Love Will

  “Cute lesbians will never want to hook up with you,” she reminds me. “I don’t know why guys think lesbians are so hot.”

  “I can’t answer that. By the way–I’m just messing with you and playing into stereotypes. I’m into monogamy. And they’re not hotter than you. I hope I didn’t give you that impression.

  “No, the way you look at me… I never have any doubt about your attraction to me.”

  I glance down at her, unsure. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I love the way you look at me. And you know what I love more? Something that I’ve noticed since I’ve been here with you?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t look at any other woman the same way. I’d been worried about that since the first time you did it. But you don’t.”

  “And how do I look at you? I don’t, like, undress you with my eyes every time I see you, do I? I mean, I do, but you can’t tell, can you?” I tease.

  “Well,” she says, “you do look over my body, but it’s not tawdry, or creepy… it’s just the right amount of time. You stand up a little taller. You spend most of your time glancing between my lips and my eyes, with a hint of a smile on your face. Most smiles start from the lips and reach the eyes, but not this one. This particular one starts in your eyes, and sometimes it will reach for the corners of your mouth and pull them up just the slightest, but most of the time, the contentedness stays in your eyes. You don’t blink at a normal speed. It’s slower. Like you’re taking more time to focus on me. When you do it, I feel admired. Revered.

  “You’re doing it right now. I love it,” she whispers.

  I love you.

  I kiss her quickly as my heart pounds an unfamiliar rhythm in my chest. The thought was there. The feeling was, too. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but the air required to produce the noise is now being stolen by her kiss. Not stolen, per se. I’m willingly giving it to her because I’m afraid of those words.

  But I’m not afraid of the kiss.

  “Just consider New York. You know you like it here.” She nods her head. “You know you like me.” She runs her fingers through my hair and looks up at me sweetly. “I have a good feeling about us.”

  “Us?” she asks softly.

  “Us.”

  Before we’re able to kiss again, someone tugs hard at my jacket, causing me to stumble backwards. I turn around to see Ben, with Lola standing two feet behind him. “What the fuck, man?”

  “You gotta warm up.”

  I look at my watch. “Yeah, fine, but do that again and my natural impulse to knock out your two front teeth’ll kick in. Next time, just call my name, dickweed.”

  “Is this how we’re gonna kick off the second leg?” he asks. “You’re three minutes late. Get to the stage.”

  I stare at him with my shoulders squared, not liking the way he’s barking orders at me. Shea slips her hand in mine and starts pulling me with her as she walks toward the building. She gives Lola a once-over when she passes her, causing Lola’s cheeks to blush bright red and her eyes to meet mine with worry. I look away with a smirk, and laugh to myself when I hear Ben ask her what’s wrong.

  “What was that look?” I ask Shea, putting my arm across her shoulder as we make our way to the club.

  She shrugs. “It’s just what women do. When their men get into it, they have to protect their territory, too. She just looks like the type that’d go after a guy like you, so that was my way of telling her that, uh… we’re an us.”

  I’m not surprised by her perceptiveness, and there are about two seconds when I wonder if I should come clean about Lola, but she’s in my past, and Shea doesn’t want details of my past.

  “Ben gets off on power, doesn’t he?” she asks.

  “He’s just jealous because he has no real talents. Those who can, play. Those who can’t, manage and act like fucking assholes to those who can.”

  “Does he treat Damon that way?”

  “Fuck, no. Damon’d fire his ass. He doesn’t treat me that way when Damon’s around, either. Karma’ll find him someday, and I’ll just happily step aside and watch.”

  “Would you really hit him?”

  “If provoked, yeah.”

  “Have you hit people before?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Never a woman.”

  “But you’re a fighter?”

  “And a lover,” I joke with her, not really comfortable with this conversation. She looks at me reproachfully.

  “Recently?”

  “Most recently, I punched my brother over the summer. Do I regret it? Yes.”

  “Jon?”

  “Yeah,” I say as we reach the stage. “While we’re warming up, you can go make Jon squirm and ask him what we were fighting about.”

  “If I ask him if he deserved to be hit, how will he answer?”

  I put on my guitar and think about it, but Damon answers for me. “Yes. He’ll say yes.”

  I agree with him. “He admits when he’s wrong.”

  “I don’t like violence,” she says just before Tavo counts us in to our first song. She waits until I acknowledge what she’s said with a head nod before she leaves.

  After the show, the guys and I stick around the venue and discuss our plans for the next part of our tour. Jon and Livvy offered to take Shea home since Mom and Max left before the show, which is a good thing since Lola’s still hanging around in true groupie fashion. On more than one occasion, I catch her looking at me.

  “Peron, let’s talk about the songs we’ve written on tour and decide what we want to do with them. We now own the copyrights… do we sell them to the label?” I ask him.

  “Why is this band business?” Ben asks.

  “It’s band business because Peron and I are a part of this fucking band, Ben, unlike your rhythmless, tone-deaf ass,” I snipe back.

  “Hey,” Damon says, stopping us from going any further. “Ben, if they sell them, I can’t perform them. If they don’t, it’s something we can add to the shows. Yeah?” He looks at me for a response.

  “Right.”

  “What are you thinking?” Peron asks.

  “Shit, if this was a month ago, I’d be selling anything anyone wanted for a little extra cash… but now, we’re making good money on the tour, and the songs feel like they belong to all of us, not just me and you, you know?”

  “Yeah, I don’t really want anyone else playing them. They’re our songs.”

  “Even if they don’t get recorded?” I ask him.

  “Well, they may not get recorded anytime soon or on this label, but they’ll always be in the arsenal for us. Let’s just think of it that way.”

  “How do you think this will affect your deal with them?” Damon asks.

  “They’re two separate deals. These songs aren’t in the contract. I made sure of that up front.”

  “Have you signed it?” Peron asks.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you writing songs for it?” Damon asks.

  “I’m writing songs… what they’re for, I’m not sure. Maybe the contract, maybe you.”

  “You’d be stupid to give them to me now. Save ‘em, man. You’ll be livin’ the high life here in Manhattan–or wherever.”

  I smile at him, knowing I would be able to afford a place I never imagined for myself.

  “Is the money really that good?” Ben asks. I never told him the details. He doesn’t need to know.

  “It pays to have talent,” I say simply.

  He rolls his eyes. “Well, when you need a manager–”

  I dismiss his suggestion quickly by standing up and grabbing a bottle of water that had been sitting, unopened, on the stage.

  “You guys,” Tavo says, lifting his head from his arms and slurring his words. “You guys’ve gotta work this shit out ‘fore we get on a bus together again, ‘kay? ‘Cause the tension is… is a knife you can cut.”

  “I know, man,” I say to him, patting him on the back and setting the water in front of him. “You
need this more than I do.” I look up at Ben. “Manage him, okay? Get a cab and make sure he gets home.”

  “Why are you telling me what to do?”

  “What? Do your job…”

  “Guys!” Damon yells. “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry, Damon.” I’m honestly not sure why I’m so annoyed at him. Maybe because he embarrassed me in front of Shea earlier. Maybe because he keeps bringing Lola around, and I’m tired of being confronted by my mistake. Unfortunately, I can’t really blame him for the latter, since he has no idea what happened. “Sorry, Ben. I just didn’t appreciate the interaction in the parking lot earlier. It was just a strange way to be confronted. I know I was running late, but still. A little respect would have been nice. Respect to me, respect to my girl.”

  “Yeah, and I didn’t mean for it to be so confrontational. I kind of thought it would be more of a joking thing, but I guess I interrupted a heavy moment or something,” he says.

  “You did.”

  “Sorry ‘bout that.”

  “It’s all right.” We shake hands, looking one another in the eyes.

  “Okay, so we’ll meet in the studio parking lot at noon on the first, so don’t get too drunk on New Year’s Eve or you’ll be hating yourself,” Ben advises everyone. “Someone may need to tell Tavo that when he’s coherent. The bus will leave at one.”

  “We’ll be there,” Peron says. “Now, back home to Mom and Dad’s,” he says with dread in his voice. “Have I mentioned lately how much I hate Brooke?”

  “We’re gonna get you settled someplace on your own when you come back for good,” I assure him. “Just survive the next couple of days. They can’t be that bad.”

  “They’re waiting up for me.” He shows me a text from his dad, who’s inquiring about his whereabouts and how much longer he’ll be.

  “You’re a thirty-year-old man, Peron,” I say, feeling genuinely sorry for him.

  “Why don’t you find a honey… you know?” Damon asks.

  “Damn it, they’d never let me stay out all night.”

  “I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth,” Damon says on his way out. “You don’t deserve a girl.”

  “You don’t understand my family dynamics!” our bassist yells at him.

  “Cut the ties,” I whisper to him. “You lived with Brooke. They accepted that, right?”

  “They went to temple and prayed every day for a month. The only reason they stopped is I decided to tell them we were saving ourselves for marriage, just to give them something to hold on to.”

  I start laughing. “They bought that?”

  “They believe everything I tell them.”

  “Then go talk to the fans out there, find one you like, and tell your parents you’re staying at my place. I think you do deserve a girl.”

  He looks at me, hopeful.

  “Make sure she’s a nice girl. It’ll help you with your guilt tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Will,” he says to me, hugging me as if he’d just been absolved of all of his sins.

  “Lola, I’ve got to settle up back here! It’ll just be five more minutes!”

  “Okay!” she says back to him as he disappears behind the stage.

  I quickly grab my guitars and walk toward the door, since Tavo doesn’t really provide much of a buffer between me and Lola.

  “Will?” she says quietly on my way out.

  “Yeah?” I look around before I stop. Tavo’s across the room and wouldn’t be able to hear us if he were perfectly sober.

  “You were really good tonight.”

  “Thanks.” I start walking again.

  “Does she know about us?”

  I stop and close my eyes, taking a deep breath before I respond. I never, ever wanted to talk about that night with anyone. “No, she doesn’t know about you and she never will.” I glance over my shoulder to see her response.

  “Good.”

  “Please don’t bring it up again,” I tell her.

  “I won’t.”

  “Night.”

  “Bye, Will.”

  My mom and brother are both sound asleep when I get home. I grab the water I’m dying to drink now before I make my way upstairs. When I open the door, I nearly drop my acoustic at the sight of Shea in nothing but her bra and panties.

  “Was not expecting that…” I set my guitars down, take a swig of the water and find my way over to her, kissing her body everywhere that I can.

  “I was going to take a shower, but I thought I’d wait for you.”

  She helps to take off my shirt, then unbuttons my jeans for me before pulling them off my legs. “The shower’s not very big,” I remind her on the way into the bathroom.

  “Then we’ll just have to be close.” I undress her, discarding her underwear on the cold, tile floor. She throws mine on top of them.

  I grin. “How close?”

  She steps inside, standing with her back against the wall of the stall and inviting me in with her. I close the glass door and turn on the water, pointing it downwards until it heats up. While we wait, we kiss until we’re breathless. As steam starts to rise from the bottom of the small basin, I direct the stream of water onto my shoulders, making sure it hits her, too.

  Shea picks up a container of some manly shower gel she’d bought me for Christmas and lifts it above my head. “Close your eyes.”

  “What are you–”

  “And your mouth,” she adds, putting her hand over mine. I feel the coolth of the gel on the crown of my head, then my shoulders, and it begins to run down my chest. She closes the bottle and starts to work it into a lather in my hair, eventually moving her hands down to my neck and to the rest of my body. She tells me to turn around and rubs my back vigorously. I moan a few times, letting her know how good it feels. She gets one of her puffy sponges and drags it all over my soapy body, not leaving an inch untouched.

  When I turn back around, I’m hard and aching and wanting her. I knock all the remaining shampoo and soap bottles off the ledge to my left and prop my foot there, making sure my leg is between hers first. “You okay?” I ask her.

  “I’m so turned on right now,” she says as I rub up against her.

  “Oh, fuck, you are. You so are.” And without intending to, I easily slip inside her, and we’re having sex in the fucking shower. “Oh, fuck, Shea,” I breathe.

  “Oh, God, Will.” She tightens her grasp around my neck as I pick her up, turning to the side, holding her under her ass, and pressing her against the wall, grateful for the addition of the non-slip padding in the stall. She watches me as the water cascades down both of us now, creating defined streams down her face and arm.

  “You are so beautiful.”

  She swivels her hips as she quirks her brow, drawing the tip of my tongue into her dimple. I can feel myself grow even harder as I think of my tongue venturing elsewhere into her body. Every time her hips come around to the front, they’re met with a thrust, and she gasps in air as I exhale. As our pace quickens, she locks her feet behind my back. She knows what’s coming. She knows I’m coming, and she’s making it impossible for me to pull out.

  “Shea?”

  “Oh, Will. Will… Will! Will! Will!” She puts her hands on my cheeks and kisses me as she tightens around me, grinds against me. When she pulls her head from mine, I watch her as she opens her mouth to catch her breath, allowing droplets of water to pepper her tongue. Well, fuck if that isn’t the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, and I’m completely done for.

  “Oh, fuck. Ohhhh… Ahhhh…” We breathe together through my orgasm, neither of us making any more sounds. I look her directly in the eyes, struggling to hold her as I feel my body begin to weaken from the physical exertion. When I’m finished, I lower her slowly and feel a sense of culpability. I turn the water on hotter as the chills set in. Instead of allowing Shea to wrap her arms around me, I tell her I’m fine, finding her soap and moving the sponge along her naked body slowly, making sure I’m thorough. She washes her hair
on her own, letting me rinse away the suds her shampoo leaves behind.

  She exits the shower first, leaving me alone to scrub myself once again after working up a sweat with her. Instead of being angry with myself or feeling stupid for what we’ve done, I decide to shrug it off and face it head on.

  Shea’s already dressed in a tank top and flannel pants when I get out of the shower. She gives me a towel and pats her hand on a small stack of clothes–my boxers and a t-shirt.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Do you want a robe?”

  “No, let’s just get into bed,” I tell her.

  “Works for me. I’m going to run downstairs and get some juice. Do you want anything?”

  “I’ve got some water. Thanks.”

  Outside of the bathroom, it’s at least ten degrees cooler. I hurry to get under the covers, happy to see that she’s already turned on the electric blanket. It feels nice and cozy. Shea hurries to join me when she comes back into the room. At the same time, we both take our shirts off, remembering our first night together and how we kept one another warm.

  With her safely in my arms, I kiss her forehead and speak to her quietly. “I’m really sorry about that.” I look at her to make sure she knows to what I’m referring.

  “No, I am,” she says. “I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

  “But I got us in the predicament in the first place.”

  “Still, I could have stopped it,” she argues.

  “It just felt so good,” we both say at the same time before laughing about it.

  “Why are we playing the blame game here?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m pretty sure we determined earlier that there’s an ‘us’ in this equation.”

  “We did.”

  “Well, shit, let’s blame those fools and just take care of it in the morning,” I suggest.

  She grins and nods. “What do we do until then?” she asks.

  I smile back at her. “I’m pretty sure the damage has already been done, so…”

  She pushes against me and shakes her head. “Don’t call it that.” She looks confused or sad or both as she says it.