Sentenced

by L. L. Collins

  Bex smirked. “I don’t think friends do what we did on this futon.” A slight blush crept into her cheeks as she thought about it.

  I lost myself in thoughts of how she tasted and felt for just a moment. “Friends with benefits, right?”

  “Right,” she laughed.

  “I don’t need you to tell me all your secrets, Bex. I’m just trying to get to know you a little.” I was shocked to realize how much I did want to know about her and what made her tick.

  She blew out a breath. “I’ve written most of our songs. Beau has helped on some, and Ryver has had some input on some, too. Most of the ideas come from me.”

  “I write songs,” I heard myself saying. Panic made my chest tighten the second the words were out. Why the hell did I just tell her that?

  She scooted closer to me. “You do?”

  Shit. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid. “I—uh, it’s a long story. Yes.”

  “Do you play?”

  I stood, crossing my arms in front of my chest and turning away from her. It was a simple question but not a simple answer.

  I felt her come up behind me and wrap her arms around my bare torso. She rested her head against my back. “Johnny? Friends, right?” I nodded. “Do you play?”

  It was better not to look at her when I answered. “I did.”

  “But you don’t anymore?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  Bex was quiet, her arms still around my waist and her face pressed into my back. “Want to try?”

  “No.” My answer was immediate.

  “Okay. How long have you written songs?”

  “Since I knew that writing songs existed.” It was better to talk to her while I was facing away from her. I couldn’t try to read her face at what I said.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “Do you have them all?”

  I cringed, immediately going back to the large bonfire of notebooks full of songs that had been my ‘punishment’ once for not wanting to do what they said. “No.”

  Her hands began caressing my abs, but not in a sexual way. It felt . . . comforting. I tensed at first but then forced myself to relax when I realized I liked it. It was oddly . . . satisfying. “Will you turn back and look at me?”

  “It’s easier this way,” I admitted.

  I felt her nod her head. “I get that.”

  “When did you start playing?”

  Bex tensed. Seemed I hit a nerve, too. I put my hands over hers, her face still pressed to my back. “My dad taught me when I was very young.” The words she spoke didn’t sound painful, but there was something there.

  “He was obviously very talented.”

  She nodded again. “He was. He’d been in a band since he was a kid and had made it somewhat popular in our area.” I noticed she talked about him in the past tense, but I wasn’t going to ask.

  “He played rock?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned so I could face her again. “We can do this.”

  She tilted her face to look at me. “Do what?”

  “Get to know each other. Look at it each other while we do it.”

  Bex looked away and then settled her eyes back on me. “I’ve never told anyone about my dad,” she whispered.

  Shock coursed through my body. “I haven’t told anyone anything in a long time.”

  It was awkward, standing here in the middle of the bare studio, but I didn’t dare ask to change venues. If I did, she might realize she was talking to me (well hell, I was talking to her, too), and call it a night. Though I knew both of us were probably exhausted, I was shocked to realize that I did want to talk to her and have her talk to me.

  I led her back to the futon and laid down, tucking her next to me. She rested her head on my chest. Her hair tickled my arm and neck, but it was heaven. She fit perfectly next to me, like she belonged there.

  Like she belonged there.

  What the hell was happening to me? I didn’t do this.

  You’re just friends. You just want to get to know her.

  Even as I thought it, I knew I was full of shit.

  Bex

  I was lying on top of Johnny on the futon at my studio. I was leaving in mere days to go tour for a month, and something bad was happening to me.

  I liked him.

  Scratch that. I fucking hated him. I hated that he got me to talk. I hated that I even wanted to talk. No one got me to talk about my dad. Not Beau or Natalie. Of course, they knew. But that’s because I’d known them back then. Before I’d become the Bex I am now.

  Scratch that again. I hated myself for letting someone make a crack in my composure. I’d never told anyone that my dad played in a rock band and taught me to play. What was happening to me?

  Johnny stroked my bare back, his fingertips simultaneously trailing fire and goose bumps as he touched me. Sex with Johnny was beyond my wildest imagination. I’d had some . . . freaks. Some guys that were rough, hot, and talented. But Johnny put all of those words in a totally different category.

  “I’m going to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

  My heart rate shot into the sky. What the fuck was he going to ask me? My throat dried out, and I felt panic rising in my chest. I clenched my fist, forcing myself to breathe. He hasn’t even asked anything yet.

  When I didn’t say anything, Johnny put his hand in the waistband of my jeans. It was sexual, but neither of us moved. “Why don’t you like me calling you ‘baby’ or ‘princess’ while we fuck? It’s hard as hell to remember because that’s just a norm for me.”

  The panic that had been waiting in the wings broke through the dam, taking me over so fast I had no time to stop it. I sat up, my chest heaving and my breath coming out in short spurts. I tried to calm myself using the things that I always tried, but nothing was happening.

  Johnny stood too. “Bex. It’s okay. I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”

  It was too late. The panic had to come out. Once the box was opened, it didn’t close. I paced the room, fighting the nasty words that threatened. When I was upset, I was nasty. I knew it. Usually, I didn’t care who the victim was. Except this time, I did.

  I did.

  I cared.

  I stopped in my tracks, turning back to look at Johnny. He watched me, his expression guarded. The few people I’d had panic attacks in front of always tried to hold onto me and talk, asking me what they could do with that pitiful look in their eyes that they were so sorry for my version of crazy.

  I wasn’t crazy.

  Johnny wasn’t looking at me like that. He was waiting for me to work through it even though he didn’t understand it.

  It was two fucking words. Two. And they’d wrecked my life for over ten years.

  “I can’t talk about it,” I said finally.

  Johnny nodded. “Okay. Tell me what you want to talk about and what’s off limits.” He stepped up to me and cupped my face in his hands. “Just know one thing.”

  No one had ever done that to me before. He was looking directly into my eyes. “What’s that?” My voice was wobbly and I hated myself for it. Showing weakness was when people got you.

  “I’ll never force you to tell me something you aren’t ready for, so all you have to say is no. Believe me, I get that more than you know.”

  People tell you that they get it. But with Johnny, I’d been around him enough to know he was hiding things. Maybe even just as many (or more) than I was. So I figured he probably did know.

  “Okay. There are things I can’t talk about—ever. There are others I can talk about parts of them. I get panic attacks out of nowhere. Things can trigger them, or something someone says. I have serious trust issues. I trust exactly two people in this world, and that’s Beau and Natalie.”

  Johnny nodded, pulling me back to the futon. We sat, and he tucked me under his arm again. I liked it too much when he held me. “I could say every word that you just said for me. I also have panic attacks from certain trig
gers. I also have serious trust issues. The two people I trust in this world are my sister and her husband. Up until two years ago, my list was only one. When she got married, he made his way in, too. I use sex to work out my demons.”

  Wasn’t that the damn truth. “I do, too.”

  “You’re fucking good at it,” he teased, kissing my temple.

  I laughed, lightening the mood. I cupped him on the outside of his jeans. “Yeah, you’re pretty good, too.”

  He feigned shock. “Pretty good? Did you just say pretty good?” Johnny reached over and slid his hand down my unbuttoned jeans and directly to my clit. I rocked against him immediately. He rubbed his thumb over me as he fingered me, fast and hard.

  My eyes were just starting to roll in my head when he pulled back, sitting back like we’d been doing a few minutes ago. “Wha . . . ?”

  “You said pretty good. Pretty good only does part of the job.”

  I stood, shoving my jeans off and straddling him. I put my lips to his ear, rocking my core against his erection. “No one has ever fucked me like you. That dick, those hands, that mouth are beyond pretty good, and you know it. You’re a fucking one man show I want again and again and again. Now stop holding out on me and give it to me, Rock Star.”

  “Rock Star.” Johnny’s mouth quirked up. “I like that. Double meaning. You call me that, and I’ll call you Rocker Girl while I’m playing your guitar.”

  I helped him shove his jeans down and then I sank onto him, his eyes never leaving mine. Oh, he was playing my guitar all right. Just not the one sitting nicely in the corner watching us.

  “Daddy! Daddy! Don’t let them take me! I’m sorry! I’ll be a better girl! Daddy!”

  The man pulled me by the arm, hard. I cried out, using my free hand to try to pry his hand off of mine. “Let. Me. GO!”

  He stopped, looking back at me. “You have to go with me, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

  “NO! You’re a stranger! This is my house! That’s my daddy!”

  “Your daddy is going to jail, and no one else is available to take care of you. It’ll be okay. We’re going to take you to a nice house. You can get some clean clothes and a good meal.”

  My stomach growled as I thought of food. I didn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. I’d been excited when Daddy sold his guitar for groceries, but I never saw any.

  I swung my eyes back, seeing the red and blue lights reflecting off of everything in the dark. The officer was putting my dad in the back, his hands cuffed behind him.

  “No! He didn’t do anything! Don’t take him!”

  “Is there anything in the house you want, Bexley? My friend can get it.”

  I stopped fighting, watching as the police car pulled out of the driveway with my dad in the back of it. His eyes met mine, but he didn’t smile or blow me a kiss. I had a million questions. What did he do? When would I see him again?

  “I want the picture of my Mommy next to my bed,” I said, my voice flat. “And my stuffed rabbit that’s on my bed.”

  “I’ll get those things and some clothes for you,” a strange lady said from beside me.

  The man opened the back door to a strange car, and I crumpled, falling into it. First I’d killed my mom, and now I’d sent my dad away. I was nothing. I had nothing.

  “It’s going to be okay,” the man said. Tears rolled down my face, but I couldn’t look at him. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

  I shot up, sweat soaking my body as I came back into reality from the dream. Flinging the covers off, I stripped my shirt and shorts off and headed for the shower.

  I hated that fucking dream. I hated all of them. They wouldn’t leave me alone and let me move on. So my dad had been arrested, and I’d been taken away from him. That was so long ago that it still shouldn’t be haunting me.

  I hadn’t had any contact with my dad since I was seven years old, and strangers had come into my bedroom and ripped me from the only life I’d ever known. It hadn’t been until I was a teenager and left the tenth foster home I’d lived in that I even looked up where he was.

  I stepped into the hot shower, letting it wash the nightmare and all the thoughts of my dad down the drain. I was surprised at just how sore I was from the evening with Johnny. I smiled. God, that man. What I ever did to deserve to have sex with him was beyond me. I wasn’t sure anyone would ever compare to him.

  He wanted to take me to lunch today and hang out on our rare day off. Johnny wanted to take me out. I’d agreed, but I’d also been in post-orgasm (okay, post-multiple-orgasm) bliss.

  What are you doing, Bex? This is never going to end well. Johnny kept saying we were friends, but I didn’t know how to have friends, and neither did he. I was leaving to go on tour, and then what? Did friends talk to each other on the phone? Text? Email? I lived with Beau and Natalie and spent most of my days with them, so I had no idea. Sad, huh?

  I liked to have sex with him. A lot. Duh. Wouldn’t anyone? The man had serious skills. I touched my sensitive flesh, the images flashing through my head like a movie reel. Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly go another round, he’d prove me wrong.

  There’d only been a handful of times over the last ten years that I’d slept with a guy more than once; there was always an understanding that Bex didn’t do strings. Well, I take that back. The only strings I did were on my guitar. The rest, no. Give me what we both want and get the hell out.

  I’d broken all the rules with Johnny.

  I liked breaking the rules.

  Something was wrong with me.

  “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.” Natalie slid a cup of coffee across the bar as I walked into the kitchen. She was the only one that could give me shit and get away with it, and she used it to her advantage frequently. Damn that saving my life and shit.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I said with a smile. “Give me the coffee and no one gets hurt.”

  “I heard you come in last night,” Natalie said, sipping her own nectar of the gods. “Or should I say, this morning.”

  I shrugged. “So?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “He’s that good, is he?”

  I snorted, thankfully not while drinking coffee. “Natalie, you seriously need to get laid.”

  She narrowed her eyes on me. “I’ve been a little busy. I’ll gladly take a turn with Johnny.”

  I swore steam rose out of my ears, and it wasn’t from the coffee. “The fuck you will.”

  Natalie roared. “Oh Bex, you have it bad.”

  “Have what bad? He’s a fucking god in bed. Shit, that man.”

  She shook her head at me. “If that’s what you’re going with. Anyone that looks at him can tell that. He’s the whole ‘bad boy’ package. I don’t think anyone would throw that out of their bed. Those muscles . . . the tattoos . . .”

  “Shut. Up.”

  She smirked. “Is Bex jealous?”

  It was time to put this banter to bed for once and for all. “Jealous? Of what? That he gave me so many orgasms last night I thought I might die? That I could hardly walk to my car or up to the apartment? That I have scruff burn on my . . .”

  Natalie smacked her hand down on the counter. “Okay stop. You win. I need a cold shower and a visit with B.O.B.”

  I crossed my arms in front of me. “It won’t do the job like he does,” I gloated. “And, I always win.”

  “You’ve seen him more than once,” she said. She was always calling me on my shit, no matter what.

  “And?” I sipped the coffee, buying myself a few more seconds before the inquisition. I was only tolerating this because I was still daydreaming about all of the things I would do to Johnny later after lunch. I wondered if we could find a secluded place and live out his fantasy of his bike . . .

  “You don’t see anyone that much.” My eyes snapped back to hers as she interrupted my daydream.

  “You just said yourself no one would throw him out of their bed.”

  “You’re deflecting.”

&
nbsp; I sighed. “And you’re pissing me off. Drop it.”

  She stared at me for a moment. “I have a phone conference today with Halestorm’s manager. I have a shit ton to do before we roll out.”

  Thank God she dropped it. “Okay.”

  Natalie nodded. “You seeing Johnny today?” Ugh. I should’ve known it was too good to be true.

  I didn’t want to tell her anything, but somehow Natalie always got it out of me. “Lunch later and hanging out.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “You’re going on a date?”

  I gritted my teeth. I loved this girl and she’d dedicated her life to this band, but if she didn’t shut up, I was going to lose it. “I don’t fucking date. It’s lunch, Nat.”

  “You’re going to lunch and to ‘hang out.’ With a guy. That’s a date. You’ve never been on a date.”

  I smacked my hand on the counter. She crossed her arms, undeterred by my tantrum. “We’re friends. Friends go to lunch.”

  “Bex.” Natalie leaned over and put her hand on mine, which I promptly yanked away. “You don’t have friends other than me and Beau. No offense, but you aren’t friends with Johnny.”

  “How the fuck do you know what we are?” I stood, walking across the kitchen to refill my coffee and grab a muffin.

  “I saw him watching you last night at rehearsal. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nat. Not that I have to defend myself to you, but we have sex. A lot of it. He was probably picturing all the things he was going to do to me.”

  “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever known,” Natalie said. “Have lunch with your friend, Bex. Fuck him six ways to Sunday, too. But don’t be surprised when he wants more.”

  “Johnny doesn’t want more. We both agreed.”

  She nodded, giving me the ‘you’re full of shit’ look. “If you say so.” With that, she walked back to her room and shut the door. As soon as it closed, I flipped her off. It made me feel momentarily better.

  We agreed.

  I still agreed.

  Right?

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Johnny said as he walked up to the table. “I had a hard time getting out of bed today.”