by Meg Ripley
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.
I couldn’t stand it. I met Fran’s eye, nodded towards the door. The after-party had been going on for what felt like an eternity, even though it was only about forty-five minutes. Fran raised an eyebrow and gave me the briefest little smile before turning back to talk to Dan some more about something I didn’t care about. I finished off my beer and tossed the empty into the trash, asking Mark where the venue’s showers were. “Around the corner from here,” he told me, pointing. “Go get clean for your woman.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed a towel. There’d be soap, shampoo, whatever I needed in the shower; the rest of the guys had cleaned up already and left whatever they’d used behind.
I caught Fran’s eye once more as I headed to the door of the green room, not saying a word, but letting her know where I was going. Her lips twitched as she began to smile, and I didn’t know whether or not she’d follow me.
I found the shower room—still faintly steamy from whoever had last used it—and threw my towel on the rack, stretching against the tightness in my neck and shoulders and back as I stripped off my clothes. I’d get a decent scrub, and wash my hair, and throw on the last clothes I had in my backpack. By then everyone would be ready to head out—I was sure of that.
I started the water and climbed in, closing my eyes and leaning against the wall as I let the warming water rain down over my head. I groaned as I felt some of my muscles start to relax; it felt good. Not as good as fucking Fran, but good enough for the moment. I stood for a few moments longer, getting good and soaked, and then reached out without opening my eyes, groping for one of the bottles of shampoo I’d seen along the shelf on the wall.
Instead, my hand closed on something yielding—flesh. I opened my eyes and blinked through the water running over them, grinning when I recognized Fran. She’d snuck into the shower room with me, stripped down, and stepped into the shower. “Hey,” she said, smiling back at me a little bit. The water pelted the tops of her heavy tits, the top of her head, plastering her dyed-violet hair against her scalp and her neck.
“You’ve been a stranger lately,” I said, letting go of her arm. In spite of my irritable words, I had to admit that the sight of her naked body, there with me in the shower, turned me on immediately. I could feel my cock starting to get hard as the blood pooled in my groin.
“Seemed like a good idea,” Fran said, stepping closer to me. “But hey—now we’re going to be going home, and we can figure shit out, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. “But tonight…”
“Tonight, we’re going to fuck like rabbits,” Fran told me. She grabbed for the bottle of shower gel someone had left—I thought it might be Nick, based on the smell of it. “But we should get you cleaned up first.” I held up my hands, giving her silent permission. Fran lathered up some shower gel between her palms and began rubbing me down, starting at my shoulders. I relaxed into her touches, closing my eyes and just giving into it.
“You’re pretty good at this,” I told her, tensing once more as her hands moved down towards my hips—towards my already-hard cock. I heard Fran chuckle softly, and then I groaned as I felt her hand wrapping around my erection, beginning to stroke. The soap made it easy—I gritted my teeth, struggling to hold back while she rubbed me up and down, her thumb teasing the tip of my cock every few moments. “I think—I think it’s clean now,” I told her, panting and leaning against the wall slightly. I opened my eyes to see her smirk.
“Legs a bit unsteady there?” Fran played her soap-slick hands over her own body, lingering at her tits for a moment before she stepped into the water to rinse off. “That’s a shame—I was hoping you could fuck me up against the wall.” I raised an eyebrow at that, smiling back at her.
“My legs are steady enough for that,” I told her, reaching out and wrapping my arms around her waist. I pulled her body against mine and began touching her everywhere. I kissed her lips, her throat, her shoulder, loving the feeling of her skin under my fingertips, loving the way she twisted and writhed against me when I slipped one hand up between her legs.
I lifted her up and pressed her back against the wall, as Fran wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my shoulders, holding me close. I kissed her again and again—she tasted like beer and sweetness and cigarette smoke; I couldn’t get enough of her. I rocked my hips against Fran’s, rubbing against her slick folds. “Where have you been the last two weeks?” I murmured against her neck, teasing her with my cock. It was almost more than I could stand; I wanted more than anything to slide inside of her, to feel her tightness wrapping around me.
“You know where I’ve been,” Fran replied, her hands tightening on my shoulders. Her breath hitched in her throat as we moved together, teasing each other.
“Yeah—but you haven’t…” I groaned against her shoulder, shuddering a little bit at the feeling of her heat and wetness against my rock-hard cock. “We haven’t fucked in weeks.”
“Well we’re fixing that now,” Fran pointed out. “So, get to it already.” I chuckled and shifted against her, reaching down to line the tip of my cock up with her wet folds. I thrust my hips up into Fran’s; her tight, wet heat wrapped around my aching cock all at once. We both moaned and I had to hold back for a minute, standing there absolutely still—I was sure I’d come right away, otherwise.
We started to move again, Fran twisting and writhing, trapped between me and the wall, and me pushing deeper and deeper inside of her. She felt fucking amazing—even better than I remembered. “Fuck—Fran…”
“I know,” Fran moaned, burying her face against my neck. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”
“Feels fucking amazing,” I told her, picking up my pace. I rocked my hips against hers, pushing deeper and deeper, and lost all track of time. The heat and humidity of the shower, the feeling of Fran’s body pressed against mine, her tight muscles flexing and rippling around my cock, made it impossible to think. We both kept moving, kissing and touching each other everywhere, bare
ly holding ourselves up as we both came closer and closer to coming.
All at once I felt Fran’s body tense against mine, felt her muscles tighten around me. I swallowed down her moans as she came, her hips bucking against mine, her body flexing around me in erratic spasms. I couldn’t hold back anymore; I groaned against her lips as wave after wave of pleasure crackled through my body. I held her against the wall, thrusting into her hard and fast as I came, shuddering from the feeling of relief that washed through me. It seemed to last for an hour, over and over again, while we both slid against the walls and reeled against each other in the shower.
I slid out of Fran and let her down carefully onto her feet. She leaned heavily against the wall of the shower and I watched as the water flowed over her trembling body. It was almost enough to make me hard all over again—but I told myself we’d probably spent too long away from the party already. “We should see if everyone’s ready to clear out,” I said, once I was able to catch my breath.
“Yeah,” Fran agreed, looking dazed and pleased. She grinned. “I could stand to do that a good three or four more times.”
“On the bus,” I told her. “No chance of breaking an arm slipping on tile there.”
“Agreed. Let’s get out.”
****
I woke up in my own bed for the first time in months, feeling as though I’d slept for a hundred years; in reality it had been probably closer to ten hours. The bus had dropped us off the day before, in the afternoon, and I’d watched Mary and Olivia greeting Alex and Nick, beaming like the pleased girlfriends they were, and wondered if Fran felt weird about the situation the way I did.
It was the first day of our break before going into the studio to work on an EP together; I had laundry to take care of, a kitchen to stock, and—in spite of how rested I felt—sleep to catch up on. There was also the question of a song I’d been working on, and the one that Fran had showed me early on in the tour. We’d never really talked about it since that night, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. It deserved to be recorded.
I stretched and yawned and thought about walking down to the little Cuban café about a block away from my apartment to get a cafecito and maybe something to eat. Have to get dressed to do that, I thought, kicking the sheets off of my legs. Part of me thought that would be a small sacrifice; the other part of me felt magnetically stuck to my bed.
My phone rang, and I tumbled over the edge of the bed, groping for it in the gloomy light. I’d plugged it in before I’d passed out the night before, and completely forgot about it. I managed to find it on the bedside table and pull the charging cord out; the screen flashed Fran’s name. “What’s up?” I said as soon as the call connected.
“We’re on TMZ, that’s what’s up,” Fran said quickly.
“What? What for?” I crawled back onto the bed and half-buried my face in the pillow, shifting the phone to the ear I hadn’t covered up.
“Someone snapped a picture of us apparently, leaving the shower together,” Fran explained. “And now it’s on TMZ with some stupid article about us.” I groaned, scrubbing at my face.
“Fuck.” I took a deep breath. “What’s the verdict from them?”
“That we either faked hating each other all along or something-something-something fine line between love and hate,” Fran told me bitterly. “It’s pretty bad.”
“Oh man,” I agreed. I took another deep breath; I was definitely not going to be staying in bed much longer. “What do you want to do about it?”
“Mostly I wish I could tell them to delete the thing,” Fran admitted. “But obviously, we’re ‘out’ now. I’ve been getting calls since eight this morning.”
“I should check my phone,” I said. “Later. Now…do you want to meet up and talk about this over coffee or something?”
“What’s there to talk about?” I thought about that.
“We keep putting off that conversation about what we are,” I pointed out. “There’s no sense in putting it off now that everyone at least knows we’re something.”
“I guess,” Fran said, and I heard her sigh. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Enriqueta’s,” I said after thinking about it for a second. “I can be there in like…twenty minutes.”
“Probably the same for me,” Fran said. “I’m fucking pissed about this, Jules.”
“You know if we go anywhere together, they’re going to get pictures of us, right? I’m not saying we shouldn’t meet up—I’m just saying to be prepared for it.”
“Yeah,” Fran said, sighing again. “I might as well look on point. See you in twenty?”
“Twenty,” I agreed. I ended the call and turned onto my back to stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. It had gone yellow over the years—the popcorn looked grungy and kind of gross after people had smoked in the room long before I’d ever taken the apartment, and some of the texturized bits had flaked off, but it had a certain homey feeling I liked. I scratched at my face again, thinking I should at least shave, even if I didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm for a full shower before I went down. Fuck. Ron is going to have a fit, and the label is going to be pissed, too. I closed my eyes and sat up in my bed, throwing my legs over the edge to climb out. It was going to be a shit fest and I knew it.
But then—why should it be? Obviously, me hooking up with Fran had gotten some attention. Wasn’t that what the whole collaboration bullshit had been about? I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, rubbing at my stubbly cheeks and debating taking the time to shave them. Fuck it—just get it done. You’ve got another fifteen to get dressed and get over there. If a handful of paparazzi were going to snap pictures of me and Fran, I didn’t want to look like a bum who’d just rolled out from under an overpass. I shaved, put on some clean clothes, and found my car keys. I figured we might as well get it over with.
****
“You put your phone on silent?” I nodded my answer to Fran’s question. We’d made it to Enriqueta’s and grabbed some food before retreating to a shady spot about half a block away where we could smoke and enjoy our meals.
“I had about thirteen missed calls or texts, apparently,” I told her, twisting my lips into a wry grin. “You?”
“Still coming in,” Fran told me. She shook her head, putting her purse down to take a sip of coffee.
“What do you want to do about the situation?” I took a bite of an empanada and chewed on it while I waited for Fran to consider the question.
“I just want to let it blow over,” she said after a moment. “It can’t be that big of a story, can it?”
“It’ll be as big or as small as we end up making it,” I said with a shrug. “If we don’t really talk about it they’ll lose interest eventually.”
“Which I guess brings us around to whether we want to actually…you know…be together.” Fran took another sip of her coffee.
“Did you not want to be together?” I set my half-eaten empanada aside. “I mean, I won’t exactly take it hard if you decided that you wanted to be single, but I’d like to know.”
“The thing is…” Fran took a deep breath and put her cup of coffee down. “I don’t want to be single. I want to be with you. I just…” she shrugged. “I don’t want it to be a marketing gimmick, or for people to think that I’m just doing it to get more attention.” I snorted.
“Well, unfortunately, people are going to think that,” I told her. “Some people, anyway. Nothing you can do about that situation.” I pressed my lips together and considered.
“Do you think I only hooked up with you for attention?”
“Of course not,” I said, shaking my head. “If you were going to hook up with someone to promote the band, you’d have gotten with Nick or Alex or someone.” Fran laughed.
“Okay, that’s a decent point,” she said. “So, what do you want to do about…” I shrugged.
“I want to keep seeing you,” I said, taking a sip of my own coffee. “What you want to call it—that’s just window dressi
ng. I want to keep seeing you, and I want to work on music together.”
“You do?” Fran raised an eyebrow.
“That song you showed me before—it’s a good song. It deserves to come out. It deserves to be heard. I want to help make that happen.”
“You don’t think it’ll just get bashed as a John and Yoko thing?” I rolled my eyes.
“If anyone was going to get bashed as a Yoko figure, it’d be Mary,” I said, shaking my head. “Alex is closer to being John Lennon than I am. I’m more…” I shrugged. “I don’t know. But if people want to talk shit about us, why should we even fucking be bothered?”
“What’s the label going to say?” I shrugged again.
“I don’t really care. They don’t have a lock on our personal lives, for one thing. It’s not like we’re in contract with them all of the hours of all of our days. We make records for them and we do promotion for the records. We tour. That’s the only hold they have on us—on you, for that matter.”
“The label sent Alex to rehab, didn’t they?”
“The band sent him to rehab, with Ron and the label backing us,” I told her. “That was a whole separate deal. Besides, Alex came out of it with a girlfriend and a big reputation. So, he won out in the long run.”
“Do you think they’re going to think you’re trying to go solo if you do this with me?” That was a good question. I finished off my empanada while I considered it, and lit a cigarette.
“They know I’ve got a bunch of music I’ve written on my own,” I told Fran. “I can do both. I can work with you on stuff and work with the band.”