by Kate Stewart
“I definitely can’t complain.” I press a kiss into her soft blonde hair, which is flying all over the place. “Missed you, girl.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the release celebration.” A grimace crosses Jimmi’s pretty face. “I think I was in London that night. Great show, but I would rather have been here.”
She links her arm through mine, and we lean against the bar. I don’t speak to Bristol, who’s sitting on a bar stool with her legs crossed, and she doesn’t speak to me. Jimmi bounces a glance between the two of us but doesn’t comment on how tight the air is around us. Jimmi knows the score. She knows I’ve always had it bad for Bristol.
“Can you even believe this?” Jimmi’s blue eyes soften, losing some of their usual cynicism. “When we were at the School of the Arts painting backdrops for musicals and dreaming of making it big, we had no idea. You, me, Rhyson, Luke. It’s crazy.”
“Right.” I shake my head. “I still wake up some mornings thinking I’m supposed to be sweeping studio floors and rent’s past due.”
“Same here!” Jimmi’s laugh mixes with the heavy beat of the Future song playing in the club. “I still have my name badge from Mick’s.”
“I would have starved those first few years without all the free food you hooked me up with from that place.”
“Like your mom would ever let you starve.” Jimmi turns to Bristol, who has been considering the stage intently ever since I walked over. “That’s where we first met, Bris.”
“Huh?” Bristol turns slightly glazed eyes to Jimmi. “Sorry, what?”
“Bris, what planet are you on tonight?” Jimmi bumps Bristol’s shoulder with hers. “Grip and I were just talking about the good old days. Remember how we met at Mick’s that first day you came for spring break? Grip brought you to lunch.”
“You had on a bikini top and heels and cutoffs.” Bristol scrunches her nose, her throaty laugh rich with affection. “You were such a skank.”
“Yeah, well you were an uptight asshole prude.” Jimmi leans into Bristol, her grin wide. “Who thought she was better than everyone else.”
“I totally was.” Bristol’s mouth opens in a silent laugh. “I totally did.”
“And Grip kept looking at you like he’d discovered chocolate.” Jimmi bends at the waist, laughter shaking her shoulders.
The humor drains from Bristol’s face. The club is so dark I almost miss the anger, the residue of hurt in Bristol’s eyes from our argument.
“No, he didn’t,” Bristol murmurs into her vodka martini.
Yeah, I actually did.
Jimmi grabs Bristol’s drink and gulps down most of it.
“Hmmm. That’s good. I shoulda been drinking that.” She licks her lips and wiggles the nearly empty glass before handing it back to Bristol. “Be a doll and get me one.”
Bristol leans back, catches the bartender’s eye, points to her glass, and then holds up two fingers.
“I was looking for you earlier, Bris,” I say.
“Why?” Over the rim of her martini glass she spears me like the toothpick through the olive in her drink.
“You’re just usually early, and I didn’t see you.”
“Didn’t Sarah take care of you?” She cocks one brow. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Bristol, yeah, but we need to talk about—”
“I could totally do that, Jim,” Bristol cuts over my comment, gesturing with her glass toward the strippers onstage.
“Do what?” I demand, deciding not to pursue the Sarah conversation right now.
“Yeah, do what?” Jimmi asks.
“That upside down move she’s doing and make my ass clap,” Bristol says, taking a sip of the new drink the bartender just gave her.
“Me, too.” Jimmi sips on hers. “It isn’t as hard as it looks. The one girl in the red . . . what was her name, Bristol?”
“Champagne,” Bristol says. “I’m pretty sure she said her name was Champagne. It was something . . . festive.”
“I think you’re right.” Jimmi tilts her head, her eyes never leaving Champagne as she hangs upside down on the pole, legs straight in the air. “Though they are rather athletic and well-trained, you must admit. I think one day stripping will be an Olympic sport.”
“If strippers were men,” Bristol says with an inordinate amount of conviction. “It already would be.”
“There are male strippers,” I remind her.
Bristol’s withering glance makes me want to guard my testicles.
“Don’t you have a performance to get ready for?” She looks past my shoulder. “Where’s your girlfriend? I almost didn’t recognize you without her in your lap.”
“Is she clingy?” Jimmi whisper-shouts as if I’m not standing right there listening. “I hate clingy girls.”
“Clingy like ivy.” Bristol stares into her drink, her mouth sullen. “Like a particularly aggressive strain of rabid ivy.”
“Don’t talk about her that way,” I say. “She doesn’t deserve that, Bristol, and you of all people should know that.”
“Oh, I of all people?” Bristol leans across Jimmi until her nose almost touches mine. “Why I of all people?”
“You know why,” I grit out.
“Why?” Jimmi interjects, round eyes ping ponging between Bristol and me.
“I didn’t make you fuck her,” Bristol snaps. “No one twisted your dick to sleep with her or any of the hundreds of other girls you’ve been with over the years.”
“Hundreds?” I shake my head. “Not hundreds, but at least none of them had a stick up their ass.”
“Oh, I bet there was a stick up somebody’s ass at some point along the way.” Bristol signals for another drink. “Maybe even yours.”
“Musicians do like to experiment,” Jimmi agrees. “Believe me. I know.”
“Nothing has ever been up my ass,” I say harshly. “And, Bristol, I think you should slow down on the drinks.”
“You’re not my father.” She laughs bitterly. “Or maybe you are. You probably are. Yeah, you’re my father.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” I demand.
I don’t get to the bottom of her glare because Sarah comes over to get me.
“Hey, you ready?” she asks. “Qwest is already backstage. You guys go on soon.”
“Ooooh! I get to see you and Qwest perform live.” Jimmi claps her hands. “I’ve heard you’re fire together onstage.”
“Oh, three-alarm fire,” Bristol says sarcastically. “We had to add a hose to Qwest’s rider.”
“You’re becoming a bitch, Bris,” I snap.
“I’m factory order bitch.” She toasts with her martini. “I came like this. Maybe you just never noticed.”
“Grip, we gotta go,” Sarah reminds me, but her worried eyes rest on Bristol.
“Stay out of trouble, Jimmi.” I hook an elbow around her neck and whisper. “Watch Bristol. She’s drinking too much.”
“But drunk Bristol is so much fun,” Jimmi whispers back.
“What are you guys whispering about?” Bristol asks, her eyes narrowed on Jimmi and me.
“You,” I say without missing a beat. “Now I have to go do my job.”
“How nice for you to still have a job,” Bristol says, her words slurring more than they did four martinis ago. “Some of us got fired.”
“Okay, Jimmi.” I grab her by the shoulders to look her in the eyes. “I’m counting on you to keep her safe.”
“You snot it.” Jimmi cackles and sloppily covers her mouth. “I mean, you got it.”
“Are you drunk, Jim?” I note her glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. She’s a very functional drunk. You never realize she’s drunk until she starts breaking shit and hooking up with strangers in port-a-potties. I’ve had whole conversations with her and not realized she was lit. I think I just had one.
“Just a little.” Jimmi holds up her thumb and index finger, the smallest sliver of space separating them. “Lil’ shit. I mean, lil�
�� bit.”
I search the club for Amir. I usually hate having him with me as “security”, but I need him now. When I spot him talking with a very limber stripper, I know he’ll hate me for breaking that up, but I wave him over.
“What’s up?” He glances back over his shoulder at the girl now giving some dude a lap dance.
“Keep an eye on Bristol and Jimmi.” I tip my head in their direction. “You know how they get when they drink together. It’s never good.”
“Got it.” Amir assesses the two girls who are slumped against each other laughing over nothing.
“Break a leg, Grip,” Bristol says, sober enough to be snide. “No, really. I hope you break your leg while Qwest is humping it.”
I can’t do this with her right now. With one more death stare, which she returns in triplicate, I head back to join Qwest in the dressing room. She’s already in her skimpy costume, fake lashes on, braids spilling down to her waist. Her eyes light up as soon as I enter the room. I can’t help but wonder if that’s how I look when I see Bristol. If maybe sometimes, just maybe, she’s ever looked that way when she saw me.
“Where’ve you been?” Qwest slips her arms around my waist.
“My friend Jimmi is here, so we were just catching up.” I set my hands at her hips, putting a little space between us. “Look, Qwest, can we talk after the performance? There’s just some stuff I need to get off my chest.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She smiles up at me impishly. “I think we’re on the same page.”
By the mischief and lust in her eyes, I doubt that very seriously.
I’m grateful we’re only doing one song. We power through “Queen,” which is as energized and sexy as usual. Qwest actually steps up her game and is borderline indecent being that we’re in a strip club. When in Rome.
When we come offstage and head back to the dressing room, I can tell the performance turned her on. She locks the door and presses me into a wall before we’ve said one word. Her tongue is so far down my throat it would take a Saint Bernard to retrieve it. I’m horny and it does feel good, but I can’t do this again. I can’t do this to her any more.
“Qwest,” I say against her lips. “We need to talk.”
Her mouth slows over mine until the kisses are just pecks on my lips and across my cheeks.
“I know.” She nods, looking down at the floor. “I figured after what happened . . . or rather didn’t happen . . . on the plane.”
“Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about.”
“You don’t have to. Hectic schedule. Crazy week.” She gives me a sly look. “I even wondered if you might be bored.”
“No, it isn’t boredom. It’s—”
A knock at the door interrupts.
“Who could that be?” Qwest asks in mock innocence before opening the door.
Champagne stands in the hall, her shy grin at odds with the cupless bra displaying her pierced nipples.
“Hey, Qwest.” She wiggles her fingers, and her words are directed to Qwest, but her eyes are on me.
“Come on in.” Qwest steps back, looking at me like I should be thanking her. “Voila.”
“Sorry?” I run a hand over the back of my neck. “What is this?”
“It’s your surprise.” Qwest locks the door, stalking over to me and dragging Champagne with her. She leans up, kissing my neck, and nods to Champagne to get to work on the other side. Champagne’s overachieving ass reaches straight for my dick, running her hand up and down my stiffening erection. I’ve had my share of threesomes, but having sex with Qwest hasn’t solved anything. Having sex with Qwest and some random stripper certainly won’t. I know how to fix this, and as much as it may hurt Qwest, I’m fixing this tonight.
“Whoa.” I step out of their clutches. “What the hell? This isn’t happening. Qwest, we need to talk.”
“Not happening?” Champagne pushes out her bottom lip. “You promised I’d get to fuck Grip.”
“Well, Grip didn’t promise that you’d get to fuck Grip.” I walk swiftly to the door, wrenching it open and gesturing to the hall. “Bye, Champagne.”
“But will I still get—”
“See my boy Will out front.” Qwest sighs, watching me as if I were a house pet who just bit her. “He’ll pay you.”
Once Champagne leaves, there’s just Qwest and me, and all the things I need to say that may hurt her.
“I’m sorry.” She walks over and loops her arms at the back of my neck. “I just thought when you couldn’t get it up on the plane—”
“Hey. Don’t be telling people I couldn’t get it up.” A sharp laugh slices the corners of my mouth. “That’s how rumors get started.”
“Sorry.” Her smile makes a brief appearance before disappearing again. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s sit down.” I lead her over to the plush couch in the center of the room, never letting go of her hands. “Qwest, you’re an amazing girl. You’re smart, funny, talented. Total package.”
“If there’s one thing I know,” Qwest says, her full lips twisting wryly. “It’s big butts, and I hear a huge but coming.”
“But.” I pause meaningfully and squeeze her hand. “This isn’t gonna work between us.”
“Why?” The dismay and hurt on her face drives a knife into my heart, making me feel like an even bigger jerk. “Things have been good, haven’t they?”
“Yeah, but it’s going so . . . fast.” I shrug and look at her apologetically. “Once the media got a hold of us, it just went so damn fast. And before I knew it, we were being hash tagged and shipped and made into something other than what we said we would be. Bigger than what we said we would be.”
I look at her frankly.
“I was honest from the beginning that I wasn’t sure we should do this.”
“But we’re so good together.” Tears stand in her brown eyes. “I thought we were . . . that maybe things had changed.”
She bows her head, swiping at a tear.
“Things changed for me, Grip,” she whispers. “I love you.”
Even though my mom warned me, even sensing it myself, to actually hear her confirm it makes me feel worse.
“I told you not to do that, Qwest. You know I don’t feel that way.”
“You also know the heart doesn’t always do what we tell it to.” She lifts her head, eyes wide. “That’s what this is about. It’s that other bitch?”
Anger sparks life in her dulled eyes.
“Grip, if you cheated on me—”
“No, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Even if Bristol had turned to me, I would have broken things off with Qwest first.
I hope I would have.
“Did she finally decide she wants you?” Qwest asks, the flare of anger yielding to the hurt again. “That’s why you’re breaking up with me?”
“No, she still won’t be with me.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before Qwest is on the floor between my knees, her hands pressing my legs apart.
“Then let me have what she’s missing.” She pulls my zipper down, slipping her hand inside, her fingers going by memory to cup and stroke my balls.
“Qwest,” I groan, pushing at her shoulders. “No. Stop.”
“But you want it.” She looks pointedly at my growing erection. “I know you do.”
“No.” I shake my head and zip my jeans. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“But if she still doesn’t want to be with you then—”
“But I still want to be with her.” I lean my elbows on my knees and wipe a hand across my face. “Only her. Feeling this way, it isn’t fair to be with somebody else. Not fair to you, and not fair to me.”
“She doesn’t deserve you,” she whispers, leaning her head on my knee, tears now freely streaking down her face.
“But she has me.” A sad smile rests on my lips as I swipe a thumb over her tears. “Whether she deserves me, whether she wants me, I’m hers, and I want her. I’ve trie
d to stop, but I can’t. While that’s the way it is, I can’t be with you. I won’t do that to you anymore. I won’t do that to anybody. You deserve better.”
A heavy knock at the door interrupts.
“Who is it?” I shout, frowning.
“It’s me, Grip.” Amir’s voice comes muffled but urgent through the door.
I cross the room to let him in, and Amir’s eyes drift over my shoulder
to Qwest still on her knees wearing her barely decent costume.
“Sorry, man.” Amir’s wide eyes zip back to mine. “But that, uh, project you had me watching is a little out of control.”
“What project . . .” My eyes snap to his. Bristol. “What’s up?”
“Um . . .” Amir glances at Qwest. I look back to see her standing, eyes watchful and antennae up.
“Hey.” I walk back to her, gently cupping her face and kissing her forehead. “I need to check on something. You’ll be okay getting back to your hotel? Should I send Will back here?”
“Yeah, send him.” She folds her hands over mine at the curve of her neck. “I guess I’ll go back to New York. Nothing’s keeping me here now.”
“We still have some shows scheduled,” I say carefully. “Will you be okay for them?”
“If you know anything about me, Grip, it’s that I don’t let nothing mess with my money.” A choked laugh escapes her lips. “Not even my stupid heart.”
“Your heart isn’t stupid. It’s a good heart, and some guy’s going to be really lucky to have it.”
She nods, fresh tears springing to her eyes and streaking through the heavy stage makeup on her cheeks.
“Be safe.” I drop another kiss on her forehead and walk out into the hall where Amir waits.
“What’s going on?” I ask once the door is closed. In the light of the hall, I notice some slight puffiness around Amir’s eye. “What happened to you?”
“Bristol happened to me.” He touches around his eye. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. She’s turnt up out there. I tried to check her, and she hit me in the face. Jimmi jumped on my damn back. You know that lil’ white girl scratched me? You think I’ll have to get a tetanus shot?”