by Kate Stewart
Reid wasn’t buying it. “Jim Morrison?”
“Yeah, he was fascinating. And you’re kind of like him in a way. He was shy. He didn’t like to perform at first, always had his back to the audience when he was singing. But then he became notorious.”
Reid shook his head.
“I want to visit his grave in Paris. Bucket list.”
“He had some good tunes.”
“I love their story,” I said wistfully, “him and Pam.”
“It was dysfunctional as hell,” Reid pointed out.
“It was rock and roll,” I said with a shrug. “Love and rock ‘n’ roll love stories aren’t for the faint of heart. Look at Elvis, he was a glorified pedophile and so was Jerry Lee Lewis. But they are legends. And despite their crazy shit, they loved the same women their whole life.”
“Elvis and Priscilla got divorced.”
“You are definitely a pessimist in his prime,” I said, repeating Ben’s words.
Reid looked over at me skeptically. “Nothing about you, Stella, says you’d be cool with that kind of life.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“No?” he asked, baited.
I shrugged. “The women behind these guys get overlooked so often. It’s sad really. The first wives especially. They are usually the ones down from day one. They invest all their time, raise that first kid that often grows up to be a total spoiled fuckup, and gets left for wife number two. They just forget about them.”
“And you aren’t worried about that because?”
“Because I will not be forgotten, Reid Crowne,” I said with a wink. “Now, let us go see my new castle.”
My castle turned out to be a sheet-white two-bedroom slum with ruined carpet.
“We’re going to replace the carpet,” the manager said as I stared at the large brown stain in the middle of the sad excuse of a living room.
I looked at Reid. “Rumor has it Cobain lived under a bridge. I can starve for my art.”
Reid shook his head and grabbed my hand before he addressed the manager. “No, thank you.”
The second complex looked far better than the first. I breathed out a sigh of relief when the manager opened the door and there was clean carpet and fresh paint on the walls. It was also only a twenty-minute walk to the restaurant. When Lexi couldn’t take me, it would be an easy commute. The light switches worked, and the cars in the parking lot weren’t leaking oil.
“I’ll take it,” I said proudly as Reid gave me a nod of approval.
Finally. FREE.
“First month’s rent is half off,” the manager said as he ushered us back into the heat.
I gave Reid a sarcastic grin and my best Texas accent. “Looks like we’re eatin’ steak tonight, honey!”
He just shook his head and walked out the door.
After an hour of paperwork, I had a move-in date. One week. I swallowed that information as I joined Reid in the truck, where he patiently waited.
“Hi,” I said, swallowing the dry air, jumping in the truck, lifting my hair, and fanning my neck.
“You get it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, clenching and unclenching my fists. As it turned out, that half-off the first month didn’t include the one-time fee for this and the nickel and dime for that. I was flat broke and had already overstayed my welcome at his apartment.
“Stella.” Reid was staring at me as I began to panic.
I had maxed out my emergency credit card fixing my car the last time it broke down. And the rest I had saved was in a no-touch bank account that my parents monitored for my tuition.
Broke. It was hopeless.
“Stella?”
I put my head in my hands as I tried not to cry. “Can you take me to the restaurant, please?”
“Look at me.”
For the first time in my life, I was truly terrified.
I can go back to Dallas and stay with Mom and Dad.
I would call them. They would send me bus fare. But that in itself would be hell on earth. They were more than mad at me at that point. I had no choice. And then I remembered I had a job.
“Never mind, your place.”
I was pulled out of my haze by warm hands as they slid my body over to the driver’s side of the truck.
“You irritate the shit out of me, you know that? So full of questions, and no answers. What the hell is wrong with you?”
I looked up to Reid with a sigh. “I love your hands.”
“That’s wonderful, Stella. I’m fond of your beautiful tits. Can we talk here?”
“My tits, that’s what comes to mind first?”
“Well, it’s definitely not your mouth,” he said dryly.
“Can we just go?”
“Yep,” he said, yet he didn’t move as he gripped my hair and took my lips, gently at first and then fully. His kiss was wet, and as his tongue slid against mine, I relaxed and clutched him to me. He pulled away. “What?” He searched my eyes as I tried my best not to show him all I was feeling.
“I can’t move in for a week.”
“That’s cool,” he said as he waited. “And?”
“And? There is no and.”
Realization crossed his features as he cupped my chin. “You were worried I wanted you out?”
“Reid, you didn’t ask for this, and I’m mooching, and you hate my mouth—”
Reid released me and started the truck as I went on. “Paige hates us, and here we are stuck together because we had sex, and you feel obligated—”
Reid flew out of the parking lot as I rambled. “This whole situation is screwed. It’s like I can’t get a break, and that manager is a lying bastard. He took every single dime I had. I swear he saw my bank account balance and made up fees as he typed up the lease. It was all I had. I can’t even buy you a steak dinner at the shitty-ass steakhouse! Like, I can’t even buy you a marbled, nasty, greasy, fat-filled steak. Fuck this, just fuck this!”
Before I could take another breath, we were parked. I got quiet and looked up to see the Emo’s sign.
“Why are we here?”
Reid gave me a pointed look.
“Yes, I’m done talking.”
I was still close to him on the bench seat in his truck; we sat like old couples do on the same side in a booth. A part of me was hoping he would grab a license plate from his glove compartment that read Grenade instead of Sissy like in that movie Urban Cowboy—I loved that movie—and kiss me all sweaty-lipped like John Travolta did Deborah Winger. And all would just be decided between us, his decision. He would be my Bud/Band Nerd, and I would be his Sissy/Grenade, and I wouldn’t have to question myself daily whether or not it was okay to proceed with falling for him, like I so clearly was.
He palmed my scalp. “Whoa, it’s really getting heavy in there.”
I swallowed. “You have no idea.”
Soft eyes stared back at me. “Stella, if I were a better man, I’d tell you to go home to your parents.”
“I can.”
“No, you can’t. You’ll lose your job and your footing here.”
I swallowed and looked up at him. “I’m scared. Like really scared.”
“Then you’re doing exactly what you said you wanted to, right? Doing things that scare you.”
“Right,” I said with false confidence. “It’s what I want. This is good.”
He chuckled. “Still scared, huh?”
“Shitless.”
“Well, the good news is, you’ve pretty much already hit rock bottom. You’re poor, you’re homeless, and you have to stay with friends. All you lack now is a drug addiction.”
“Holy shit,” I said as his words hit me. “You’re right. Is there some crack around here we can get addicted to?”
His eyes widened, he scrubbed his palms together, and then pitched his voice. “I bet we can find some inside!”
“Oh, goody. And while we’re at it, let’s have sex without a condom tonight! Wait!” I said, shrugging continually and waggling my b
rows. “Let’s have a ménage, so I won’t know who the baby daddy is!”
Reid scowled and gripped my lips. “Stay with me. I love your mouth, especially when mine is on it. And no one is fucking touching you but me.”
I “ahhhed” through clamped lips. “Yob do wibe me.”
“Stella, you are the only one I want around right now.”
I bit back the emotion as he smacked his lips against mine and pulled us out of his truck.
“Reid, no offense, but we’re both broke.”
He looked back at me with mixed emotion. “I’m a Crowne, baby. We know how to get a buzz while broke.”
He squeezed my hand and pulled me into the empty club. We were the only ones there as the bartender greeted us.
“Just opened, man. Thought you weren’t playing until Wednesday.”
“Not,” Reid said as he pulled me to sit next to him. Empty, the club looked completely different and had that abandoned feel.
“Stella, Jon, Jon, Stella,” Reid introduced.
“Hi.” I waved and nudged Reid’s side before I whispered. “My ID says Jaunita. Great, now I can’t have a beer.”
Reid spoke up. “Sorry, Jon, this is Juanita.”
I slapped his forehead, and he let out a loud laugh before he deadpanned, “Don’t do that again.”
“Sorry, but that’s what we do to jackasses in our family. Forehead slaps. The double tap slap means you’re really an idiot.”
Two beers were placed before us, and I grabbed it like someone would take it away from me.
“It’s cool, babe, just drink.”
Babe.
I hid my elation as I chugged the beer like a frat whore.
“Easy,” he said as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Such a lady,” he snickered. His eyes went soft as he looked me over.
“Fuck this day,” I said with finality. And I meant it. I would never know if he offered to let me stay out of pity or because he truly did care and he wanted me there, but I chose the latter. I had no choice. Adulthood sucked and beer was good.
I took my last ten dollars and set it on the bar to help pay for the beer we couldn’t afford, but Reid picked it up and walked over to the jukebox.
“HEY!” I said desperately. “HEY!” I said, jumping up and following him over just as the machine ate my money.
I couldn’t help it. I double tapped his forehead. “Cabron!”
He gave me a warning look before he spoke. “Today, you’re in my hands, so don’t worry about it. Now, woman, this happens to be the best fucking jukebox in Austin. Choose wisely. You will be judged.”
“Oh, it is so on,” I said as I flipped through the sleeves.
“For every song I approve of, you get a beer.”
“It’s like that, huh?” I said to his retreating back. “This is where I shine, Crowne!”
I had six songs to choose. I scrolled through and pressed the selections in seconds like the pro I was.
I sat down just as the harmonica sounded on “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin.
Reid nodded at Jon, and I was awarded my first beer. I gave him a confident smirk.
“I am so about to school you,” I said as I happily drank down the cold suds. Spirits lifted, I began to twist a little in my seat. Reid ran a hand through his hair, his three-day-old five o’clock shadow covering a glimpse of his dimple. I hated that.
“So, you moved here how long ago?”
“When I was eighteen.”
“And how old are you now?” I asked, embarrassed I hadn’t bothered to ask the man I was sleeping with nightly how old he was. I just assumed he was Paige’s age.
“Twenty-five,” he said as he took a sip of his beer.
“Huh,” I said, scrutinizing him. “When were you born?”
“The same day you were,” he said.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. “What?” He’d babysat me on his birthday. Suddenly, I felt like the biggest shit in the turd pool.
“Don’t. I hate birthdays. I’ve been lying to your sister for two years, telling her it was on Christmas. I always tell her I’m going home and never do just to avoid cake and bullshit.”
“Wow,” I said, peeling at the top of my beer as Foo Fighters’ “Walking After You” drifted through the speakers. I was awarded another beer.
“Thought you wouldn’t like this one,” I said with a shit-eating grin. “It’s kind of soft—oh, and because you look like Dave Grohl. But, now that I take a closer look,” I said, pressing my forehead to his, “you look like a grumpier version. Like a dude who hates birthdays and girls screaming for him.”
“Wrong,” he said, lifting his beer, “like the song, and I love the girls screaming for me.”
I took the shot Jon offered us with a silent toast between the three of us and downed it as a good excuse to hide the little burn that stuck in my throat.
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“What’s what like?”
“Playing?”
He looked at me with drawn brows.
“Do you get high from it?”
“Yeah,” he said softly as he twisted in his seat. “When the crowd reacts, and it’s that perfect song, it can get pretty intense. Adrenaline peaks over and over, and when the show ends, you’re just completely spent.”
“Sounds like sex,” I said as I nudged his shoulder.
“It’s close, but different.”
“God, I’m so jealous. I tried. I wanted to be like Sean Yseult.”
“Who?” he asked.
“The bass player for White Zombie.”
“Oh, yeah, she was the shit.”
“Still is, read up, buddy. They’ve been around since I was born.” I had his attention. “I know they only got recognized in the late nineties, but they worked at it for ten years. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Oh, hell,” he said with a glance at Jon. “Another pep talk.”
“No, I’ll stop,” I said. “Okay, but do you know who got the biggest break in rock ‘n’ roll?”
He leaned in, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. It was his first public display—aside from his show for Dylan—and it stunned me in my seat to the point I almost forgot my train of thought. Almost. “All of them. Every band you can think of with radio play. They all have a story. All of them.” I pointed toward the front door. “And these bands that come marching through every night will have one, too. Some of them won’t be as great as others, but that’s what I’m here for.” I pointed my beer in his direction. “To cover the great ones.”
If Reid personified a look, it would be sex and skepticism. “If you can’t play bass like a badass, you write about one?”
“Yes, you do, especially if she’s as overlooked at Sean Yseult.”
“She’s not overlooked.”
“You didn’t know her name,” I reminded.
“Point taken,” he said as we tapped beers.
Bob Marley and the Wailer’s “Redemption Song” came on, and Jon twisted off another beer without so much as a look in Reid’s direction. I happily added it to my growing pile.
“Juanita, get your ass over here!” Reid sounded from the bar as he watched me shake my ass to Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Pride and Joy”. Loving the appreciation in his eyes as he studied the zigzag pattern of my arms over my head and the double tap of my hips to the bass, I ignored his order and let the booze and steel guitar guide my body. A small group of people had gathered at a table on the edge of the floor next to the jukebox while I pranced around like the shameless twenty-year-old I was.
I yelled out to Reid, who watched me with intent eyes from where he sat.
“My mother said when you’re happy you should dance! And when you’re pissed you should dance! And when you drink too much tequila you should dance . . . while you cry.”
The table next to me cheered as they passed me a fresh shot. Welcoming the burn with a salute of
thanks, I downed the golden liquid before I shimmied up to the sexiest man in that bar. “Hey,” I said as I took a seat next to him, covered in sweat, and leaned over. “Thanks for this. I’m pretty sure I’ll want to reenact a porno when we get back to your house, so you’ll be repaid.”
Reid threw his head back on a full belly laugh, and so did Jon, who had heard me. I blushed as much as the alcohol would allow and grabbed Reid’s pale hand. He looked over at me. “Thank you. For today.”
“It’s the least I can do.” His features twisted with concern. “You okay?”
“Buzzing, but not bad. I ate six bags of peanuts,” I said reassuringly.
“I better get some food in you,” Reid said as he saluted Jon and stood. I reached over the bar and grabbed Quiet Jon’s T-shirt and planted one right on his lips in thanks. He’d grown on me. As if he was expecting it, he gripped me by the arms and pulled me over the bar, my sneakers plowing through two empty bottles, and gave it to me just as good as I got. I shrieked in surprise as he laid it on me like a man possessed, but kept his tongue out of it.
“You motherfucker,” Reid said, with an equal amount of bark and humor. “You’re going to pay for that!”
Jon pulled away with a fresh coat of my peppermint lip gloss glistening on his lips, guiltless. “Worth it, dude. Fucking worth it.”
“Awww, baby,” I said with my hands on my hips. “Don’t be jealous, we can skip the burrito and go get naked.”
In the shower later, Reid was doing his best to keep me upright and quiet.
“God, you really don’t know when to shut up. I think it’s about time you ate some soap, Estella Emerson.”
“That’s Estella Rosa Maria Emerson,” I said as I puffed out my chest with my hands on my hips, still a little uneasy on my feet from the booze.
“Seriously? That’s your name?” he said as he gripped my head and pushed the soap toward my mouth.
“Yes,” I said, grabbing his balls. “You get that in my mouth, I take this off.”
He dropped the soap, grabbed my hand, and slid it up and around his ready dick. “How about we work on getting this in your mouth?”
“Nope, sorry.”
“If you’re not any good at it, I understand,” he chided with a shrug.
“How about you kiss my Latina ass? Blowjobs are a privilege you have to earn. These lips are pure gold, baby. Completely innocent. I’m saving that act for a worthy man.”