Bring Me Back

by Karen Booth

  “Of course I will. Anything.”

  “No more secrets. We tell each other everything.”

  “No more secrets.”

  I inched over to him until we were unable to stay apart. He put his arm around me and I curled into him, setting my arm across his bare stomach and closing my eyes. My heart beat a heavy rhythm and we remained for minutes before he spoke.

  “Please tell me I can kiss you.”

  “I told you I’m all gross.”

  “We’ve been over this. I don’t care.”

  I kept my eyes closed and tilted my head to wait. I first felt his hand at my jaw and fingers reaching to the side of my neck. Then I could smell him better, a combination of clean and his own smell floating somewhere underneath. My breaths moved my shoulders and I felt paralyzed by the anticipation.

  The heat came as he crept closer and his nose brushed against mine, not once, but twice. Finally, he kissed me, a show of pure affection that melted away every pessimistic thought I had. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, silently and involuntarily, and my heart shuddered against my throat when I kissed him back. My feelings swelled inside me, full of life, and I turned to be closer to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chris loaded the SUV with several guitars and we left for the club late afternoon. It was a narrow escape—my mini marathon and the second act of our argument had left me with less than an hour to shower and get dressed.

  The moment he turned the key, the GPS came to life and he turned to me with a smirk. “The Australian guy?”

  “That British chick is a bitch. She thinks she’s better than me.” I was happy to smile at him again without reservation. “Give Lee a chance. He’s very good at his job. But don’t be jealous. He’s a hottie.”

  “Only you would be on a first name basis with the GPS.” He leaned over the center console and gave me a slow and patient kiss. That one quiet moment assured me that everything was okay.

  The club was small, with a capacity of only three hundred people—Chris wanted it intimate. Stale beer perfumed the close barroom air and the way my shoes stuck to the floor was oddly comforting.

  Even though the tabloids had already let the cat out of the bag, Chris did everything in his power to keep our relationship from becoming a spectacle. He had the bar manager clear out everyone but the sound guy for sound check. He played one song, Long Lost, from the new record, and I stood on the side of the stage, excited to see him perform actual music. As much as I loved to watch him and hear his voice, I didn’t think I could listen to the word “check” anymore without going batty.

  Under the sparse stage lights, his profile was graceful but strong. I studied everything he did—the way his jaw moved when he sang and how that changed the structure of his neck. I watched the movement of his hands as he strummed the guitar and he pulled me in, making me tingly, bringing the lyrics to life. When the song was over, he turned to me and flashed his devastating smile while arching his eyebrows. I became so woozy that I had to reach for the wall.

  After sound check and dinner, Graham and Angie hung out with us in the tiny backstage dressing room. They sat together, Graham’s arm around Angie snuggly, kissing her on the cheek. He was on his best behavior, subdued and charming. Angie was being her usual lovely self, when she smiled at me it made me feel like I was a better person just for knowing her.

  Chris made himself at home in a wide fuzzy green armchair that smelled like booze and smoke, rattling a handful of peanut M&Ms before he popped them in his mouth. He and Graham went back and forth about Chris’s set list. Graham wasn’t shy about making suggestions.

  Chris scooted over in his chair and patted the sliver of space he’d left. “Sit with me,” he said to me, his voice a distinctly softer tone than he’d taken with Graham.

  I wrinkled my nose, opened another beer and tossed the bottle opener on top of the cooler. “Uh-uh. There’s no way I’m putting my ass in that chair.”

  “Your ass will love it down here,” he replied and he and Graham laughed.

  “Then let me sit on your lap.”

  “There you go, P-Man,” Graham muttered, grabbing his own beer. “Ass problem solved.” He winked at Chris.

  Chris patted his thigh in invitation and his eyes flickered. As soon as I sat down, he swung my legs over the arm of the chair, leaning me back and cradling me close. I squealed as quietly as possible when he burrowed his face into my neck and tickled me in places Graham and Angie couldn’t see. It was another lifelong goal realized, becoming the ultimate Rock ‘n’ Roll cliché—the giggly girlfriend on the rock star’s lap backstage. I only needed Graham to sign my chest with a Sharpie to complete my new persona.

  After Graham and Angie stepped out into the hall, Chris gave me a deep, lingering kiss. Our eyes locked and he brushed the side of my face with the back of his hand. My heart beat with anticipation of later that night, when we could make-up completely.

  We walked toward the stage hand in hand as the sounds from the crowd grew louder. I stood with Angie and Graham in our special viewing spot at the side of the stage and I peeked through the heavy curtains. The size of the audience seemed implausible, people crammed into the small space with shoulders shrugged and all semblance of personal space erased. The first several rows were all women, no longer adolescent girls in their Banks Forest tour shirts, almost all of them wielding cleavage and jockeying for the best spot to ogle my boyfriend.

  I was under Chris’s spell from the moment he strode to the barstool at center stage and the crowd erupted in cheers. He played everything from the new record and re-worked versions of two songs from his first record. It was nice to see he hadn’t given up on those songs because they still had an essence of him, even if they hadn’t turned out well the first time around. He worked in several Banks Forest songs to satisfy the audience, sharing clever stories with them. They responded with laughter and applause and soaked up every word.

  The real apex of the show was the moment he called Graham out to sing with him. Everyone went crazy for the Banks Forest hits—the instant they started Love, Destroyed, it was as if they’d detonated a bomb in the room.

  My heart swelled watching them on stage together; the pairing was electric, the crowd going nuts for every note. Graham made no effort to be the center of attention, it just happened, and he lapped it up as if no woman had ever looked at him twice. About halfway through the song, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find the only thing that could ruin such an inspiring moment. Kevin.

  I employed Chris’s annoying habit of holding up a finger to tell him to wait. I wasn’t willing to give up the last few bars of the song for Kevin. I did my best to focus on Chris, but I trembled. Kevin had to know something.

  When the song was over, Kevin spoke into my ear, taking his mouth and hot breath uncomfortably close to my cheek. “Don’t I get a hello?”

  The crowd showed no sign of quieting down, screaming for more.

  I turned and the sight of him the second time was worse than the first. “What are you doing here?”

  He waited with his arms held out and an evil smile. “Don’t I get a hug?”

  “No.”

  He crinkled his lips. “Suit yourself.” His eyes were all over me, putting me on edge. “You look great. Even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”

  “We broke up the last time I saw you.” Idiot. My shoulders drew together and my spine tightened.

  “I thought it’d be harder for you to be such a bitch in person.” He looked at me with his murky brown eyes, the ones I’d once thought were warm. That felt like a lifetime ago.

  “What can I say?” The crowd still roared and I gladly yelled in his face, “I’m a total bitch.”

  “Not the Claire I know. She’s confused, but not a bitch.” He moved closer again and touched my shoulder, producing a faint echo of the physical attraction that was once so strong.

  I stepped back and crossed my arms. “Why are you here? And how did you even g
et back stage?”

  He tossed his eyebrows back as if I’d just asked the most ridiculous question ever. “I know every bouncer in this town. And I’m here because I had a hunch you’d be here. I thought you weren’t coming to LA any time soon.” He wore a smug look that I was eager to knock off his cloyingly handsome face.

  I returned my sights to the stage where Chris and Graham were starting an acoustic version of one of my favorite David Bowie songs, Moonage Daydream. Chris looked at me for a moment with questions in his eyes, undoubtedly about why my body language was now so agitated.

  I turned back to deal with the unpleasantness, deciding it would be best if I could get rid of Kevin before Chris even had to meet him.

  “Just tell me why you’re here.”

  “Look, Claire, I saw the photos of you and Penman. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into with this guy.” For an instant, the concern in his eyes seemed genuine. I’d forgotten how much he’d once cared for me and that the feelings had been mutual.

  I sighed. “Is it too much to ask that you don’t say anything to Patrick about it?” I asked, hoping there was a chance Patrick merely wanted to talk to me about a new assignment Monday morning.

  “Too late. He already knows. He’s not happy.”

  My stomach dropped. “Perfect.”

  “I can’t believe you thought you wouldn’t get caught.” He hesitated for a moment, shaking his head and gnawing on his thumbnail. “I came tonight to warn you. You know I can’t say anything specific. I know a lot about Penman after writing the book.” He reached for me again, this time clutching my forearm. “Claire, if you think I’m a bad guy, he’s ten times worse.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” I leered at him, angry that he was trying to plant doubts in my head.

  He pursed his lips. “You know, he’s already messing things up for you. You’re never going to get another word printed in Rolling Stone. Every editor on the planet is going to think you slept with him to get him to talk.”

  “Are you finished?”

  “No, I’m not. When the book comes out, his life is going to be a joke. He’s going to drag you down with him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “I can’t believe that guy has the nerve to turn up at my show.” Chris was obviously stewing, changing lanes without looking. “And then he tells you to stay away from me. He’s never even met me before.”

  I’d told Chris everything, keeping my promise about no more secrets. “Don’t let this ruin your night. You had such an amazing show.” I reached over and caressed his leg.

  “Do you think the crowd really liked the new stuff?”

  “Of course they did. They loved it,” I answered, hoping I could throw him off the topic. “They loved you.”

  He groaned and shook his head. “Bloody idiot. I’m twice his size. I’d kill him if I thought I could get away with it.”

  I kept my frustration to myself. “I don’t want to spend my last night talking about Kevin. It’s our make-up night.” I sweetened my voice, wondering if the prospect of sex would finally get him to drop it.

  We waited as the gate traveled across the driveway. “Your ex-boyfriend is an asshole.” He pulled into the garage and turned off the ignition. “I need to get in the shower. I’m sweaty and pissed off.” He opened his door and jumped when I grabbed his arm. “What?”

  “Don’t go in the house all grumpy.” I unbuckled my seatbelt, turned and climbed over the center console before crawling into his lap.

  “What are you doing?” He furrowed his brow.

  “I am…” I said, reaching out and closing his car door, “improving your mood.” I kissed him softly and combed my fingers deep into his hair before making a playful tug at his lower lip with my teeth. His shoulders stiffened as I tilted my hips closer to him.

  “I’m too big for us to do this in here. It won’t work.”

  “Won’t it be fun to find out?” I asked, trailing a finger behind his ear and down the side of his neck.

  “No, seriously, I’ve tried this before. I’m too tall.”

  “No, you’re not, silly,” I said, coming up with what seemed like a brilliant idea. I reached down and pulled the lever on the side of his seat, thinking it would only tilt back a few inches. I was wrong and he abruptly slammed back. Flat. His head bounced off the headrest.

  “Oh my God—” I sprang forward and hovered over him. “Are you okay?”

  He rubbed the back of his head, squinting. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “No.” I cringed at my own ineptitude. “I was trying to be romantic.”

  “By giving me a concussion?”

  “Of course not. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He grasped my shoulder. “I’m all for exotic locations, but I don’t want your last night here to be in the car. Can I please go inside and take a shower and clear my head? So, we can do this properly? Just you and me, no head injuries or steering wheels.”

  I dropped my forehead against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

  Back inside, as soon as I heard the shower door close, I rushed to my suitcase for my silk and lace nightgown, still wrapped in tissue paper. I hurried out of my clothes and slipped into it, stealing a passing glance in the full-length mirror and fussing with my hair.

  The steady spray of the shower called and I crept to the door before peeking around the corner. His back was to me, arms raised, hands working the shampoo into lather as he gracefully knocked his head from side to side. The air in the bathroom turned warm and billowy as the steam advanced up the clear glass shower walls. I drank in my quiet moment alone with him, the weight of going home suddenly wedged in my chest.

  Chris stepped from the shower oblivious, drying his face with a towel that was the only thing obscuring my view of his long body. My chest heaved, watching him with beads of water on his shoulders and a few stray, dripping twists of hair falling into his face.

  He scrubbed his hair with the towel and I caught his gaze. He eyed me from head to toe, flattering me with every second he went without blinking. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to wear to bed that could possibly rival that.”

  “That’s okay.” I wanted to be sultry, but could only gleam at him. “I’ll take you just the way you are.”

  He came to me with downy lips and a delicate touch, pushing the silk into my skin in circles. My hands caught on the clean skin of his chest, slightly sticky from soap and hot water. His smell was clear, it was his alone, and I wished I could capture the essence and take it with me. Then I could cover myself in it every morning and feel better, less lonely.

  He walked me to the bed and took charge, pulling me to the center and softly touching my stomach and then my breasts through the smooth silk. His hand went to the strap closest to him and he looped it around his finger, slipping it off my shoulder. He grazed the back of his hand against my throat and down to my chest, dragging his index finger behind. He made me unravel inside, my heart floating and every bit of me hot and tingling. I felt brave enough to keep my eyes open and watched in awe as he studied his effect on me.

  Continuing along my midline, never losing touch, he stopped at my hem. His hand turned over to palm my thigh and he rubbed his thumb along the ridge of my hipbone as he pushed the nightgown up and away.

  With the full measure of skin pressed to skin, we rolled back and forth taking turns pinning each other down. He was more successful at it than I was, but I loved giving in to his advantage. Back on top, I sat back and raked my fingers up his chest to his collarbone, feeling the structure beneath his skin, the dips and ridges. My breaths grew shorter. He was still able to surprise me with his handsome, perfect being.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” I murmured. “No commentary.” My fingers worked across his chest and I lowered myself. Shifting to his side, I rolled my hand over his shoulder and became lost in his face.

  He looked back at me, a bent smile of amusement. “I’ve spent enough time in trouble today. I’m trying t
o keep you happy.” He moved across my back with the tips of his fingers.

  I felt bad about quashing his bedroom talk—the prudish part of me had been embarrassed, but now I missed it. “It’s okay if you want to talk.” My finger marked a line down the center of his chest.

  He laughed and teased my hair behind my ear. “What, exactly, would you like me to say?” He furrowed his brow. “Oh, baby, you make me so hot?”

  “No, not that.” I hid my face, the heat radiating from my cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  He lifted my chin and kissed me, his tender lips hot against mine. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be sure to share.” He pushed my hair from my face, refusing to let me hide, and he gazed at me without a word. Smoothing a hand around each of my hips, he tempted me toward him and then back to settle my body down on his. As we began moving together, I pushed away to sit back, but he stopped me, pulling me forward. “Stay here. I want to keep you close.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The sun was decidedly un-sunny the next morning. I’d watched it come up, completely failing to herald a new day the way it should have. Instead, it forced the pain deeper inside me. Chris was finally stirring, rolling to drop his arm around my waist. I stared out the massive bedroom windows with my back to him, wanting to shrink away from everything I had to do once I got out of bed.

  There was no getting around it; we needed to find a different way to continue. The ebbs of joy and sadness involved with coming and going were too much.

  “If I pin you to the bed, you can’t go to the airport,” he said into the back of my neck, prodding my hair away with his nose. He inched closer and pressed himself against me. Even though we hadn’t parted, the desperate longing for him had already taken root in my body.

  “I wish that were true.” My voice cracked and I had no strength to fight it.

  He rubbed my shoulders like a trainer does to encourage his fighter after he’s been punched in the face so many times he can’t see straight. “Don’t be sad. I’ll come and see you this weekend.”