Victory RUN: Collected Victory RUN 1, 2, 3

by Devon Hartford

  “Very good,” the waiter smiles. “And for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the Truffle Brothers,” Julian says.

  A $34.00 omelette? Wow, this place ain’t cheap! Duh.

  The waiter takes our menus and wafts away.

  Julian asks me, “And what have you been up to? I imagine you’re taking the session musician world by storm?”

  How do I explain that Julian is the only person I really know who works in that world, other than Olivia? And she’s just an underling. She can’t hire me. “Oh, not really. But I found a really cool job teaching guitar.”

  He sips his mimosa, “Do you enjoy teaching?”

  “I do," I smile. “The kids are great. I’ve never really taught lessons before, but it’s a lot of fun.”

  “I need to bring you back to my studio. There’s a lot I could do with you…” he says suggestively through narrowed eyes.

  Hello! I know what he’s talking about. I’m still wound up from my sex dream last night and I blurt, “Do you think the paint job on your Ferrari can take it?”

  “What?” he chuckles.

  That sounded weird. “Uh, I mean, when you, you know… My shorts have rivets? On the back pockets? I was, uh, thinking about your… paint job? I know how, ah… guys with nice cars can get wound up, about their, um, cars?” Yeah, I’m not thinking about cars or paint jobs. I’m thinking about Julian’s… you know. His tongue. Totally thinking about his plunging… tongue.

  His beast beneath…

  Yeah, that.

  Julian nods and grins while I stumble over my words.

  He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  The gleam in his green eyes says it all.

  At the moment, his chair is pulled right up to the table and I’m waiting for his side of the table to start levitating. Not by magic, but because I can picture the hot rod in his pants jacking up the table top.

  “I’m suddenly ravenous,” Julian mutters for my ears only, his eyes glinting with obvious desire. “And I’m not talking about the food…”

  Gosh, what did I do?

  Tee hee.

  I totally blame my mimosa and that stupid sex dream I had last night, which was all Johnny and Karen’s fault. What do you expect when I sleep one room over from those two hippy nymphos? It’s catching, I tell ya!

  “Your Lazy Duvet,” the waiter says, setting the plate of crepes in front of me. “And your Truffle Brothers.” He sets Julian’s plate in front of him.

  How do waiters always know when to interrupt things so perfectly?

  Chapter 92

  VICTORY

  Me and Julian stand politely side by side waiting for the valet on the curb outside THE Blvd.

  I feel Julian boiling in his mist blue suit. Not because it’s too hot. We’re standing in the shade. But he’s too hot. Yes, he’s gorgeous, but that’s not the kind of hot I mean. It’s coming off him in waves.

  I bask in his desire.

  The desire coming off him.

  Coming.

  The valet drives up a moment later in Julian’s black Ferrari and hops out. He dashes around the car and opens the passenger door for me. I slide inside and Julian tips the guy before easing into the driver’s seat.

  We drive down Wilshire at a casual pace. The engine inside the Ferrari is capable of going far faster than the speed limit. I think Julian is too. Both he and the pent up car are ready to accelerate into the red line.

  “So,” he purrs, “What now?”

  I sigh, “I have to get to work.” Not my first choice. But I have bills to pay.

  “Of course,” he nods and wrings his white knuckled fists around the steering wheel like he wants to snap it off with his bare hands.

  Sexy.

  Julian chuckles, “Why don’t you call in sick and spend the day with me?”

  My eyes pop open.

  Tempting.

  But I remember that Julian is used to getting his way. Do I want to encourage that? On the other hand, it’s not like Johnny and Karen can’t handle the shop without me. But I don’t like giving in to someone else’s whim. Especially when that someone says he’ll call me in two days and doesn’t call for weeks.

  Yeah, Julian is a bit too “all over the globe” for me. Literally.

  Time to change the subject. “Hey, Julian, how’d you end up working with Layce, anyway?”

  “I worked on her last two albums. She asked me to produce the next one.”

  “Is that what you and Max did in Sweden?”

  “Yes.”

  It doesn’t sound like he wants to talk about Layce right now. I don’t think he wants to talk about anything. I don’t care. I’m curious.

  I ask, “You were recording tracks for her next album?”

  He nods.

  This is super exciting. I’m an arm’s length away from someone who is super successful in the music business. He’s sitting where I dream of being, both career-wise, and behind the wheel of his own Ferrari.

  And he really wants to have sex with me.

  It kind of weirds me out.

  I could obviously play this to my advantage.

  An image of Danny Daggers flashes in my mind. He wanted me to play things to my advantage too.

  I didn’t then, and not because I wasn’t attracted to Danny Daggers. He was handsome in his own way. Until he turned into a caveman, that is.

  But I don’t want to sleep my way to success.

  I actually want to make music that people want to listen to with my own two hands.

  “So,” Julian asks, “Where am I driving?”

  “Back to the apartment? I really have to get to work.”

  He nods and we drive to Hollywood in silence.

  Julian pulls up to the curb beside Johnny and Karen’s building. “It was good seeing you again, Victory.”

  I smile at him.

  Shouldn’t have done that.

  His emerald eyes mesmerize me. They are jeweled green and sparkle in the morning sunlight. His smile widens across his perfect teeth.

  Then I remember my Kellan dream.

  I groan and roll my eyes internally.

  I don’t want to think about Kellan right now.

  Someone on my internal committee reminds me that Kellan is with Switchblade.

  So what am I worrying about?

  A giant chalk board with the word KELLAN printed in 20 foot pink letters is suddenly furiously erased by a team of elves hired by my internal committee for just such occasions. When the board is cleaned, the elves hastily replace it with JULIAN.

  A little kiss goodbye is okay, right?

  Ms. Sensible pipes up, But only a little kiss. And that’s it. Then you have to get to work.

  Julian’s eyes regain their hold over me and I’m giddy and close to delirious. His face is excruciatingly handsome and manly. The phrase “Jesus wept” pops into my head. I feel you, Jesus. You probably oversaw the angels when they molded Julian’s face out of clay and shot him down to earth. Jesus probably wept because

  (Kellan)

  Julian was his finest work.

  Second finest.

  Anyway.

  Jesus wept twice.

  You get the picture.

  I gaze back at Julian and giggle, “What?”

  Julian leans toward me…

  I bite my lower lip.

  His mouth is an inch from mine.

  Oh, he smells so, so…wow.

  Oh, I need this.

  His lips ease into mine. He tastes so good.

  We’re kissing and it’s super intense and I want more, and he responds with passion, pulling me into him, pushing his tongue into me. His hand cups my cheek. His thumb runs along my jaw, his manicured nail skating across my skin.

  My whole body quivers with desire.

  He sighs and slides a hand between my naked thighs. His fingers tease between the skin, begging to be let in.

  I relax my legs and his hand slips through the opening in my denim shorts. Wow, he doesn�
��t waste any time. I feel his finger peel back my thong and brush along my wetness.

  A long sigh rolls out of my mouth and I moan in my throat.

  I’ve completely forgotten that we’re parked in the middle of the street in broad daylight. The top of Julian’s Ferrari is not on at the moment. Anyone could be watching from the windows in the surrounding apartments. I’m sure people on the second floor and above are getting a great view.

  I don’t care.

  Julian kisses me again and his finger slides inside me.

  I am so wet.

  And his car is way too small for sex.

  We can’t go into the apartment. Johnny and Karen are probably eating breakfast. Yeah, I’m sure if I explained to them I needed to have sex, they’d kindly offer up their bedroom and say, “Have fun, kids!” But that would spoil the mood. And I have no place else to go. If we go to Julian’s, I’m afraid I’ll never leave.

  His house is too far of a drive anyways, because Julian’s penetrating finger is thrusting in and out of me.

  It feels so good…

  In…

  Out…

  So wet…

  Slowly in…

  Dragging lazily out…

  I haven’t had sex in forever.

  I miss it.

  Oh, I so miss it.

  Without thinking, I grab the crotch of Julian’s slacks and fumble around for his cock. It’s rock hard and heat pours through the slacks’ fabric. Julian grunts as I grip him and his hips lift from the seat.

  We kiss hard, our tongues fighting for control.

  His finger jams into me up to the knuckle, bumping against my clitoris. Jolts fire up into my belly.

  I want more.

  People are totally watching like silent birds or staring cats from the surrounding balconies, gaping at the young man and young woman in the Ferrari pawing each other like desperate animals.

  I don’t even notice.

  I tug at Julian’s fly. He reaches down and unfastens it. My fingers crawl through fabric until I find his rigid velvet skin. I touch the tip of his cock with my thumb and feel a wet drop of pre come dribbling out. I smear it around his head and he shivers in my hand.

  His finger presses into me, straining to go deeper, his knuckle repeatedly bumping my clit.

  Our tongues are tied together, knotted with need. Our hands squeeze and release, slide and glide, back and forth, in and out.

  Julian’s cock starts to shake in my hand. He pulls his tongue out of my mouth and leans his forehead against mine, hissing through clenched teeth. “Fuh…” he sputters as his cock strains in my hand, swelling, the head bulging. “Fuck!” he whispers, even though we’re outside.

  In plain sight.

  Hot cum shoots from his cock, the first bullet going who knows where. More pours over my hand, warming my skin under the California sun.

  But Julian isn’t done.

  His hand works inside me hungrily, forcefully, and I feel my own pleasant tension tighten in my hips.

  “Oh, oh,” I whisper moan, “Juh—Julian. Don’t stop. Don’t… Don’t, don’t, don’t…”

  I come hard, my orgasm squeezing his finger. I imagine his cock is inside me. I imagine all the hot cum on my hand is filling me up instead of wasted on the wet folds of Julian’s dampened slacks.

  Eventually, our hands slowly withdraw from each other and we lean back in the seats of the Ferrari, breathless and panting.

  I don’t know if this was a good idea.

  That was Ms. Sensible.

  She can suck it.

  The rest of my internal committee heaves a healthy sigh of relief.

  Aaaaahhhhh. MUCH better.

  Now maybe I can sleep tonight.

  After I go to work and spend the day thinking about Julian’s finger.

  I mean cock.

  I guess Goldenblond is back in town.

  Chapter 93

  KELLAN

  The music booms around us inside Dubs’ garage at the end of our afternoon rehearsal. Joaquin beats his drums like he’s cracking skulls. Dubs points his guitar neck at the ceiling like a missile and rattles the strings. Me and Switchblade are facing each other, strumming our guitars violently, grinning at each other like lunatics.

  We make a rock & roll racket that is loud, lewd and fucking awesome. Joaquin pounds his toms like bombs and his double bass drums are kicking like machine guns. Dubs’ bass is a 10.0 earthquake that shakes the garage. Me and Switchblade’s guitars are Gatling guns going off.

  I scream into the P.A. mic, “HELL YEAH!!!”

  We hit the final ending note as a band.

  BOOM!!

  “Fuck yeah!” Switchblade shouts.

  Dubs is laughing, he’s having so much fun.

  “Órale!” Joaquin yells.

  I give fist bumps to everybody, “We are going to blow them away at L.A. Gunslingers!”

  Joaquin and Dubs nod.

  “Fuck yeah, we are,” Switchblade grins.

  “I hate to kick y’all out,” Dubs says, “But I’m trainin’ a client at the beach in a half hour.”

  We all start packing up our instruments and amps.

  “Is your client hot?” Switchblade asks. Dubs told her about his personal training business awhile back.

  “You know they all hot,” Dubs grins at her. “I don’t train no dogs, yo.”

  “Need any help whipping them into shape?” Switchblade asks.

  “You bringin’ the whips?” Dubs smiles.

  Joaquin chuckles, “What kind of fucked up shit you do with your clients, Ése?”

  Dubs says cockily, “The kind they be like, ‘Give it to me harder, Dubs! Ooh! Ooh!’” he moans in a raspy falsetto like an orgasmic woman and mimes fucking the air doggy style while spanking the air’s ass. With his deep baritone voice and masculine features, his grunting air fuck is hilariously horrifying.

  Switchblade curls her lips in mock disgust, “Dude, that’s disturbing.”

  I snicker, “Go easy on the guy, Switchblade. That right there is the best pussy Dubs has had in months.”

  She frowns, “You mean air pussy?”

  I quip, “Like I said, it’s all Dubs can get.”

  Dubs flips me off.

  Switchblade laughs.

  Joaquin asks Dubs jokingly, “That the face you make when you hittin’ the hynas, homes?”

  Sensing them ganging up on him, Dubs protests, “I ain’t hittin’ no hyenas, dawg!”

  Joaquin and I bust into laughter.

  Dubs looks around, “What?”

  I chuckle, “Joa said hynas, bro. Not hyenas.”

  “There a difference?” Dubs asks dubiously.

  Joaquin snickers, “Dubs can’t tell between hyna panocha and hyena panocha, homes!”

  Dubs shakes his head and grins, “Get the fuck out my house, y’all. My hyena is waitin’ for me.”

  We all laugh and carry our gear outside and bump fists out on the driveway.

  “When we rehearsing next?” Dubs asks.

  I say, “Tomorrow night?”

  “I’m there,” Switchblade says

  Joa nods.

  “You know it,” Dubs agrees.

  “Laters,” I say to him and Joaquin as Switchblade and I carry our guitars to her white with orange racing stripes Camaro. She drives me back to my apartment.

  When we roll to a stop in front of my building, I say to her, “Great rehearsal this morning. I can’t believe how solid the music is after only a few days.”

  She nods, “What do you expect from awesome musicians like the four of us?”

  “No less,” I grin.

  Her cell phone rings suddenly. “Hold on a second,” she says and checks the phone. She answers, “Yeah?”

  I watch her face explode into a smile a mile wide.

  She turns to me and screams, “I got the gig! I got the Wild Child gig!” She squeals at the top of her lungs.

  I literally plug my ears with my fingers. Inside the confines of her Camaro,
she’s louder than a Motörhead concert.

  To the phone, Switchblade says, “Okay. Yeah. Yes, I can do that. Yes. Definitely.” When she hangs up, she turns to me, “I fly out on a plane next week! I’m joining Wild Child in Detroit! I’m going on tour!”

  I’ve never seen another human being this happy or this excited. Her joy is catching. But at the same time, it means she’s leaving our band.

  Damn.

  Switchblade starts spinning around in her seat, looking at me, looking ahead, looking at me, looking ahead. The only thing in front of us is my street, but she’s ready to go forward at a million miles an hour. I’m waiting for her head to explode or just spin right off the top of her neck.

  Then she freezes. Slowly, she turns to me, “I’m so sorry Kellan. I won’t be able to make L.A. Gunslingers.”

  I nod my head heavily, “It’s cool. I totally get it. If they called me, I’d be telling you the same thing.”

  She leans over and practically strangles me while she hugs me. She kisses my cheek, “I’m going to miss you! We were just getting started.”

  I sigh, “I know. But go. Seriously. You have to do this gig.”

  She smiles at me. Her eyes dart around my face.

  Out of nowhere, she kisses me smack on the mouth.

  We just hold lips.

  Neither of us feels anything.

  I guess I misread her weird behavior on the way to the Wild Child audition.

  She slides back into her seat and says, “Sorry about that. I just, I don’t know. You’re awesome Kellan.”

  “You are too, Switchblade.”

  “I wish you were a girl,” she says sincerely.

  “Yeah,” I laugh. “I wish you were too,” I quip.

  “I have a pussy! You wanna see it?!” She sounds serious. She arches her back and starts frantically unbuckling her bullet belt like she’s gonna push her pants down and show me.

  Maybe I didn’t misread her?

  Maybe she doesn’t even know herself.

  Either way, I know I’m not into her, no matter how awesome she is, and no matter how hot

  (Victory)