Bullet (53 page)

And when I asked for a condom, he even let me try to put it on
him.  I failed, and he took over, but he barely had the thing on and I was maneuvering him up and inside me.  I groaned, loudly again, and rode him hard.  It felt almost like a dance, but each pump was a sweet sensation, and it wasn’t long before I was in the throes of an orgasm again.  Every time I came down I was hit with another crazy wave, and I think just my enjoyment alone fueled Clay’s pleasure.  He was louder than usual too, and I had no doubt when he climaxed.

When we finished, I rested my forehead on his.  We were both glistening from the heat, but it was more from the heat of our bodies than the temperature outdoors.  I smiled at him and rested my head on his shoulder.

I’m not sure how or why I fell asleep in that position.  Even his cock was still inside me, although it wasn’t stiff like before.  I realized I’d only been asleep for a minute or two, but Clay’s bandmates banging on the cracked passenger window made me startle and brought me back to reality.

Oh, fuck
.  So…not caught in the act so much, but still.  But Clay was cool.  I felt him breathe me in at my neck, his hands still holding the bare skin on my back where he’d pushed up my tank top.  “Fuckin’ pervs.  Two minutes.”

The two guys at the window started laughing and walked to the back of the van, but I could hear them talking.  I’d recognized their faces…they were the bassist and drummer of Last Five Seconds, and my guess was they wanted to pull the van closer to the building to load up their equipment.  It only made sense.  The sooner they got it loaded, the sooner they could leave when we were done.

I half sat up.  “Where are my panties, Clay?”

He snickered.  “I much prefer you without them.”

I gave him a look.  “I’m sure you do, but I’ve got everything on display here.  I really need them.”  Then I remembered, feeling grateful, that the stupid things had been snagged on my boot.  Sure enough, when I felt down my legs, there they were, attached to the metal eyelet.  It was hard sliding them back on in that position, though, so I turned around, sitting between Clay’s legs, but sitting up more as I pulled them up my thighs and over my hips.  I felt him zipping up behind me.

When I finished, he pulled me close again and nuzzled my neck.  He acted like he was going to say something, but he didn’t.
  He instead breathed me in again like he had earlier and then said, “Guess we should clear out.”

As we stepped out, the drummer
said, “‘Bout time, man.”

Brian, t
he bassist, was almost giggling.  “The love machine.”

“You’re just jealous.”  Clay tossed something at him and draped his arm over my shoulders.  I just wanted to get out of there.

“Sick.  You motherfucker.”  That’s when I realized Clay had tossed the used condom at his bandmate.  It looked like he’d tied it off at the top, but it was still gross.  I felt the heat of a blush crawling up my neck and was grateful when we left, and that’s when I decided sex in public places was off the table from that point forward.

* * *

I could hear a tinny strumming breaking through my dream, and it took me a few moments to realize I was lying in Clay’s motel bed, holding his pillow as though it were his body.  I smiled.  This was the first time I’d heard him playing outside of a concert.  I sat up and saw him at the foot of the bed.  He had a pad and pen beside him and was writing something, then he’d play a few chords and write again.  I was pretty sure he was working out a new riff or two, so I just pulled my knees to my chest and listened.

It was harder to tell what he was playing, because it was an electric guitar unplugged, but I was still able to make out the tune.  When he kept playing the same notes over and over, I figured he’d worked out what he’d wanted to, and I crawled to the end of the bed and hugged him from behind.  “Morning.”

“Did I wake you?”

“I
dunno.  Whatcha doin’?”

“Woke up with a tune in my head.  Had to get it down.  It’ll be a song in a week or two once the guys and I have at it. 
Wanna hear it?”

“Sure.”  So he played for me what he had, and I’d apparently missed a good part of what he’d worked on earlier.  It wasn’t as hardcore a song as they usually played, but I wasn’t going to say a word.  It was still good, a lovely melody…it just didn’t sound like Last Five Seconds.  But what did I know?  I knew nothing of their songwriting process.  For all I knew, they all started out similar to this one.
  I kissed his neck.  “It’s really good.”

He grinned at me.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I felt a little sad.  This was our last morning together.  We were heading home later that day, and I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to go back to what I’d considered my
normal
life for the past several months.  But,
oh
...maybe he was feeling it too.  Maybe that’s where the song had come from.  I had to try to lighten the mood.  I didn’t like the funky sad feeling in my chest.  I leaned over and kissed his neck.  “So…if I keep this up, who do I get this morning?  Clay or Jet?”

I paused, waiting for his answer.  “I don’t know, but would you like to find out?”

And that last morning, feeling like I was in a horrible funk, I got Jet in the shower begging me to talk dirty to him, but Clay holding me close in bed, and he said, “We’re gonna keep seeing each other once we’re back in Denver, right?”

I smiled, feeling better already. 
He said aloud what I’d been thinking all morning, but I guess I felt the need to play it cool anyway.  “Why wouldn’t we?”

“God, I’m glad you said that.”

But it was still hard to get out of bed that morning.

* * *

It was weird returning.  I still had my job, but my boss wanted to lecture me for ten minutes about how the team had suffered on my behalf.  My coworkers weren’t quite so dramatic and even asked if I’d had a good time.  One of my coworkers said she was happy she had more hours while I was away.

Brad called a meeting to discuss our living quarters.  After being on the road for two weeks in even tighter spaces, he was over our apartment and wanted to discuss future plans.

I think we were all a little sick of each other.  I couldn’t even imagine what a real tour would do to us, although I’m sure—had we been a “real” band on a “real” tour—we would have had more days off and professional drivers plus roadies.  But we were doing all the work ourselves, and Brad was often picky about who drove.  He let me drive once or twice, but he tended to be pretty overprotective of that van.  I didn’t blame him, really.  He’d sunk a lot of money into it.

He acted the diplomat that day, though…just another way he earned my respect.  We all sat in a circle in that little living room and Brad said, “Guys, we just finished something huge.  Did we make a lot of money?  Hell, no.  If you’re feeling like me, you’re tired and can’t even begin to settle back in.  I’m sorry about that.  But I hope that taste makes you hungry again.  I feel like we’ve just
kinda been sittin’ on our laurels the past few months.”

I surprised myself, because at first I agreed, but then I said, “In all fairness, Brad, I haven’t stopped writing.  I’m constantly coming up with new stuff.”

“Yeah.  I give you that.  Hell, we’re
all
doing some writing.  I don’t think that’s the hard part.  But how many of you are contributing around here?”  Ethan sat up.  “I’m not talking about doing the shit on the chore chart.  That just keeps you in.”  Ethan’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, but he was smart enough to keep his trap shut.  “I’m sayin’…how many of
us
—myself included—go around promoting our shows, trying to sell advance tickets?  How many of you guys ever even log onto our Facebook page and post to our fans?”  I knew I hadn’t done that, even though Brad had made us all admins so we could post anytime we wanted to.  “Did you guys know we actually have over five hundred fans?”

Zane
said, “Fuckin’ serious?”

“Yeah.  But we can do better.  Val and I are busting our asses earning extra cash for if we need it.  Don’t want a job?  Fine.  Then represent us…on
Facebook.  Get a Twitter account going.  Make flyers and pass them out around town.  Ethan, you have that fuckin’ sick computer and software, and I’ve seen some of the shit you can do.  You should be all over that.  But then get the word out there.  Talk us up.  Find new cool merch for us to sell.  That’s a steady stream of money, even when we play free gigs.  But I can’t keep doing it all, guys.  I book us the shows.  Help me out.”

Nick looked guilty, but both Ethan and
Zane nodded.  Brad continued.  “I’m not saying the music’s not important, but if we don’t do this other shit, no one will care what we’re writing.”

Zane
said, “We need to record more of our stuff too.”

“That we do, so why don’t you find a place for us to record on the cheap?”

“On it.”

Brad got quiet, and I could tell he had something else to say.  He took a deep breath.  “As for our living arrangement…I just can’t take this anymore.
  It’s too close, too tight.  I feel like I’m constantly on top of one of you motherfuckers.  I need some space.  This just ain’t cuttin’ it.”

Zane
piped in again.  “Agreed, man, but you know the price of rent.  No fuckin’ way we’ll survive here in separate apartments.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.  You guys know we’re on a month-to-month here.  I found a three-bedroom apartment.  It’s more than what we pay here, but I don’t give a shit.  I can’
t do this anymore.  This place is also unfurnished, meaning we’ll have to buy our own stuff, but these bedrooms will fit twin beds.  That means we’ll all have a real bed.  I need that, guys.  I really do.”

Zane
said, “Yeah…that’d be nice.”

Nick, Ethan, and I nodded.  Yes, I’d already had my own room, but I had to share closet and drawer space.  An arrangement like this might mean my room would completely be my room.  So I smiled but kept my trap shut.

“A lot of the shit we’ll need, we’ll have to go to secondhand stores to get or buy some of that cheap-ass assembly stuff at Walmart, but I need this.”  We all nodded our heads again, letting Brad know we approved.  “You guys already got some money from the past two weeks, right?”  He waited for us to nod again.  “I socked away the rest.  We actually made a lot, even after the motels, gas, and food were taken out, and I think it’ll get us started.”

In Brad I trusted.  And with good reason.  The guy had a good head on his shoulders
, and he was constantly thinking ahead.

He couldn’t have anticipated that we’d go for a few months without a couch
, and we’d only have one dresser for a while.  But it was all okay.  The new apartment not only had another bedroom, but it also had bigger spaces all the way around.  It had a fridge and a stove, and we’d get everything else later.  It was just in better shape from all angles, and I was glad to pay more for it, because it was worth it.  But—not knowing these things at the time and hopeful anyway—we packed, excited for our new home.

Chapter Thirty-two

CLAYTON AND I were tentative, not knowing really how to continue our relationship now that we were back in our real lives.  I lived in Denver, but Clay actually lived in Centennial.  It wasn’t too far away, but I couldn’t walk there, and I still had no car.  We talked on the phone but my work schedule and his life were having a hard time meshing.  Half a week we’d been back, and we still hadn’t seen each other.  Finally, though, it was a Thursday night and I got off earlier than I’d thought I was going to, so I thought maybe we could make it work.

I called his phone and waited for him to pick up.  When he did, he seemed distracted.  “My girl.  What’s up?”

“Got off work early.  I know we planned on hooking up Sunday, but I’m
dying
to see you.”

“Oh…I, uh…I really can’t, Val.  I’m sorry.”

I felt like I was getting a blow off, but I also realized I was probably just being emotional and feeling insecure.  After spending two intense, mind-blowing weeks with the man, going just four days without him was like torture.  I felt like I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms, and to have to wait longer…

Well, still…I couldn’t help it.  I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my voice.  And I was on the verge of tears.  I couldn’t keep that out of my voice, hard as I tried.  “Okay.  I guess I’ll see you Sunday then.”  And I hung up the phone before the first tear really
did
fall.  Maybe I could keep myself from crying by doing that.  I heard him say my name before I was able to punch the
End
button, but I closed my eyes and willed the tears back.

Rather than have a blotchy, tear-streaked face, I jumped in the shower and held my face under the warm stream.
  Home early or not, I decided I was just going to hit the hay.  Again, the guys and I still needed some time apart, so I didn’t feel like socializing.  I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, because I was feeling sorry for myself.

So once I toweled off and combed out my hair, I threw on a pair of panties and a t-shirt and crawled into bed.  But it wasn’t five minutes later that I heard a knock on my
bedroom door.  “Yeah?”