by L. V. Lewis
Our first order of business is a run through of the set list for the concert next Saturday. This already sold out performance is just a two-hour pre-wedding gift to the fans from Sky and Brody. All the money from the show is going to charity, and the perfectionist that those two are means that today’s practice isn’t a one-and-done. We go over each and every song, twice, until I have them down on the drums, and the sound is coherent, which will take us through lunch to wrap just before dinner again.
Good thing I brought my vitamin supplements and medication. Brody approached me before we took our break for lunch. His concern evident on his face. “You good man? Do we need to give you longer than an hour for break?”
“I promise you,” I’m good. “You sound like my Mom, dude. Chill.”
“Okay, I just don’t want to tire you out or anything.”
“Believe me, I’ve been working with a trainer and building up my stamina. I could go for six—seven more hours.”
“Oh, it won’t be that long. Sky’s gonna kick everybody out before dinner.”
“Cool. I’m just going to freshen up before lunch,” I say pulling my t-shirt, sticky with sweat, away from my torso.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Use the one in the room in the third door on the left at the top of the stairs.”
I grab my backpack and run up the stairs. As a rock drummer, if there is any possibility that I’ll be doing a gig, I carry a couple of extra shirts, because you expend more energy on that instrument than anyone else in the band, and you get as sweaty as fuck. In sessions like today, I’m the only one doing so, because of my movement around the kit. Everyone else is standing or sitting still and playing, so they are barely breaking a sweat.
I find the room Brody indicated and locate the door I believe is the bathroom. I’m about to turn the knob when the door opens and Alyssa barrels out in only her bra and jeans. Her t-shirt and a towel in her hand.
“Oh, my God! Dylan, you scared the hell out of me.” The hand on her heaving chest just draws my attention back to the lacy bra, covering her gorgeous breasts. My throat becomes parched, but my dick begins to swell just thinking about how I used to lick and suck her perfect C cups until she was so wet, there was little resistance when I entered her—.
“Dylan! Are you okay?” She reaches out and touches my forehead, as if fever is a symptom of depression. Although I feel bad not telling her the truth, I can’t until I know she’ll be willing to give me another chance. Right now, though, I just want to kiss her so badly, my whole body aches.
“Sorry,” I default to an apology, and hold my backpack up so she can see it. “Brody said I could use the bathroom in here to freshen up and change for lunch.”
When I look back into her eyes, I notice her eyes are on my lips. The air becomes charged with sexual tension that I know isn’t my imagination. I take two steps forward and she takes one back. She tries to move past me, and I block her egress moving unintentionally into her path. We dance like this for a few beats, and then we both step forward at the same time and she’s in my arms. I drop my backpack and she drops what she’s holding, and our bodies meld together, our lips fusing like old times.
Alyssa still wears the same pomegranate flavored gloss that I would eat off her lips every damned time we kissed. I commence doing exactly that, devouring her, kissing her so thoroughly, I can feel her squirming to get closer to me as I clasp her hips and grind myself into her. We kiss until we are both at a deficit for air and we have no choice, but to come up for it, both of us breathing as if we’ve just run a half marathon.
I look down into her eyes, and rather than love, or at the very least, lust, all I see is pain.
“Fuck!” I say under my breath.
“We shouldn’t have—.” She begins, but I cut off her denial.
“Alyssa, this is proof. We had something special.”
“You’re right. We never had any problem in the sex department.” She pushes away from me, and I have no choice but to let her go. “You said it yourself. The operative word is ‘had,’ and what we had was destroyed when you left me without a word. I can’t go back to the uncertainty that you won’t take off again.”
She grabs her things from the floor and darts out of the room.
“Fuck!” My vocabulary diminishes to a single expletive again.
I’m more disappointed in myself for kissing her before she was ready, than I am for her shutting me down. I pick my backpack up and enter the bathroom she just exited. I don’t blame her for doubting me. What I did inspires zero confidence in a repeat performance. The only chance I have of convincing her to give me another shot will be to make her believe the idea is hers alone. Pushing her by playing up our sexual attraction won’t do the job. Therefore, I’m going to have to resist the urges to hold her and kiss her unless she makes the first move.
Alyssa and I were able to build a friendship over several weeks before we hooked up before, and I’d like to think that we could do that again, particularly, if she wants The Savages to play for her. I have to prepare myself for the eventuality that it might take longer than last time to win her over.
Although my appetite for food has become non-existent, I know I need to eat, because missing meals won’t help my goal of getting back to my pre-cancer weight. I’ll just have to man up and face Alyssa at the lunch table and in the studio after this fiasco, regardless. But first, I think a quick cold shower is very much in order. Just freshening up is not going to cut it.
Sixteen
Hollywood, CA
ALYSSA
I curse myself out seven different ways from next Saturday after kissing Dylan when he’s only been back in town twenty-four hours. Good luck with me avoiding getting my heart broken again. My game plan is all shot to hell and forget having his band back me if I can’t resist jumping his bones after one fucking day.
When we re-convene in the studio after lunch, Dylan mouths to me a heartfelt, “I’m sorry,” and I nod which I hope conveys to him a sincere, “no worries.” The rest of the afternoon, I stay as far away from Dylan as I can, even though he has returned to practice freshly showered, his hair dark and squeaky clean as a result. He looks so good I want to sniff him, but I rein in that urge and sing when I’m required and step out for a break from the hotness exuded by the talented drummer that oozes sex appeal even when he’s not trying to.
I want to talk to Sky about what happened, but I can’t because when I’m not singing, she is so we don’t have an immediate opportunity. My sad attempts to signal to her to call a break for everyone isn’t recognized because she’s too wrapped up in her fiancé and perfecting the music to pay me much attention. Which on most days I would be the first to agree with those priorities, but today I can’t seem to string together a coherent thought now that Dylan Castle is in the mix.
Finally, the band is playing the outro on Sky’s final number and she grabs a bottle of water out of the mini fridge which she keeps stocked to provide hydration for the band while we’re in recording sessions. I nab her while Brody is wrapping things up and she’s taking a long swig of water.
“Sky?” I say, touching her elbow.
When she turns and removes the bottle from her lips, she takes one look at my face and nods toward the door. She doesn’t have to gesture twice. I follow her out of the studio and up the stairs.
We go straight to her bedroom to the window seat where we used to spend an inordinate amount of time just chilling together when she was single, or we’d often read or writes songs on our iPads from there. We sit down before either of us speak.
“What’s wrong?” She says in a voice that brooks no objection.
I jump right in. “Dylan and I kissed at lunch.”
“No!” She yelps, then covers her mouth with a hand as if to stifle her gasp.
“Yes!”
“So, does this mean you’re reconciling with him after all?” She has the audacity to look hopeful.
“Absolutely not. I was just changing out of my top at th
e beginning of our lunch break, which I spilled iced coffee on during my set, and there he was when I came out of the bathroom.”
“And he just kissed you out of the blue?” She asks with more than a modicum of suspicion.
“Not really. We kind of did that little, ‘when I move you move’ dance that people do when you can’t figure out who’s moving in which direction, and finally we gave up and gave in to the mutual attraction that permeates the room whenever we’re in close proximity to one another.”
“Even though you insulted his choice of date yesterday by intimating that she might have STDs?”
“Yes, but then we talked things out when you and Brody left to talk to your dad, and I might have asked him while driving him here from his hotel this morning if The Savages would consider being my band when my album numbers come back.”
She grins, “You’re feeling jazzed about that new album aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am…” I grin back at her, then lose it just as quickly. “…but focus Sky. The issue at hand right now is I kissed Dylan back. What do I do about that?”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“Ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Then you probably shouldn’t be recruiting The Savages as your band. That commitment would be way longer than two weeks in the Maldives. I’m just saying.” She says rolling her eyes which I know is a deliberate attempt to mimic me.
“Hey, I was feeling benevolent after he got a little sensitive over something I said.”
She narrows her eyes. “You said something worse than what you said about his date?”
I shrug. “I made a reference to life not being worth living with all the side effects of medication, and totally forgot he’d just gone through a bout of depression.”
Sky gasps audibly this time. “Alyssa! While you and I know you can say some hurtful things when you’re hurt, that was pretty harsh.”
“I know. I know, but I immediately apologized. Then I over-compensated later by asking The Savages to back me, but I’m pretty sure they’ll say no, because my new album is soft rock at best, and I don’t get the impression they want a woman fronting them.”
“I don’t know where you got that impression. Kim Heart sang back up for Brody primarily, but she also sang duets with him and lead on quite a few of The Savages’ hits.”
“Well, aren’t you just a fount of information about The Savages,” I tease.
“Duh, I am marrying their former front man.” She leans in and takes my hands. “Listen, there’s no rule written that says you guys can’t work together as professional musicians, but you have to decide one way or another about taking Dylan back. Romances gone bad can wreak havoc with your career.” She didn’t have to spell that one out, I knew she was speaking from second-hand experience via her fiancé.
“You’re right, and I can’t let whatever this is between Dylan and me ruin my chance at the big time.” When framed like that, it was really a no-brainer.
Career trumped a reformed man-whore who ghosted you once, and although still as fine as hell, giving him another chance has to remain firmly out of the question. Therefore, my mantra going forward with Dylan will be, “Resist,” like I’m a social cause and he’s the bane of my existence, but only in the most polite way possible. I did not want to be the cause of him going back into depression.
Later, after another of Della’s fabulous dinners, when I’m driving Dylan back to his hotel, we get a chance to talk. This time I take his suggestion to heart and we enjoy a leisurely drive back, because I figure he would be more receptive to what I have to say if he weren’t fearing for his life.
We chat a little while about the session, then I make an inelegant stereotypical segue. “Dylan, about this afternoon—.”
He cut me off. “I get it, Alyssa. We have and always have had insane chemistry, but it doesn’t mean we have to act on it.”
Surprisingly, he took the words right out of my mouth, but I wanted to clarify even further. “Exactly. Neither of us are in a place where we can pursue a serious relationship right now. You’re just getting your health back on track. This album I just finished is going to require a lot of promotion from me, right after I come back from the Maldives...”
He pins me with an impassive stare. “So, you’re what? Letting me down easy so I won’t freak the fuck out or something?”
“No, I’m just calling it as I see it. Getting involved right now would be disastrous for us. Well, at least it would be for me.”
He chuckles. “I don’t know. That sounded a lot like an ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me,’ speech to me.”
“You’re yanking my chain, but I’m trying to be serious, here.”
“I know, and it isn’t very friend-like of me, is it?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m going to stay firmly in the friend-zone, where you put me, and I promise not to make any more moves toward you unless you give me some indication that you want more. Deal?”
It lines up exactly with what Sky and I discussed, and what I really need to happen to safeguard my career and my heart, but somehow hearing it said by him doesn’t sound like what I really want. However, in order to preserve my shot at the big time, I’m doing what I absolutely have to. I have no other alternative but to acquiesce.
“Deal.”
Seventeen
Hollywood, CA
DYLAN
Once Alyssa and I have come to a compromise on how we are to comport ourselves in each other’s company, the rest of the week goes by in a blur of activity and blue balls. The activity involves all of us getting ready for the performance, and the blue balls are all yours truly.
There was a time when I would never have suffered through arousal to the point of pain. This situation is different because for the first time I care about the person I’m pursuing more than I care about getting my rocks off with someone else. Cold showers have become my friend and a necessity since staying close to Alyssa remains my priority for the week.
Being with her again in the flesh this week reminds me how much we have in common and how much we enjoy each other’s company since she isn’t still pissed off with me. Although our attraction continuously smolders beneath the surface, we manage to remain cordial and not act on our baser instincts.
On the day of the performance, I check out of the hotel and stay for the duration of my visit at Sky’s where Brody practically lives now anyway. His condo is going on the market when they return from their honeymoon and is currently undergoing some light renovations in preparation for sale.
It was decided that if I stayed with them, it would be easier for us all to get to the venue at the same time for the concert. It would also be more convenient for Brody to get me to the airport the day after.
Soundcheck goes without a hitch because Brody has an uncanny ear for sound, particularly since he’s been in that venue within the past twelve months several times. We have another of Della’s delicious lunches before we pile into Sky’s limo to head out to the Staples Center. Amber, Sky’s original PA who’s come back after a lengthy maternity leave, is eerily organized despite having the responsibility of set lists and wardrobes for all the performers.
Backstage, we sift through the maze of equipment and props until we find the hallway leading to our assigned dressing rooms. Amber ensures that we know where the designated greenroom is in case we need refreshment or some forgotten necessity we require last minute. It is also where she’ll be posted up in case one of us needs her.
Tonight’s costumes have a wedding theme. The guys are in black faux tuxes, complete with bow ties and tails, but no sleeves. I feel like a fucking male stripper in this get-up like I’m about to do a routine for a room full of Sky’s bridesmaids. Although, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t mind doing that for her maid of honor, if she’d let me.
Thankfully, Snare and I were about the same height, so the costume originally meant for him is easily adjusted to fit me. A bel
t is all that’s needed to hold up the pants. Amber does the honors with the top and steps back to admire her handiwork.
“Is that comfortable,” she asks.
I pull a face.
“Well, as comfortable as a satin tuxedo-esque top can be when you’re going to be under those hot stage lights,” she says.
I grimace. “Yeah, this’ll be drenched by the time this gig is over.”
“Which is why we got two of these for Snare,” she indicates the garment bag hanging on the rack.
“Okay, so I’ll get to change at intermission. Sweet!”
“Yes, and I’ll be available with my handy-dandy packet of safety pins to get you fitted.”
“Thanks, Amber.”
“No worries.” She turns to leave but I call out to her.
“Hey? Has Alyssa arrived yet?”
“Yes, she got here shortly before you guys since her place is a bit closer to the venue.”
“Ahm, which dressing room is she in?”
“A couple of doors past you on the other side of Brody and Sky.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she says with a departing smile.
I grab the case containing my collection of sticks and my earpiece and find Alyssa’s door. I take a deep breath before I knock.
“Come in!” she calls, and I turn the knob. I am not prepared for how beautiful she looks in her colorful bridesmaid mini dress with a flower tucked neatly in her hair.
“Wow,” I say as I close the door. “You look great.”
“Thanks.” She gives me an interesting once-over. “And you look… like you’re about to drop trou like a male stripper.” She laughs, and I grin because this is the first time she’s really laughed since I’ve been here. I don’t even mind that I’m the subject of her amusement.
“I know, right? I feel like I’m auditioning for the next Magic Mike movie or some shit.”
“You could give Channing Tatum some serious competition, I’m just saying.” She stands and walks over to me.