by Meg Ripley
“Why the hell should we be secretive about it?” In a matter of moments, I had gone from—if not being against Fran’s idea of openness—wanting to take it a bit slow to perversely feeling like my own band were trying to cock-block me. They kind of are, I thought. They want you to keep shit even more on the DL than you were before—fuck that. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m going to do a press conference tomorrow and try to bend Fran over the podium or something but it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.”
“Just—keep it as private as you can,” Ron suggested, looking from Fran to me. “You’re not doing anything wrong but you are doing something that people are going to want to talk about when they know it’s happening.”
“Jules—are you really ready to get a hundred questions about what you and Fran are doing together?” I looked over at Nick; he smiled sympathetically, and I thought to myself that of all the members in either band, he probably understood the situation the best. After all, he’d hooked up with Olivia on our last tour—technically before the tour had started, but they’d hashed out their relationship on the bus together while going from one city to another.
“No,” I admitted. I glanced at Fran from the corner of my eye. “Are you?” She met my gaze and then shrugged.
“Not really,” she said, though I could see there was another answer she wanted to give. “I mean, I don’t want drama any more than anyone else in here does. I just…think it’s stupid to sneak around when we’ve been going at it for two months.”
“We’ve got maybe three weeks left of this tour,” Ron said, looking from Fran to me. “Then you guys are all going to be back home, and working on the EP you’re putting out together.”
“What’s your point, Ronnie?” I crossed my arms over my chest. My groin ached. Having Nick walk in on us had gotten rid of my erection pretty fast—but that didn’t mean it hadn’t ever happened. I wanted more than anything to get a little privacy and take care of my problem; and the prospect of sitting in the rec room of the bus for another hour, debating whether or not Fran and I were doing the right thing, was like being tortured with paper cuts.
“Keep it to yourselves as much as possible,” Ron said. “If you get caught after taking the normal level of precautions you have been—whatever. But don’t take this as license to just…”
“Indiscriminately fuck anywhere they feel like?” I snorted at Nick’s comment.
“Just do what you can to keep from having to do another press conference to explain how you two hooked up and whether you’re engaged or not,” Ron said matter-of-factly. “Because I don’t think either of you would enjoy dealing with the drama of that any more than I would.”
“It’d probably boost sales, though,” Mark said, grinning.
“Enough,” Alex said. “We’ll talk about it more later. Right now, I just want to get in my bunk and talk to my girlfriend. Who’s on the same page?” He looked around the room and one by one, the members of both my band and Fran’s nodded. Alex stood and stalked out of the rec room, towards the bunks, and I watched as the rest of my band mates left, too. By tomorrow they’ll be giving me all kinds of shit, I thought bleakly, reaching into my pocket for a pack of cigarettes. I shifted in my seat, looking over at Fran, who’d gone quiet—but who hadn’t left with everyone else. Ron had found his way to the office he kept on the bus, Hannah had gone off somewhere, too, and Jaime, Nate, and Kieran as well.
“What do you think of this shit?” I shook a cig free of the pack and found my lighter in another pocket.
“I think I’m never fucking anyone in a supply closet again,” Fran said, turning towards me. “Got another?” I nodded and handed her the pack and the lighter.
“You know what I mean, though,” I said, taking a drag of smoke into my lungs and holding it for a second before I blew it out.
“Yeah,” Fran said, lighting up. “I know.” She sighed, exhaling smoke in a gush around her face. “I just…is right now really the time you want to be talking about whatever we want to call this?” I considered that question.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I figure you’ve been trying to talk about it for a week or two now; we might as well get it over with, since everyone knows about it at this point.”
“We’ve got two more weeks of touring,” Fran said, taking another quick drag of smoke. “And then maybe a week off and then we’ll head into the studio to make the EP.”
“Maybe we can get them to bump it up to a month,” I said, smiling slightly.
“Even then…” Fran shrugged. “What do you want this to be?” She looked me dead in the eyes.
“I know I’m not really into sneaking around if we don’t have to—not when we’ve already been caught,” I said. I pulled some smoke into my lungs. “But I also don’t want to be tabloid darlings.”
“Me either,” Fran said, sighing. “I just want…” she shrugged again. “I don’t know what I want.”
“You like having sex with me,” I said, making it almost a question—but not quite.
“Well duh,” Fran said, smirking. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t keep doing it.” I snickered.
“You would because—remember—there’s no one else you can fuck on this bus, really.”
“I have Angelo,” Fran pointed out tartly.
“Right,” I said, flicking the ash on the end of my cigarette into the ashtray next to me. “Anyway—you like fucking me. I like fucking you. We don’t hate each other’s guts anymore.”
“I don’t think we actually ever did, if you really think about it,” Fran said. She leaned across the space between us and flicked the tip of her cigarette into the tray. “But yeah. We don’t hate each other.” She smiled slightly. “I actually enjoy spending time talking to you. I actually like you. Weird, huh?”
“Who’d have thought?” I shook my head. “What do you want this to be? Just having sex and a good time—or something more than that?”
“I asked you first,” Fran said, raising an eyebrow. I continued smoking for a moment, trying to find a way to answer without actually answering.
“I don’t know,” I admitted finally. “I like how things are right now.” Fran scratched at her scalp with her free hand.
“But you like me,” Fran said. “Beyond the sex part of things.” I pressed my lips together.
“I do,” I said, nodding.
“We probably shouldn’t talk about this right now, huh?” Fran smiled wryly. I sighed.
“Probably not,” I agreed. “Just thought I’d try.”
“Better wait until the actual tour is over,” Fran suggested. “See if we feel…certain, or whatever.” I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out.
“I’m going to my bunk,” I said, giving Fran a wry smile. “You know how it is.”
“I’ll say ‘hi’ to Angelo for you,” she told me, giving me a little grin.
CHAPTER TEN
It was the last show of the tour; we were playing a gig in Atlanta, and then we’d drive straight down to Miami again. It had been two weeks since I’d done anything at all with Fran. “Yo—Jules,” Mark said, coming into the back of the tour bus where I sat, working on a tour journal entry.
“What?” I didn’t look up.
“What’s the story? You’ve been more—I dunno. Pensive or brooding or whatever it’s called.” I shrugged.
“Just fucking tired,” I told him, reaching blindly for my pack of smokes. I finished the sentence and looked up. “Glad the promo tour is done tonight.”
“Be real with me,” Mark said, meeting my gaze. He grabbed a cigarette of his own and lit up. “You and Fran Chambers?” I shrugged and took a drag of smoke.
“It’s a thing. Dunno what kind of thing, but there you have it.”
“Fucking hell,” Mark said, shaking his head. “You’ve been at it two months? For real?”
“For real,” I told him, nodding with a little smile. “Did you think we were just making it up?”
“I don’t know, man,” Mark sa
id, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I mean I know Nick walked in on you, but Christ. I thought you hated her.”
“That.” I blew smoke out of my lungs and sighed. “That is going to fucking plague me for the rest of my life, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t even want to do the tour because of it, Jules,” Mark pointed out. “You were going to turn down half a million for the sake of it.”
“We’re long past that now,” I said, flicking an ash into the ashtray. I set the laptop aside.
“So where are the two of you taking this?” I shrugged.
“We haven’t decided,” I replied. “Neither of us wants to come clean with what we want, so until then we’re up in the air.”
“No one’s walked in on you since,” Mark said, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothing’s happened since,” I pointed out. “Can’t walk in on something that’s not happening.”
“That blows.” I laughed.
“Yeah, it kind of does,” I agreed. “Hand’s getting a fucking workout.”
“She is pretty hot,” Mark said. “You’ve banged worse.” I rolled my eyes.
“Coming from you? You’d bang a fucking shoe if it was curvy enough.” Mark laughed out loud.
“Hey—don’t knock fucking shoes,” he told me jokingly. “They don’t expect a phone call in the morning and you can’t get them pregnant.” I snorted.
“So, it’s an actual thing—you and Fran?” I shrugged.
“It’s as much a thing as either of us are up to right now, even without the sex.”
“I’ll try and help a brother out,” Mark said, smirking. “Get everyone to party it up for the last night. Beg to go to the Clermont Lounge, then you and Fran can have the bus to yourselves.” I snickered.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll play out just like that.” The fact was that I’d take any chance to have at least fifteen minutes alone with Fran at that point—and twenty or thirty would be even better. Maybe an hour. We had to make up for lost time, after all. “See what you can do.”
“You know Nick’s never going to let you live it down though, right?” I nodded. The other day, during one of the bullshit promotional interviews we’d had to do at yet another radio station, Nick had spent the entire time dropping hints—little comments about “how close we’re all getting as bands,” and “the need for companionship” and shit like that. It was just enough to get a sharp look from Alex.
“Yeah, I figure I’ll be getting texts about it when we’re back in Dade,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever. It is what it is.”
“Even if you don’t know what it is, exactly?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Even then,” I agreed. “Let me finish this bullshit for the site.”
“I’ll come get you in a bit; Nate wants to smoke out.” I nodded and turned back to the blog post, thinking to myself what a fucking fiasco that part of the agreement had been.
From the label’s perspective, it was a huge success; getting us and the members of Juniper Woolf to update it every day had driven a lot of traffic to the site, which had resulted in people ordering merch—including our last album—and there was some kind of ruckus at the label about “generating buzz” which I didn’t understand but apparently made them happier than a pig in shit. But if we ever did anything like this again—some kind of promotional deal with another band—I was going to put my foot down to Ron and insist that we get an actual journalist of some kind, at least some kind of fucking writer, to do the work of documenting it.
I’d just finished and posted the blog to the site when I heard someone else walking into the rec area. I looked up while I closed the laptop down and saw Nate. “What’s up?” Nate shrugged, slipping his hand into his pocket and coming up with a couple of joints.
“Fran’s doing some interview thing with a magazine, so I thought I’d come back here and see about getting lit,” Nate explained.
“Feel like sharing?” Nate set one of the joints aside and I handed him my lighter.
“Sure, man.” He got the joint going and took a hit, holding his breath for a second as he passed it. It was quality shit—probably more of Fran’s stash, I thought, when I passed the crackling, smoking joint back to him. “So you and Fran?”
“Jesus how many times do I have to have this conversation? I’m fucking tired of it,” I said, coughing through the heavy smoke.
“She just normally doesn’t hook up like that. It’s weird, is all,” Nate said before taking another hit. I took the J from him when he extended it to me and took as big a drag on it as I could handle. For a second we were both silent, holding the pot smoke in our lungs to get the most out of it. We both started coughing at almost the same moment.
“Yeah, she mentioned the first time we hooked up that normally she just takes care of things herself on tour,” I said; I doubted that it was a secret to any of her band mates. Hell—everyone in Molly Riot knew everyone else’s porn preferences and masturbation schedules. You couldn’t help knowing shit like that when you spent every waking moment together. It surprised me again that Fran and I had managed to pull off keeping our thing secret for so long.
“When was that?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You want to know the first time I fucked your lead singer?” Nate shrugged. I took another hit. “Right at the start. I think Orlando probably.” Nate snickered.
“I won the betting pool then,” Nate said, before bringing the joint to his lips.
“Betting pool? You sons of bitches bet on how long it would take Fran and me to hook up?” Nate nodded before blowing out acrid pot smoke.
“If it makes you feel better, Nick said it’d take you until the last night of the tour to hook up with her,” Nate told me. I rolled my eyes.
“How much did you win?” Nate looked up at the ceiling of the bus, swaying slightly as he struggled with the math.
“Few hundred bucks,” he told me, smirking.
“Give me fifty and we’ll call it even,” I said. Nate passed the joint; we’d almost finished it.
“Soon as I collect, my man,” he said, nodding. “I’m gonna spend the rest of it at the Clermont. You going to that?” I shook my head.
“I’m getting to be an old man,” I told Nate with a little grin. “Gonna come back on the bus and sleep until we get home.”
“Frannie said the same thing,” Nate told me with a knowing smirk. “Sleep well, compadre.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“All right, Atlanta—this is our last song,” Alex told the roaring crowd in the club. The shrieks climbed a few decibels and I looked over at Nick; he was grinning, basking in the attention. We all were.
Juniper Woolf had done their best to whip the crowd into a fury like always, and like always, we’d come out onto the baking hot stage to screaming fans ready to practically tear the place down. I had to admit, as tired as I was after the blitz of a promo tour, it felt good. It felt even better to know that everyone else on the bus was going to head over to Clermont Lounge after we cleared out of the venue for the night to party it up one last time before heading for home. Considering how late that strip club stayed open, I figured Fran and I would have most of the night to catch up on all the sex we hadn’t been having.
Behind me, Mark counted us in. I looked over at the wings; Fran was perched on a stool, watching, and I shot her a quick grin as I started playing our last song of the night. I turned my attention back onto the crowd, falling into the rhythm with Mark, Dan, and Nick. I could hear Alex’s voice through the monitor, just over the sounds of the screaming from the crowd. I grinned, plowing through, and the song dropped off into a jam as Alex came to the end of the third chorus. It was our last night on the road; we were going to milk it as long as we could. Nick and I traded solos, back and forth, as the crowd continued to cheer. Mark switched the beat up and we followed him into it, deepening the number. I had no idea how long it went on, but the audience stayed with us throughout the musical meandering, and finally
we plunged back into the main number, and Alex sang the chorus a final time.
The crowd continued shrieking and screaming and cheering as we left the stage, begging for another encore; but we were done for the night. I grabbed Fran on my way off the stage, dragging her with my arm around her waist as we made our way to the green room where everyone else waited. I kissed her cheek and used the movement to bring my lips to her ear. “Let’s get rid of everyone as quickly as possible,” I told her. She laughed out loud, barely audible above the roar of the audience.
In the green room, everyone was in a good mood; of course they were. We were on the last night of the promo tour, headed home in hours, and we’d packed the house and tore it up. The rest of the band and crew were more than ready for the Clermont Lounge, and I was more than ready to have a beer, take a shower, and get onto the bus with Fran.
“Who’s ready to get this shit started?” Jaime gestured to a row of bottles on the green room table.
“We’re taking that with us, right?” Nick snatched up a pint of whiskey.
“Of course,” Hannah said, beaming. “Just don’t destroy anything. We’re liable to the venue if you do.” Everyone cracked bottles—even Alex, though he opted for just a beer—and started getting ready to move onto the Clermont in their own ways. I stripped off my sweat-soaked shirt and threw it into my backpack, throwing on one that was probably almost as dirty but at least was dry and reminded myself that I’d be able to do laundry within a day.
The whole time we waited for the crew to clear everything away and load it on the bus, I felt like my nerves were jumping around under my skin. I kept looking in Fran’s direction; I couldn’t wait to get her alone. Whatever we were to each other, however long it lasted, I wanted her. I felt like my blood was simmering in my body, almost like I’d never left the stage, like it might start boiling at any moment.
Fran looked just as antsy as I felt, flitting back and forth across the room, sipping something in a red Solo cup. She was holding back—I knew she was. I’d seen her taking shots before, so I knew that she could handle much more than she was consuming.