by Emily Snow
“Look.” He starts. “Tammy is all kinds of freaked out about you and Mel being buddies or whatever you’re calling it at this point.”
“And I care about this why?”
“Christ, Joss! What is your deal with Tammy these days? It’s like anything she says or does pisses you off. I feel like I spend all damn day tiptoeing around the two of you and whatever fucking axe you’ve got to grind.”
I sigh and run my finger along the glass top of the table, noticing how the drops of water from my arms have smeared across the surface, kind of like how my night with Tammy has smeared across the surface of my life.
“I don’t have any deal with Tammy,” I snap back. “I just don’t like being told who I can and can’t see. Tammy may be the boss of you, but she’s not my girlfriend or mother or sister. I don’t do her bidding, and she’d be smart to remember that.”
Walsh clears his throat. There are some guys who’d kick your ass if you talked about their fiancées that way, but I know Walsh isn’t one of them, so I push it farther than is kind.
“Look, Joss, I’m not here only because Tammy’s worried. I happen to agree with her on this one.” He holds up a hand, telling me to wait as I open my mouth to protest. “I’ve known Mel since she was ten years old, man. She’s like a little sister to me, and I care about her being happy. You’re my best friend, and as much as I want you to be happy too, I don’t think you’re the right thing for Mel.
“She’s not like us, man,” he continues. “She’s got this, I don’t know, this special way about her. She’s an artist, and she’s sort of a new soul or something, you know? You and me and Tammy, we’ve been around this whole life a few times. We’ve seen it and felt it all before, but Mel, she’s just discovering.”
I watch him, amazed that he really does seem to understand her. He sees her. He gets her, and in some ways it makes me sad. I thought I was the only one to see those things. I thought if I realized she was special, it meant I was special too, and now I see I’m one of many.
“In all the years I’ve known you, Joss, you’ve never stayed with one woman for more than a few weeks. You’re not a dog like Mike, but you’re also not the settling down kind. I’m worried you’ll hurt Mel, even if you don’t mean to.”
I ponder the tabletop some more before I finally look up at him. While I want to be the good guy, the guy who says, “Yeah, I hear you and I respect that you’re looking out for your future sister-in-law,” I can’t be. I’m already in too deep. I deserve my turn, dammit. I get to be happy too. So instead, I stand up, looking down at him, fisting and unfisting one hand at my side while the other holds the towel.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, man. I’m the first to admit that I’ve never stuck around with any one woman very long. I’ve never met one worth sticking to. But Mel might be that woman, and I’m not going to miss the chance to find out because you and Tammy are in overprotective-parent mode. Mel’s an adult. She can decide who she wants to see and when. I can promise you I’ll respect her, and I can promise you I won’t do anything to hurt her if I can help it. Other than that, it’s between me and Mel.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mel
I’ve been avoiding Joss for three days now. Through two more concerts, twenty hours of bus rides, two nights in hotels, and another of the band’s well-known green room post-show parties. He hasn’t made it easy, finding ways to approach me in dark hallways, empty rooms, and deserted hotel gyms. We both have a propensity to exercise late at night, and he’s used that to any advantage he could, which is quite a bit. There’s nothing to equal the sight of Joss Jamison shirtless running full-out on a treadmill. The term golden boy was invented for him. It’s like he was blessed with every attractive genetic trait a man could have.
We are now eight days into the tour and heading for Utah, or Colorado—I’ve actually lost track. I can see why they tell the guys what city they’re in every night before they go out on stage. We’re on a tight schedule tonight, so we all have to stay on the bus and sleep in the bunks. There are two really small bedrooms. Of course, Tammy and Walsh have one, Joss has the other, and Mike and Colin are relegated to the bunks in the hallway. I was surprised that neither one of them complained about that. Apparently, no matter how much Mike bitches that Joss is the king of the castle, deep down even he accepts Joss’s rule.
Meanwhile, the rest of us—really just me and the security guy—who don’t have a hotel room for the night, also get to sleep in small bunks that are built into the sides of the bus. They each have a curtain over them, and as long as you’re not claustrophobic, they’re not so bad. I like to pretend I’m a vampire and the bunks are the coffins. It works for me.
I’ve been on my laptop all evening editing photos, getting rid of shots that are unusable, and trying to get a sense of the storyline I want to create. It’s starting to come together piece by piece, and I have to say, I think it’s going to be a winner. The guys are so magnetic, and it really comes through in pictures. I don’t think they realize that even when they’re not performing they have this energy about them. It draws the eye and makes everyone who’s around focus on them. Even Colin, easily the least intense of the guys—with or without the chemical mellowing agents—has a certain something about him that is captivating. The bottom line is, together they’re pure charisma. The pictures have captured that and it bleeds all over the computer screen every time I look at the shots.
I have frozen the screen on a close-up photo of Joss and I’m studying the planes of his face when a low, rough voice says in my ear, “Why sit staring at an imitation when the real thing is right here?”
I swallow hard, my heart fluttering in my chest both at the surprise of Joss and his innuendo-laden words. This is the kind of crap he’s been doing to me all week. Sneaking up and trying to gain the advantage. I feel a little like a bird that’s been flushed from the undergrowth and is now being scoped by the hunter and his rifle as I frantically try to fly out of range. The only problem is I can’t fly off into the wide blue yonder. I’m trapped in a cage and the hunter’s right there with me.
“What do you need, Joss?” I ask in as neutral a tone as I can muster.
He sits down in the seat across from me, looking at me without saying anything for a few beats. “You’re avoiding me, Mel.”
I’m stunned by his bluntness. He hasn’t tried this tactic yet. There’s been flirting, small talk, work talk, but never has he tried to address the situation head-on.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I answer as I keep my eyes on the laptop screen, clicking here and there, messing with stuff I’m not even really seeing.
“Mel.” His voice is firm and commanding. I automatically look up at him. His gaze tells me he’s not screwing around anymore, and I’m suddenly very nervous. “You’re avoiding me. You have been since L.A., and I want to know why.”
I start to protest and he cuts me off. “Don’t. Don’t insult both of us. You were in that pool with me. I know you felt it too. You can’t just walk away from something like that and act like it never happened. If you’ve got concerns—or questions or feelings or whatever—about that night, then at least give me the common courtesy of voicing them instead of acting like a fourteen-year-old who’s too awkward to discuss sexual chemistry that nearly blew the fucking roof off the hotel.”
I sit, mouth agape, staring at him for a good thirty seconds before I can answer. I can’t decide which part of that statement to react to first. But it’s getting a reaction out of me. Of that, there is no doubt.
“What?” I finally manage. Oh, good one, Mel.
“You heard me,” he says, sitting back in his chair like he’s discussing the weather.
I look around to see who’s in hearing range. The rest of the gang seems to be safely ensconced with headphones or have gone to bed. Maybe that’s why he’s chosen now to do this. Given that it’s Joss, I doubt this assault was unplanned.
“Look,” I say quietly. “I had a nice time
in L.A., but I don’t think it’s something we should repeat. I mean, you’re Walsh’s best friend, and it upsets him and Tammy. We have to work together all summer. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He laughs, but it’s harsh and short. “You didn’t give a shit what Walsh and Tammy thought last week. In fact, you were complaining about them treating you like a child. Now you only want to please them? In spite of the fact that it means ignoring the most fucking amazing non-sex I’ve ever had in my life?”
“Non-sex?” I sputter. “What the hell is non-sex?”
“You know exactly what I mean, Mel.” He levels a glare at me.
And I do know. Kissing Joss was ten times more powerful than any orgasm I’ve ever had with another man. It was indescribable, indefinable, utterly so. And now, remembering it, I feel my face flush.
He leans across the table and folds my laptop flat. Before I can protest, he’s grabbed my hand and is stroking it with his thumb. His voice is low and gritty. “I repeat, why are you avoiding me, Mel?”
I sigh, as much from the glorious feel of his skin on mine as from the frustration I feel with this conversation.
“This won’t end well, Joss. I’m not what you want.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he growls, his brow furrowed as he watches his thumb stroking my hand almost as if it isn’t under his control.
“Look, I appreciate it. I’m flattered. Really. More than you could imagine. But I’m not cut out for all of this. Tammy warned me, and I can see she was right. I’m not like those women—the ones at your parties—I’m not worldly or cynical or whatever. You’ll get bored with me and I’ll get hurt, Joss. It’s not a good idea.”
He sits back, releasing my hand, and looks at me hard. He’s pissed, but there’s also hurt there, a pain in his eyes that reminds me of the look he had when I first saw him in the recording studio back in Portland. I realize now that he hasn’t looked like that in days and I wonder if it’s the tour or me that made the difference.
“Don’t you think if I wanted one of those women that’s who I’d have?” he asks. I have no answer to that so I keep quiet. “I’m not sure where you got the idea I want someone worldly or cynical, but I can assure you I don’t. I’ve been down that road, and I’m not interested. You can tell that to Tammy, by the way,” he says almost as an afterthought. “You’ve pigeonholed me in this rock star box and you don’t want to admit it may not be who I am. You’re going to listen to everyone else’s stories about me instead of really looking at me.”
“Joss,” I say, anguish in my voice. “You’re wrong, but you’re also a celebrity. You live a fast life, on the road, with sophisticated women and millions of dollars at stake every day and night. Until a month ago, I was a college girl. I’m starting a brand-new career. I don’t even know where I’m living after this tour is over. I’m not at a place in my life where I can keep up with you. Surely you see that?”
He stands up then, and my heart beats harder because I sense something has changed suddenly. “No, you know what I see? I see I was wrong about you. I thought you were someone who’d finally recognized me for who I really am. You’re obviously not. Sorry I wasted your time.”
I don’t see Joss again before I go to my little cubby bunk. But before I shut down the computer for the night, I check my university email. I’ve been avoiding it, mostly because I’ve been engrossed in my job, but also because I’m worried about what I might find. With the experience from this gig, I probably don’t need the Eddie Adams award to get a job, but I still wish I could win it. It’s been this carrot dangling in front of me as I trudged through six years of school, and it’s become a symbol of how hard I’ve worked to get here. To have it yanked away because of one mistake, one naïve moment, seems so unfair. But life isn’t fair, and when I open my email, there is a message from the Dean’s office.
I hold my breath as it spreads across the screen, exhaling in relief when I find that it’s not about my case at all, just a note to all students about some server maintenance that will be taking place during the summer break. My fate is postponed for another day, and I’ve got more time to reflect on how dumb I was to allow someone like Professor Marin to con me. Someone who operates in a world with different values and customs than what I understand. His is the high-power world of academics, where you take chances on brief affairs with those who control your future so you can touch greatness.
It’s not unlike the world Joss lives in, and I have to always keep that in mind. When I got back to our suite the night after he and I kissed, I told Tammy the truth about what happened. I was surprised that she didn’t get angry with me, but she put her arms around me and she told me the truth too, that Joss does this. He picks women who seem unattainable and he pursues them, but he’s never had a relationship longer than a few weeks. Then she asked me if I would be okay in a relationship with Joss that only lasted a few weeks. It sounded so much like what had happened with Professor Marin, I knew the answer right away. Tim Marin had broken my spirit a little, but Joss Jamison would break my heart a lot, and I couldn’t let him do that.
Now, as I lie in my bunk listening to Colin snore like a freight train across the passageway from me, I have to keep reminding myself of the reasons why Joss and I will never work. Because the way I feel when he’s near is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and it’s killing me to say no to him. He’s a few feet away right now, alone in his bed, and more than anything in life, I want to go to him and lie next to him and simply listen to his heartbeat. It would be the most beautiful sound in the world. It would be enough for now.
Chapter Nineteen
Joss
The motion of the bus actually lulled me to sleep at a normal hour. As I start to wake, I can hear people walking around outside, so it must be pretty late because this is not an early morning bunch.
I go to roll onto my side and am surprised to find my arm pinned down. Under a person. Fuck. My first thought is that I brought someone on board with me and was too drunk to remember. That hasn’t happened in a long time, but it’s not impossible. Then I recall that we didn’t even have a show last night and the last thing I did before I went to bed was have it out with Mel—painfully stone-cold sober.
The next option is that some groupie snuck onto the bus and hid out until I went to bed. That too has happened once or twice. It nauseates me honestly, the idea of a stranger touching me while I’m unconscious. It’s kind of disgusting. Of course, if said stranger ends up having really great tits, it can lessen the blow somewhat.
I carefully twist toward the person and I’m met with a mouthful of dark red hair and the scent of lemon meringue pie. My heart swells. My head spins.
Mel.
She’s here, with me, in my bed. I’m not sure how or why, but I give thanks to the powers that be for this moment, and I fix it in my mind like a prized photo so I’ll never forget the feel of her, the scent of her, the warmth of her. She’s got her head on my shoulder and one leg slung across my thighs. She’s on top of the covers and I’m under them, so the contact is limited, but it doesn’t matter. I’d take this with her over a full-on naked press with most any other woman in the world.
I reach over with the arm she’s not lying on and stroke her soft hair. She starts to stir and then lifts her head, looking at me from underneath the curtain of fire that falls over her face.
“Oh my God,” she says quietly, her eyes round as two tennis balls.
“Hi,” I say.
“What am I doing here?” she squeaks.
“Um, I was hoping you could tell me that,” I respond, trying to figure out if she’s serious.
“Oh my God,” she repeats. She starts to sit up, and I sit up along with her. Then she brings her knees up and puts her hands over her face, muttering, “This can’t be happening.”
I gently rub her back. “Mel? What’s going on here? I swear to you, I don’t remember anything after I went to bed—alone, I might add.”
&n
bsp; She finally puts her hands down and turns to look at me. “I sleepwalk.”
I laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” She sniffs like she might cry. “Ever since I was a little kid. I haven’t done it in years, but I used to all the time, even when I was a teenager. I’d get up in the middle of the night and go into other rooms in the house and go back to sleep. Usually Tammy’s. She got so used to it she didn’t even wake up when I climbed in bed with her. My parents talked about locking me in my room at night because they were afraid I’d hurt myself, but after a while, everyone saw that I never went anywhere but to Tammy’s room or the sofa in the den, so they quit worrying about it.”
I laugh. “Well, maybe you were looking for Tammy last night and got confused. I would have liked to see the look on Walsh’s face when he woke up in bed with both of you.” It’s an image I’m having trouble banishing from my own mind now. I’m generally happy with one woman at a time, but damn, the DiLorenzo sisters together? Jesus.
Mel buries her face in her hands again. “I’m so embarrassed,” she cries into her palms.
I lean over and give her a one-armed hug. “Don’t be. It’s fine. It obviously didn’t bother me. And I got to tell you, if I’m going to wake up with a surprise guest in my bed, I’d pick you any time.”
She looks up at me then, and the absurdity of her sleepwalking falls away. It’s just her and me on a bed, and her hair is tousled, her camisole is thin, and she’s not wearing a bra underneath. I look at her shining, sleepy eyes and her full lips that are so very kissable.
“Mel,” I rasp out. “If you don’t get out of here right now I’m going to kiss you again.”
She blinks once, twice, then sighs. “Going,” she whispers as she slips off the bed and over to the door. She looks back at me once before she quietly turns the doorknob and tiptoes out.
After Mel leaves, I know it will be a while before I can face the busload of people outside my door. I lie back down, just relishing the memory of her warm weight on me in my bed. The scent of lemon pie lingers on my pillow, and I bury my face in it, remembering the look in her eyes when I threatened to kiss her. Last night I was ready to give up, to try to walk away even though I know deep inside she’s meant to be mine.