by Scott, S. L.
Lying back, her chest rises and falls heavy with each breath. Her words starting to stick to her throat when she speaks. “With that handsome face, I have no doubt you use your looks to get what you want.”
“I know how to use more than my looks,” I start, pushing in just enough to feel her heat wash through me, “to get what I want.” I push the rest of the way when her thighs butterfly for me. Seated deep inside her body, I close my eyes, the warm sensations taking over. On instinct, I move, and she moans.
I pick up my pace, but when I rise up on my elbows, I pause. Fuck. I shake my head.
“What is it, Jet? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I’m quick to reply, hoping she doesn’t see how much she’s affecting me. What the fuck? I just met her, but when I close my eyes, it’s not just the high of good sex taking over my mind. Normally, I don’t pay a lot of attention to the body beneath me. Why should I? They only want me for one thing. But with Hannah? The girl with the haunted eyes? I want to erase the sadness. I want to replace her melancholy with other emotions.
What. The. Fuck?
Just fucking move.
We have chemistry, but I want more than just a physical connection with this woman. I want to know why she was alone tonight. Why she was drinking shots at the bar? Why she ordered me one before she knew me? I just want to know her.
Fucking move, Crow.
I do. Finally. But it’s tainted with thoughts of tomorrow and hoping she stays tonight. Fuck.
This is just sex. Sex. Just a good time. Focus.
God, she feels amazing. Too good. “So good.”
A warm hand caresses my cheek, and I open my eyes to find hers on me already. She smiles. “So good.” Lifting up, she kisses me, dragging me out of my head and into her world. Her mystery is an aphrodisiac, and I want to learn all her secrets. Will she let me into her mind? It’s a place I could lose myself forever in if I’m not careful.
Hannah isn’t just another pretty face. She won me over the first time I saw her with that come-hither stare and devilish tilt of her lips.
We exhaust ourselves, pouring my soul into hers while hers fills me. As I hold her in the aftermath of ecstasy, I whisper into her hair, “Stay.”
Turning her head, there’s just enough light to see a flicker of happiness flaming in her eyes. “Ask me tomorrow,” she replies with a small teasing smile as she closes her eyes and snuggles her back to my chest.
“I will.”
I did. When her eyes open the next morning, I toss my cigarette out the window, lean forward, and ask her to stay. While she gets dressed, I tell her I want to know her mind as well as I know her body. I confess too much too soon, more than I have to anyone in years.
She listened with a sly smile peeking through, her eyes brighter in the daylight, her worries seem to have lifted. When she kneels before me, she says, “You were the best time I ever had.”
I’m tempted to tell her she’s my worst. I hate feeling this way—reliant. Somehow, I’ve kept my emotions in check, a lock without a key for years.
Then she shows up with the right bow and shoulder, her cuts and tip fitting inside, the anatomy of a key made to unlock the deepest parts of me.
My chance starts slipping away as she does. I offer her coffee, to make her breakfast, and then I offer her a ride back to her car downtown where she parked behind the small bar where we met. I offer her anything to keep her from leaving. I don’t offer my heart and I don’t beg, but I offer her what I can.
The blue electric car surprises me. I mistakenly took her for a sports car or something less reliable and more rebellious. Her sexually carefree demeanor juxtaposed against her mysterious side fascinates me. Hearing the alarm click off and watching her open the car door, I know she’s different. I felt it last night; not just in the way we connected, but in the way she makes me feel. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Maybe. I just moved here.”
“I can show you around.”
“I don’t have a lot of free time right now, so I don’t get out much.”
Her jeans hug the curves of her hips, and I like the way she’d knotted my band’s shirt, causing it to hug her upper body and exposing the skin of her stomach. Those boots that rubbed against my ass last night look just as sexy on her today. “Well, if you do, maybe you can come see the band play again.”
Just before she slides into the driver’s seat, she stops and looks back at me. Resting my elbow out the open window, I watch the sway of her hips as she comes back to me. Come back to me.
She lifts up on her toes and kisses me, our tongues meeting slick against each other’s. Leaning back, she says, “I had a good time with you, Jet.” Lowering back on her heels, she looks disappointed, that sadness making her eyes gray again. I miss the fire of the blue.
“I had a good time, too.”
“My life is complicated. It’s really not even my own these days.”
I’m pathetic for saying anything to get more time with her, but it’s worth a shot to explore our connection from last night. “Maybe I can help uncomplicate things.”
“I wish you could. My cousin is sick, and I’m here to help her out. She needs me, but she also has a young son. His mom’s illness has taken a toll. I need to be there for him.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
When she touches me, I savor the feel of her nails trailing through my hair. For a foolish split second, I think she’s changed her mind, my chest feeling fuller as hope expands. Then the bubble bursts as she says, “If I get some free time, you’ll be the first person I look up.”
“We could make it easy and exchange numbers.”
“That comes with expectations, and I don’t want to hurt or disappoint you. If last night is all we get, it was pretty damn good.”
“Yeah,” I reply, already disappointed I won’t know how to contact her. I sit back, take her hand, and bring it to my lips. I kiss it once and then again, pressing the tip of my tongue to her skin. “Take care of yourself.”
Maybe I don’t hide my feelings as well as I thought. Lifting up once more, she kisses my temple, then whispers, “The weather is too nice for such a sorrowful goodbye.”
“Then let’s not say it at all.”
Nodding, she pushes away gently and returns to her car, opens the door, and slips in. With one foot still firmly on the ground, she looks back. “Take care of yourself, Jet.”
1
Jet Crow
Six Months Later . . .
Some shows are better than others. It’s a little-known fact that we keep under wraps. No one needs to know when we screw up or miss a beat. Years ago, when the youngest Crow brother, Tulsa, played La Zona Rosa drunk, Rivers and myself covered. By adding more electric and heavy bass, we eventually drowned out any wrong chords.
When Rivers broke a string just before debuting a new song where he played the solo, I traded guitars with him and played a four-string bass like it was made that way.
I’ve had my fair share of fuckups, but sometimes, life throws you a bone, and it all seems to come together like the music was made to sound that way. My life has worked this way as well. So far.
At twenty-six, I’ve not had to show up for a nine-to-five ever. Nope, this band thing has worked out pretty well, keeping all three of us out of trouble, for the most part—we don’t discuss the minor arrests among us, at least not much outside of teasing each other—and paying our rent since we started The Crow Brothers band seven years back. Tulsa was barely a junior in high school, but he had college chicks lined up like groupies every night of the week. I made him promise to go straight home from the gig. That’s what my mom would have wanted. Tulsa is hardheaded, though. Mom always said he was a lot like my dad.
And he’s a lucky bastard to have such cool big brothers.
Tonight, as I look around the packed bar and listen as the chords come together, making my melody come to life, I know I’m the lucky one.
We’ve been through hell and ba
ck together, but here we are, building something out of nothing from pure determination, and I’ll toss in some talent for good measure.
We’re booked almost every night of the week. We choose where and when we play, setting our own schedule. Rivers is just as good about managing us as he is playing guitar.
The only issue we have is keeping a drummer. With egos as big as ours, it’s easy to get lost in the noise. Also, the pay is decent but not great. We can pay our rent, and that’s about it. We play for the love of it, but it’s time to get the payoff.
Leaning in the shadows on the back right side and across from the bar, Johnny Outlaw, front man of the legendary band, The Resistance, and rock god, drinks a beer while catching our show. I didn’t see him come in and have no idea if he caught the opener, but he’s been here for four songs since.
I heard he started Outlaw Records and is scouting bands to add to his new label. Scouting. Scouting us? Our song ends, and I turn around while tightening a string. “Johnny Outlaw is in the audience. Don’t screw up.” The pressure to impress him looms heavy. He could give us the break we need to not have to play downtown Austin every night. He could be our ticket to a full-length album and tour. He could be the ticket we need to hit the big time. Fuck, don’t screw this up. I tap my pedal and lean up to the microphone.
It all comes together like it should—my tone, the melody, the rhythm, and the beat. I close my eyes and get lost in the music that bleeds from me. When I finish the song and look his way, Johnny’s gone.
Fuck.
I try to save my soured mood and finish the show, but fuck if I’m not bummed. It was right—the sound, the song, and the crowd. I don’t tell my brothers. I let them play their hearts out, hoping it makes up for the loss of mine at the moment.
All is not lost when I lean in to sing and a pretty woman at the bar catches my eye. I know that sweet face. It’s one I never thought I’d see again.
Hannah.
I only ever got the one name out of her, but it’s hung on at the outskirts of my thoughts, hoping to get more than one night.
Six months of silence has given me the distance to let her go while still having her cross my mind too often for my liking. Seeing the brunette beauty again has tempered my disappointment of Johnny Outlaw leaving in the middle of our gig.
She’s not drinking, and there’s no smile while her eyes stay on mine, never deviating far from me.
The last chord is strummed, and I thank the crowd as I set my guitar on the stand.
Rivers says, “Outlaw left.”
“I know. Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
Tulsa says, “Grab me a shot while you’re at it.”
I flip him off and hop off the stage. Hannah’s eyes are set on me like mine are set on her. As I work my way around a few tables and through the crowd to see her, I’m grabbed, claws poking the underside of my bicep. Marcy, a bad habit of mine, is whispering in my ear. “You look so good tonight, Jet. When you sing, I get so we—”
Extricating myself from her hold, I go easy. “Sorry. I can’t tonight.”
When I turn, I’m face to face with the woman I want to see. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she replies as her gaze lifts over my shoulder.
Marcy comes around, standing next to us, and looks Hannah over. “Maybe later, Jet?”
“Can’t. Sorry, Marcy.”
“Too bad.” Her full lips press against my cheek, and her hand squeezes my ass before she saunters off, showing off what the good Lord gave her.
Hannah watches the exchange but doesn’t say anything. When Marcy is gone, I ask, “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No. Thank you.” I find her discomfort makes me uneasy. I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “I’m glad to see you. I didn’t think I would.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I had a good time.”
Whatever mission she was on, her body softens, giving me a little peek into that woman who I once shared whiskey and an unforgettable night with. “I did too, Jet. Look,” she says and then pauses. “I wish this was a social call—”
Reaching out, I touch her wrist. “You’re here on business?”
“I couldn’t find a phone number.” Glancing at our connection, she doesn’t seem to want to pull away, but then she does anyway. “In my research.”
“Research?” When I tilt my head, thinking I must have heard her wrong, her expression becomes as serious as her tone. “What’s this about?”
“Your son.”
“I don’t have a son.” Wait . . . my mind fumbles through the one night I had with Hannah and back again. Running a hand through my hair, I ask, “Are you pregnant?”
“No. We used protection.” The relief I find is short-lived when she adds, “You have a son.”
This time, I laugh, but I’m really not finding this conversation very funny. “What are you doing, Hannah? You show up here after six months dropping bombs like they’re raindrops. I don’t have a son, so I don’t know what kind of joke this is, but it’s not funny.”
I turn to leave, but stop when she says, “You have a six-year-old son named Alfie.” Her words become white noise in the crowded bar.
“Dark hair like yours . . .
Green eyes . . .
Cute . . .
Wants to meet you . . . Jet?”
Slowly, I turn while trying to recall seven years back when I struggle to remember a week ago. One thing I’m sure of is that I don’t have a kid. “You’re going to need to fill in some blanks for me. Why are you here telling me about some kid that I supposedly have with another woman some seven years back?”
“I understand this is news to you, but you are a dad. Don’t worry, though. I’m here to help.”
“I don’t need help other than you telling me what the fuck is going on.”
“It’s late, so if you have a few minutes, I can explain while you sign some paperwork.”
My annoyance is hitting a high. First, we lose Johnny Outlaw’s interest, and now, this girl I thought was a pretty cool chick is here making up some crazy bullshit story. “Paperwork? For what?”
“For custody. Clearly, this is unexpected. I’m sorry to barge back into your life like this, but time is of the essence. I just have the paperwork in the car—”
“Slow down. Come with me.” I go back to the stage and hop up. Looking back, I tell her, “Meet me out back in ten. I need to load up our equipment.”
She nods, and I see her making her way behind Rivers. As I wrap my cord in a circle, my mind reels over the thought of having a son. I can’t. I would know. Six fucking years is a long time to raise a kid and not tell the father. And how the hell would Hannah know? Who is she?
Tulsa grabs the last amp and asks, “What was that about? It didn’t look good.”
“I don’t know. I’m going to need a few minutes when we’re done in here.”
“Don’t take long. I have a girl waiting for me.”
“Use a condom.”
He stops in his tracks. “Um, don’t you think I’m a little old for sex advice?”
“No,” I state firmly. “Use a fucking condom every fucking time.”
As I walk to the side of the stage to leave, he follows close behind. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.”
When I go outside, Hannah is standing off to the side of Tulsa’s old ’81 Ford Bronco. I help secure the equipment and slam the tailgate shut. Rivers leans against the side. “I’ll help him unload into the garage. My 4Runner should be out of the shop this week. This loading and unloading the same night is bullshit.” He glances at Hannah. “What’s going on? Taking her home?”
“No. Hey, don’t say anything to Tuls, but . . .” I nod behind me at Hannah. “She says I have a kid.”
“What?” he spouts too loud for my liking.
“Keep it down.”
“Sorry, but fuck, J
et. You knocked her up?”
“No. It’s not hers. Look, I don’t know the full story. I need to talk to her and get it.”
“Yeah. Guess so. I’ll help Tulsa unload. Fill me in later.”
“Maybe tomorrow. It’s almost one. I don’t know how long this will take.”
We shake hands, a handshake that comes with two slow slides, three fist bumps, and a quick chest hit as we bring it in. “Talk tomorrow, bro.”
I walk around to the driver’s side where Tulsa sits. “I’m going to grab a coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“She’s hot. Looks familiar. Have I hooked up with her?”
“No, fucker. I have,” I reply, walking away as he starts the engine.
My brothers take off, leaving Hannah and me standing in the alley alone. A good fifteen feet is between us, but neither of us makes a move to close the distance. Looking at her now, I’m reminded of how beautiful she was that day as we said goodbye. The wind blows, and she shivers. I say, “There’s a coffee shop on the next block. We can talk there.”
She comes toward me, and we start walking when she catches up. “What’s your last name?” I ask, tracking the cracks in the cement.
“Nichols,” she whispers loud enough for me to hear.
I glance over at her. She’s just as pretty as my memories held, that haunted sorrow still residing in her eyes. She was more confident that night and a free spirit the next day. Now, she’s the bearer of news that could be good or bad. I’m unsure what to think, so I just say what’s on my mind. “I have a son?”
A flicker of a smile crosses her lips but leaves even quicker. Reaching over, she touches my arm, and we both stop. “I didn’t know who you were when we slept together.”
“And you know now? You know me, Hannah Nichols?”
“The world has a screwed-up way of working sometimes. I was never told your name—”
“What were you told and by whom?”
“I was told you walked away.”
Anger rises inside me, my chest heating. I start walking, hoping I can cool off enough on the way so I don’t take it out on her, though she seems to be the most likely recipient since she’s bringing these lies to me. “I wouldn’t fucking leave, so whoever your source is lied to you.”