He chuckles. "Not that you've been thinking about it?"
"Not at all."
"Uh-huh."
"I've been thinking about the video."
"Us naked in that bed?"
"We weren't naked."
"Not on film." The heavy tone of his voice screams but in your mind, we were very, very naked.
"No, I've been thinking about how much I respect you as an artist."
"As you touch yourself?"
"No, but what would be wrong with that? Respect is sexy."
He chuckles. "True."
"I… uh…" I stare back at him. I'm out of the dating game, but I'm pretty sure this is a go. He's practically screaming I want to fuck you. "I, um… we should probably get to it."
"To it?"
"Yeah… to, um… well… the other video." I stare back at him. "Unless you have another idea about how we should spend our afternoon."
9
Mal
I have a head full of ideas about how we should spend the afternoon.
I'm incredibly tempted to wrap my arms around Lacey's hips and pull her into my lap.
I'm incredibly tempted to push that cute pink dress to her waist. To tear off her panties and stroke her to orgasm.
To pin her to this couch, shimmy out of my jeans, and drive my cock inside her.
I'm just as tempted to kiss her.
I'm not sure if I'm thinking with my cock or my heart or my fucking curiosity.
But I know I'm not thinking with my head.
Her pretty brown eyes are fixed on mine.
Her lips part with a please fuck me sigh.
Damn, I need to stop taking in all the need in her posture or I'm going to give in to my cock's demands before my head is satisfied.
"You want to work here or—" I motion to the kitchen counter.
Or we could work upstairs. In my bed. Naked.
Fuck, I'm more patient than this.
"Hmmm. Here is probably best." She shifts in her seat, planting her feet on the ground. "I'm not sure the shock of being hired to direct a Dangerous Noise video has actually settled in."
Fuck, she really is cute. I nod. "Sure." I let my hand brush hers as I push myself to my feet. I bring her laptop from the counter to the couch. "You want tea?"
"That would be great." She looks up at me with a needy expression. "Thanks, Mal."
"Don't mention it." I keep one eye on her as I move into the kitchen and fix two cups of green tea. There was a tin of jasmine tea in her apartment. She might find this sencha too grassy. But something tells me Lacey likes trying new things.
Fuck, I hope she likes trying things.
She keeps one eye on me as she works on her laptop. Her fingers tap her exposed thigh. She's nervous.
About the video?
Or about being alone with me?
Both, maybe.
I bring our teas to the couch and hand one to Lacey.
"Thank you." She wraps her fingers around the handle and brings the mug to her lips. Her eyelids flutter closed. She lets out a soft sigh of pleasure.
Damn, that's a beautiful sound.
I force myself to take a seat next to her before my cock can override my judgment.
"I underestimated you." Her eyes meet mine. "This is good sencha."
I take a long sip. This is good sencha, but it doesn't compare to the pleasure in her brown eyes. "My favorite."
"Me too. Well, I don't know. Jasmine pearl is a little obvious, but it's earned that popularity. It's sweet and floral and… sorry, I love tea."
"And I?"
"You don't drink coffee because of your I'm a perfectionist vocalist diet. Tea is your second choice, isn't it?"
She's right. It is my second choice. But— "I've grown to love it."
"More than coffee?"
"Different. It has a softer flavor. Coffee is easy. Loud. Obvious."
She studies my expression. She must be connecting my description to some metaphor, but I'm not sure what it is.
Loud and obvious gets you far, especially in my business.
But I've never considered myself loud or obvious.
Even if that means I'm difficult or underappreciated.
She takes another sip. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Shoot."
"Do you want to be in love?"
Fuck, that is personal.
The surprise in my expression must be obvious, because Lacey is stammering. "I, um, I mean, you don't have to tell me. But I was thinking about the concepts. And about the album. I want the videos to be a part of the narrative. And the way the album reads now, it's about this guy with all these expectations thrust upon him. He's taking on the entire world. He's glad to do it. But it's hard. And the people he's supposed to count on—they aren't there. You can read those songs as breakup songs, but well… have you ever loved someone enough that a breakup hurt?"
"No."
"Do you… do you want to be in love with someone? Do you want to trust someone to help you carry all that weight?"
That's a fucking difficult question to answer. I love my bandmates. I love my siblings. I love my parents—
But that love makes me stupid. Every time they come around, I get my hopes up about us being a family again. All five of us. Every time, they let me down.
Every time, I feel like a fucking fool.
Then I go and do it again.
I have all these ideas about what we'll do when they're back. About how we're going to throw Piper an engagement party. About how Pipes is going to forgive Mom and Dad for abandoning us. How she'll ask Mom to help plan her wedding, ask Dad to walk her down the aisle.
I have all these ideas about how they'll finally show up at a Dangerous Noise concert. That they'll finally tell Ethan they're proud of him. And his eyes will light up the way they do when he steps onstage. And he'll be so fucking happy he could die.
The five of us will be a family.
Fuck, I want that so badly.
It's not the same as romantic love. Not at all. But that love I have for them brings me nothing but disappointment. Nothing but pain.
I know they're going to let me down. In my head, I know it.
But my stupid heart… it refuses to accept it.
Love hurts you.
"Shit, sorry. I don't want to pry. Well, I guess I do, a little. Art is supposed to force you to reach for all those things you'd rather keep secret." Her voice is soft but not apologetic. "What's that quote? Something about how writing is easy—you just bleed on the page."
"Something like that." I shouldn't move closer. I do it anyway. I let my knee brush against hers.
She shifts towards my leg. It's an unconscious gesture.
Her body wants mine.
"I'm not a writer. Well, not a good one. You should see my screenplays from college. Or my poems." Her cheeks flush. "Actually, don't see them. They're horrible. But I don't think writing is different from filmmaking at its core. It's another way of expressing an idea. And the Mal on the album—let's call him the character of the narrator."
"You really think that?"
"No. But that's the literary criticism way to think of it."
I shake my head. "It's bullshit. Call him Mal."
"Okay. Well, the Mal on the album, he has this longing. This need to connect. Do you think he wants to fall in love?"
"He wants to take care of someone."
She nods. "And the rest?"
I try to push my feelings aside. I try to look at the songs as if I'm not the person who wrote them. But I can't. Those songs are my blood and guts. I can't ask if he wants to fall in love.
The question stands.
Do I want to fall in love?
I don't fucking know. But I don't back away from this kind of thing.
I look back at Lacey. "Deep down, doesn't everyone?"
Her eyes light up with an idea. "Yeah. Deep down." She looks back to the screen. "Look at me. I just ended a four-year relationship. I left him,
but it still hurts. He's not my best friend anymore. I don't live in my apartment anymore. My friends are pissed at me for hurting him, because they don't get it, and I won't tell them. My life is fucking topsy-turvy. Consciously, I don't want to fall in love. But deep down… I still crave that connection, that safety, that warm feeling in my chest. Everyone must want love, deep down, or else pop music wouldn't exist."
"You miss him?"
"Adam?" She looks up at me. "Yeah, I do. But then… He got the worse end of it. I had to go to his place to get my camera."
"You don't need your camera for this."
She clears her throat. "Not technically."
"You wanted an excuse to see him."
"No." She presses her lips together. "Maybe."
"You're worried about him?"
"I guess. It was weird… like I was a ghost visiting my old life. But that was nothing compared to that look in his eyes. I broke his heart. I blindsided him."
"That's on him then."
"How?"
"Relationships never end abruptly. Especially not long ones. I bet the break up was in the back of your mind for a while."
"You have a lot of experience ending long relationships?"
"I know how shit goes."
"How?"
"Am I wrong?"
She presses her lips together. "No." Her voice is soft. She's not that bouncy, enthusiastic filmmaker anymore. She's a woman who's hurting.
"How long were you thinking about ending things?"
"Too long."
"Months?"
She nods.
"Years?"
Her eyes go to the floor. She stares at her leather sandals as she taps the carpet with her toes. "Too long."
"Was there one reason?"
"One big one." She swallows hard. "It was… you've never had a serious relationship?"
"Never."
"Well, you've been in Dangerous Noise for five years?"
"About that."
"There are probably days where you want to leave. Where you get pissed at somebody or you get tired of being on the road eighteen hours a day."
"There are moments."
"It was like that, at first. Little moments. I'd think can I really deal with this forever? Then we'd laugh again and I'd forget how much it hurt. That's normal. Everyone has moments. But the moments started coming more and more often. Then one day, I couldn't take it anymore." Her voice is contemplative. Almost like she's talking to herself. "Imagine leaving the band. Suddenly doing something else with someone else. Even if it was what you wanted, it's a big change. It's hard."
"Was it worth it, leaving him?"
"I don't know." She turns away. Her eyes go to the ground. "I think so. He was dropping hints about marriage. It was leave or stay forever."
"So you left?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
She shakes her head. "We're talking about you."
"You're more interesting."
"You're the only person in the world who thinks that."
"I doubt that."
"Name one other person."
"Your ex. But I doubt that helps my case."
"It doesn't."
"I'm stuck in my head all day."
I let my knee brush against hers again. Fuck, the way she shudders… It's inviting. I keep my thigh pressed against hers. I let my fingers brush against her arm. It's not enough. I need to touch her. I need to see her shudder like that as she comes.
My eyes meet hers. "I know every fucking word of these songs. I know every feeling in them."
"They're your feelings. You should know them."
"They started as my feelings. But once they're a song, they take on a life of their own. I start changing shit so it's true even if it's not accurate."
Finally, the frown fades from her expression. Her lips curl into a smile. Her brown eyes brighten. "Please, please, please, do not start with that what is truth, what is art bullshit."
"I thought you went to USC."
"I did."
"I thought the sellout kids went to USC and the true artists went to NYU."
"Fuck you." Her laugh lights up her dark eyes. Her entire face is luminous. She flips me off and waves her hand. "You're lucky you're beautiful. Or else I wouldn't let you get away with this stuff."
"Beautiful, and the face of the band."
"You do have a brother. Similar face."
"True." I laugh. "You should talk to Ethan, Joel, and Kit. Overthrow me. They'd probably be on board."
She raises a brow. You really think so?
Not most of the time. But sometimes I'm not sure. I do issue a lot of orders.
Someone has to be the one in charge.
I'm good at it.
And I don't care that it means I'm not adored.
She looks up at me with a smile. "You're making me forget my point."
"Why'd you leave your boyfriend?"
No more smile. She shifts back in her seat. Crosses her legs. Takes a long sip of her tea. "I haven't told anyone that."
"Anyone?"
"Not even Carrie." She stares into her drink. "I… I know I'm asking you to tear your heart out, but the video is about your song, your words. It's about you. It would be nice of me to reciprocate, but—"
"You don't have to so you won't?"
"Kinda." Her eyes meet mine. She searches for something, but she doesn't seem to find it. "Why do you want to know?"
"You're interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"You interest me."
She stares back at me, unblinking. "That's not an explanation."
"What's to explain? I want to know more about you. About your life and your feelings and your thoughts."
"And…" Her expression practically screams and my body?
Fuck yes, her body. "And?"
She clears her throat. Presses her knees together. Her hands go to the hem of her dress. She plays with the fabric like she's not sure if she wants to pull it down or up.
If I ask, she'll lose the dress.
I can snap my fingers and have her naked in my lap.
Not sure I'm going to be able to think straight until I make her come.
She taps her hands against her thighs. Her voice bounces with nervous energy. "I… I think we can lose the first concept. A screaming breakup in an apartment is easy to shoot and it's high emotion, but it doesn't fit." She looks back to me, not quite selling her switch from pleasure to business. "The second one is better, but it's still not quite the tone."
"I remember someone telling me Dangerous Noise songs are tragedy, tragedy, tragedy."
"Well… there's a lot of bad shit. But Tangled feels fun until you really listen. Even when you listen. It hurts but it feels good too."
My head fills with mental images of filling Lacey with just enough pain to heighten her pleasure. Somehow, I keep my voice even. Professional. "Go on."
"Well, Mal chasing a girl through all these places—a restaurant, a night club, an office. It's a little bit stalkerish, but the twist is that she's dead and haunting his dreams. That makes it work. What if ended with him being a ghost too? And he's trying to find his way back to her because they're these two lost souls?"
"Tragedy, tragedy, tragedy?" I offer.
She laughs. "Yeah, but hopeful."
"I still like it."
"Number three… I came up with something totally new." She folds her hands over the back of her laptop. Her eyes go to the screen then they fix on mine. "It's different."
"Good different?"
"I think so." Her eyes light up. She claps her hands together. "Okay, well, it starts like this epic monster movie. All the guys in the band are coming out of the ocean."
"Naked?"
"Of course. Why would anyone watch otherwise?"
I chuckle. That enthusiasm of hers is infectious. And I'm about as far from enthusiastic as it gets.
She continues. "We'll have to cover you in seaweed to make sure it's PG-13. But
the idea is that you're all coming out of the ocean, these grotesque sea monsters, and everyone is screaming and running away."
"I like it so far."
"And you're on this rampage of destruction, until you hear something. This song. It's coming from the pier. Or, it doesn't have to be the pier. We just need some good outdoor concert venue." Her eyes light up. Her voice is loud, excited. "You have to move closer. Then we go to the pier and we see that Dangerous Noise is playing a concert to a bunch of screaming fans."
"Clothed?"
"Sadly, yes. We'll have the monsters move towards the music. The closer they get, the less people are running, the more they're dancing. By the time they get to the mosh pit, they're a normal part of the crowd and everyone accepts them."
"Still naked?"
"Of course." She stares back at me, waiting for my response.
I'm tempted to torture her, but I don't want to risk her crumbling again. Even if she's seated comfortably on the couch.
"I love it," I say.
She beams. "Really?"
"Come to the show next week. You can pitch it to the other guys."
"Come to the show?"
I nod.
"Backstage, with the band?"
I chuckle. "That's where we'll be."
"Okay. But, it's kind of loud backstage, isn't it? I can scream, but I'm not sure my pitch will get the full attention it deserves between sets of—who else is playing?"
"Wicked Beat goes on before us."
Her eyes go wide. "Sure. I'd love to go. I'll make sure to pitch this one the best."
"The guys like to make my life miserable. They'll probably try to pick the one I hate the most."
"You're not in charge?"
"Tragically, we use democracy."
She laughs. "That would be tragic for the former dictator."
"I prefer calling it a republic."
"You're a senator?"
"Exactly."
"Like Chancellor Palpatine."
I chuckle. "Nerd."
"I went to film school. Not news. Besides, Star Wars is mainstream now. Didn't you get the memo?"
"Missed that one."
She smiles. "Okay, well, I'll play down how much you like it." She looks to her computer. "Shit, have we really been talking this long?"
"What time is it?"
"Almost one."
"Time flies when you're focused." Say, on a beautiful, interesting woman who is not supposed to be in your bed.
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 8