Remake

by A. J. Sand

  “Stupid leftie elbow,” she teased. He was left-handed and kept bumping her arm since they were side by side at the stove. A fiery pulse raced through her when he squeezed her right arm in response. As she started to crack the egg on the side of the pan, Bryson came up behind her, and his hips shifted against her butt before his hands dropped to her waist. She curled her toes on the cold tile as her ear warmed from his breath. “I eat egg whites now, E.” That explained the body.

  Her hand twitched and the entire egg fell into the pan. Only Bryson could make breakfast food sound dirty. “Got it,” she said in a whisper before blowing out a breath. Her body kept heating from every unexpected and inadvertent touch, and even when she managed to cool down, some of the heat would slip below her navel. And just stay there.

  Once the omelets and bacon were done, she divvied up their food on separate plates and slid one toward him. “So, what were you listening to?” Erica stuck his earphones in her ears and jumped to sit on the counter. But she recognized the group as soon as she clicked play. It was April Lights, an indie and electronica group from Sacramento. “Whoa. I wrote about them at Razorwire.”

  “Yup. And that’s why I signed on to manage them,” Bryson said after he swallowed his coffee. It was uncanny how he never reacted to the taste of it after adding just a dollop of sugar and a splash of milk. “I actually set up a meeting with them as soon as I downloaded their digital mixtape off the Razorwire website. They’re going to be huge.” Setting down the mug, he walked until he was standing between her dangling legs, his palms on either side of her thighs. “I signed Asher as a songwriter, too.”

  “Whoa. So, you’re representing singers and songwriters now? That’s so awesome!” He had been hoping to expand his clientele into music publishing for a while now. Out of habit, she threw her arms around his neck.

  Bryson didn’t tense—even though she did—but he breathed deeply against her shoulder, and she felt the subtle movement of his lips on her skin and the tap of his fingers on the small of her back. A spiral of heat rose in the space between their bodies.

  “Thanks. More responsibilities, but you know me, I love it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Erica said, pulling back from the hug, “you read my articles?”

  He smirked and his thumbs stroked the sides of her thighs. “Serious question?”

  The job that been a favor from a friend, and Erica didn’t consider herself the strongest writer, but she’d always thought that after dating Bryson for so long she’d picked up on his musical talent intuition, so it made it easier to gush about amazing bands.

  For many reasons, though, she had imagined him staying away from anything having to do with her after some point in time. “I saw a YouTube video of them that someone sent me and…” She trailed off, gulping down hard when both of his hands settled on her knees; he was staring at her mouth, too. It was hot, and the focus made her lips burn. She bit her bottom lip and he licked his. She really missed kissing him, and the way the anticipation would wind under her skin before their lips came together. Or when her linked hands at the back of his neck drew his face closer. And the pressure of his hands against her lower back, pushing her into his body. Yes, she really missed all those things.

  “And?” he asked, one side of his mouth ticking up slowly, because he knew every part of her was in free fall. Knew his touch had a way of snatching her attention from anything else. And this touch on her thighs right now, after all this time, still seized her.

  Erica struggled to find her thoughts again. “…And then I wanted to see them…” With a finger, he drew a soft circle on her inner thigh. “…Live!” Her leg jerked when his fingers trailed up her skin from the top of the counter to the top of her thigh. Damn, the boy was good.

  “I should stop…” Bryson leaned forward on the counter, arm muscles flexing from shoulder to forearm with the movement. Jesus. She imagined them contracting when he hovered over her and her fingers tracing the various trails of the muscular shape.

  “…Do you want me to stop?”

  “No. No stopping.” Stopping was definitely not what she wanted. With their emotions so mixed-up and charged from earlier, she was glad for something grounded in the physical. And it felt so good. Erica opened her legs wider, and he walked his fingers up her skin until he hit the edge of her shorts as his other hand snaked beneath her top.

  “Oh yeah?” As he gripped her side, his thumb skimmed just beneath the edge of her breast. Her nerves recalled the familiarity of his touch, as each tap was like a rush of current across her skin. Arousal heightening, she shivered from the blistering feeling that raced with the speed of an arrow to her loins. Her desire for him was nearly oozing out of her pores, to the point that her clothing felt uncomfortable.

  Damn, she wanted him, but… “Bryce, your judgment right now…” Erica grasped his shoulders on either side, unable to resist touching him.

  Bryson leaned in even more, as close as he could get without kissing her. Her lips trembled. “I want you. So fucking bad.”

  And what could be said after that? Erica hooked her legs above his butt and Bryson pulled her forward onto his waist. She yanked her fingers through his hair when his lips grazed her shoulder and when his tongue flicked at a spot on her neck. As his mouth moved across her throat, he lingered in every place his lips touched, sending waves of warmth through her body, fueling her lust for him. Bryson grunted, welcoming the way she writhed against him as she tugged his hair. She lowered her head so that their lips met and their tongues joined, instantly entangling. Erica could almost taste his hunger for her in his breaths and her skin got tight all over because of it.

  Bryson kissed her harder with every quickened breath she released, every pleasurable noise she expelled. His eagerness was as mesmerizing and stimulating as it had always been; she wasn’t anxious or intimidated. She could only drown in the deliberate way he explored her mouth: his tongue rolling over hers then skimming the roof of her mouth with just the tip. His teeth sailed over her bottom lip before digging in softly as she withdrew it.

  Moaning in desire, she let her hand crawl up his back, and she lightly scraped her nails against his skin on the way down. They fell back on the couch with her astride his lap. After she pulled her top off, his lips took in one of her nipples, and he cupped her other breast. Erica grabbed his neck with one hand and dug her nails into his back with the other, as his tongue slid up her throat and his lips pecked at the delicate flesh. His erection was pressed squarely between her legs, and she shivered as it brushed her through her shorts.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Erica whispered before she dropped her mouth to his. He shifted their bodies until he was on top of her, her knees on either side of his ribs. Above their heads, he linked their fingers, and she lightly vised one of his lips between hers, sucking it into her mouth, before their kiss finally fell into a rhythm.

  “You’re so beautiful, Erica Anne,” he said, lifting himself. They locked eyes for a moment, and a flux of shivers sparked all over her from the way he stared at her bare torso. He was breathing so hard, and he was so full of that intensity she felt whenever they were together. Erica sensed the pull of the tether strung between their chests and felt it drawing his body into hers like she might absorb him. “I want to feel how wet you are right now.”

  Hair fisted in her hand, Bryson rained kisses down her stomach until his lips reached the band of her shorts. His head swiveled up to meet her gaze with a silent wish to continue. She lifted her hips so he could slide them down her legs, and she twitched when his fingers skimmed the front of her panties. After pulling them off, one of his fingers slipped through the wetness, and Erica arched off the couch as her legs trembled. With his hand between their bodies, he hovered over her until she pulled his mouth back to hers, and he sucked in every whimper that escaped her. Somewhere deep in her body, a familiar coil of ecstasy curled her toes and stiffened her legs.

  Bryson paused a moment to lower his boxers then repositioned him
self over her, and the anxiousness came then. It was overwhelming; though, not based in worry. It was a wonderful feeling, a rush that left her woozy. She just wanted to feel him again, find closeness with him again. Still, she couldn’t crush the other sense drifting along the back of her thoughts. Sex without some clarity about what they were to each other right now would only breed confusion, and she couldn’t bear intimacy becoming a moment of regret for either of them.

  Basically, things were way too fucked up for fucking.

  “You feel it, too…” she said, spotting the hesitation in his eyes.

  “Yup. I want you, Erica, but this isn’t smart…” He rocked back suddenly, and she caught the tortured expression on his face before he tipped his head up toward the ceiling. “…This can’t happen… Not like this…” Though, his words didn’t match the attention he was devoting to caressing her abdomen. “My mind is all over the place.”

  Hers was too. She was disappointed and relieved as they both got dressed, though, her body completely disagreed with the decision to stop. “And you’ve been drinking… I don’t want us to do something…” Erica sat on the couch next to him.

  “I’m not drunk anymore. I know what’s going on…”

  “But everything’s so…”

  “…Unresolved,” he said and she nodded, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t force the heavy feeling in her chest out. It was pleading with her to stay right where she was. Having him there, even with as tense as it had been, was far better than not having him there. Taking her hand, Bryson leaned in and kissed her cheek. Her expression broke when he pulled away, and she turned her teary eyes to the other end of the room. She and Bryson were stuck, like when the word one sought just couldn’t roll off the tongue and be said. Sitting side by side in silence, they were back to what they were: the remnants of a rupture.

  “Erica…are you—”

  “It’s okay if you want to rest here a little longer,” she said, making her way to her bedroom. “And there’s some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet if your hand gets unbearable.”

  “Erica?” he called out before she closed her bedroom door.

  “Yup?”

  “It’s probably my heart that hurts the most.”

  Crystal Ball – Chapter 5

  Bryson was gone a few hours later, a note with both an apology and a thank you left atop the folded blanket he’d used. The apartment felt empty without him, even upon Dylan’s return. Like he had remarked about the noticeable absence of her scent in his apartment, she found that she could smell him everywhere in hers. It was nice at first, but the way it lingered, whether actually or psychologically, it became a reminder that he wasn’t there.

  And although the existence of the private investigator never disappeared from her thoughts, either, she was able to keep it on the fringes by diving into a multitude of tasks over the week. She attended her classes, interviewed documentary participants with Dylan, let Dylan film her story, and contacted music bloggers and venues about Fading Fast after chatting with their manager. She arranged for them to perform at Luz in West Hollywood the following Thursday with Abel Elliott as her date. She had inundated music writers and bloggers’ inboxes with her ambitious predictions about Fading Fast’s popularity to get them to attend. By week’s end, as ‘yes’ RSVPs poured in—along with sweet, personal messages about being glad to hear from her again—she welcomed the excitement that was reminiscent of her old life. With the decision to move back to L.A. came an internal pledge to jump back into the things she loved with both feet.

  As she departed her kickboxing class on Saturday, she snatched her vibrating cell out of her bag. “Should I have a weekly delivery of apology flowers sent to your apartment?” Bryson asked after a sigh when she answered his call.

  “No, but they were beautiful, and I loved the one camellia, too. Sucks that they’re out of season. It’s still my favorite flower…” she said in a wistful whisper.

  Bryson sighed again and she wondered if it was out of relief or sadness. There was heavy silence on both their ends, something she still wasn’t accustomed to when interacting with him. “I went from seeing you and talking to you every day, to not seeing you and talking to you, and now I’m not used to getting texts from you or seeing you, so I’m struggling a bit. And I don’t really know how to do this, E, but I’m pretty sure I’m doing it really wrong.”

  “This is an adjustment for both of us, Bryson. I’m not sure how to do this, either.” There was so much guilt when she considered the contrast in their reactions to pain. While she ran away, he ran toward it, albeit drunkenly.

  “I don’t want bad feelings between you and me. I’m glad you’re back in L.A., and I don’t want us to be strangers. I really mean that,” he said, and it should’ve made her feel better but it didn’t. His emotions were in shambles, and he was probably masking his pain to accommodate her in his life. And the fact was, while they didn’t have to be strangers, there was no way in hell they would make it as just friends. “And I need to keep you around because you’re good at pulling glass out of drunken jackasses.”

  She laughed. “My splinter removal skills will blow your mind.”

  “Like my dancing?”

  Erica exaggerated a cough. “Um… yeah…”

  “Wait…are you saying my dancing’s bad, E? All this time and you finally admit it.”

  “Whaaaat? Noooo…”

  “Hey, I know that tone and when you use it. Remember I know you…I know you better than anybody…” He did. He paused briefer than the previous lulls of quiet this time. “So, E, I want to take you up on your offer…what you asked in your text.”

  “Well…do you want to hang out with me sometime?” she asked. Maybe they could try for something that looked like friendship. Ha.

  “Talk. Hang out. Yeah. I do. I promise I won’t drink…or dance…” he said, chuckling.

  “That’s too bad because I was about to ask if you wanted to come to the show on Thursday,” she said. “At Luz. Fading Fast is performing.” A social scene with a crowd seemed like the best place and way to facilitate a slow integration back into each other’s lives. Upbeat chatter and loud music would stifle all awkward silences and he’d be free to leave whenever he wanted. But, oh God, she hoped he’d stay a while, even if he didn’t talk to her the entire night. It would be a first step toward setting up the conversation they really needed to have about last year.

  “Definitely. But if I don’t send you flowers, I’m getting you a better coffeemaker. One that brews hot chocolate for Dylan…but not those awful teas you love so much.”

  She gasped. “What? My kumquat tea is delicious!”

  “Bay—Erica…” Bryson caught himself, but she knew he had started to call her baby or babe. “No one even knows what that fruit is, so I doubt someone knew where to pick it for the tea bags,” he joked. She got the warm and fuzzies; it was one of those silly Bryson and Erica things. “Anyway, I’ll be there at Luz on Thursday. See ya, E.”

  She hung up, thrilled that they had finally made it through a conversation that ended well. But there was so much ahead to deal with. And what if they couldn’t get past everything? And what if they did for a time, but Bryson started pitying her and treating her differently anyway because of the assault, and they fell apart again? Erica sighed. She was getting ahead of herself. And worrying too much, already. Baby steps, she thought.

  Now on to business. “I’m serious, Fitz, you owe me. Big time. Hassle all your friends,” she mumbled out loud as she typed a text. It was up to him and Carlos to make sure all their friends and their friends’ friends showed up to Luz. She’d offered to pay them to discuss it on social media whenever they could.

  Fitz: Quit worrying. We’ll be so deep in that SHIT!

  Fitz: Bring my beer. His requested payment. Today. Thx.

  Erica laughed as she pushed open the door to Pinkberry. It was busy with the normal Saturday crowd, clustered around the small white tables, but her eyes immediately went to Matt
in his usual corner. As if he could feel her stare, his blue eyes lifted from his e-reader and he shot a tilted smile at her. Her heart fluttered as much as her fingers did when she waved at him. Matt had been much more open about staring at her in class earlier, even making a face in the mirror when the instructor walked them through what Erica thought was an unfeasible position for anyone whose bones weren’t rubber bands. Matt’s expression, amused doubt, had led to her nearly bursting out laughing as the instructor spoke, and then the two of them had continued eyeing each other and laughing quietly while trying to achieve the yoga pose.

  He gestured for her to leave the line and join him at the table. Matt presented a Pinkberry cup with her order, perfect in fruit and gummy selection, and her heart sank. There was no way she could accept it. Other than people who worked in food preparation, Erica never let anyone make anything specifically for her that she couldn’t observe being prepared. Blame Jeremy.

  Matt’s face fell, which meant that her unpleasant reaction was pretty clear on hers. “Oh… too many gummy bears? I told Tom it was for you, so he added a third scoop.” He swept a few of the candies to his own cup of fro-yo. “Better?”

  Erica smiled. He was even sweet while getting rejected. “No, it’s just…I wanted to try something different today,” she lied. “Change things up.”

  “Oh! Tom won’t like that. You just named your order last week,” Matt said, smiling as she went back to stand in line. She got a vague sense of disappointment when his attention was back on his e-reader, but she could picture the shape and exact color of his blue eyes now without seeing them.