arrives, we drive off in awkward silence. We can’t even look at each other. I don’t understand. He thinks this is a mistake, too.

  My head starts to hurt. I decide I’ll blame it on the booze. I shouldn’t have drunk so much on a work night. We have a show tomorrow, we’re still sounding like crap, we should be already in bed—separately. I start to think of an excuse, of how to explain we shouldn’t be doing this, why this isn’t a good idea.

  And then we reach the hotel. And our floor. And his door.

  I don’t have time to hesitate—he pulls me in and suddenly his tongue is inside my mouth again. I walk slowly backwards as he slams the door shut and lets his hands slide down my back. They travel a little further down my waist, as I tangle both of my hands into his long, slick hair.

  He breaks the kiss to move to my neck and his hands go back to my waist. He’s taking his time and I’m so aware of the way I’m breathing that I’m embarrassed.

  Once again, I’m confused. This is not going how I thought it would in my head. Not that I ever thought it would go anywhere, it’s just that having seen him with those girls before I expected a different thing? Something like a dog-in
-heat approach. We would probably be over with all of this if he was a little less sexy. And I wouldn’t be… feeling all these things.

  Christ, why even casual sex has to be so complicated for me? Why can’t we just do it? Why can’t I stop him and just throw him on the bed?

  We reach the dresser and he stops the kissing to breathe. I take the opportunity to slide my hands down over his chest. He leans his forehead on mine and closes his eyes. I reach the hem of his white t-shirt and start to run my fingers back up, underneath it. He holds his breath and I can’t even start to explain what that does to me. I try to be as gentle as he’s being, but my hands are clumsy and hasty, and his shirt is on the floor in two seconds.

  I don’t get much time to enjoy the view as his mouth almost instantly covers mine. His hands slide down my back to my bum, which, surprisingly, he doesn’t squeeze. He just rests them there, lightly, barely touching. I discover I like it.

  I run my hands up his back, using just my fingertips. His skin is tender and warm. He clutches the hem of my shirt when I make my way from his mouth to his neck, kissing and licking as slow as I can manage.

  He starts to pull my shirt up, letting his fingers slide across the sides of my body. Suddenly I remember I’m not wearing a bra. Suddenly I remember he’ll get to see my practically inexistent breasts. My slightly pouchy tummy. The ugly scar from the appendectomy I underwent when I was seven. He told you you’re not his type.

  “Is this okay?” he breathes in my ear, interrupting my thoughts.

  His palms are pressed against my sides, just an inch away from reaching my boobs. His fingers are drawing circles on my back. I just… I just really want to know how it feels.

  “Yeah,” I whisper back and he lets his hands close around my small bosom.

  Again, he doesn’t grab, he doesn’t press, he just touches. Lightly. Sweetly. Sexily. I let him pull the shirt from my body and look me down. I feel exposed, like I never did before, not even in my first time.

  He just looks, from a distance, letting his eyes lay longer on some specific parts—my hips, my waist, my neck. I’m afraid of what might be going on in his head but, when his eyes meet mine, he smiles again. He looks flustered and that relaxes me a little bit, and only then I am reminded he’s shirtless and I have yet to see what he looks like.