Love was a tricky word and was sometimes shelled out too easily. For comfort. For pity. To keep things stable. To avoid an awkward conversation that involved the future. Anyone who knew me knew I didn’t take any stock into the future. All I cared about was the next song to write and the next gig to play.

This little club I was playing had a backstage area. It was a glorified storage closet, but it had a collection of old guitars, amps, pieces of drum kits, and smelled like an old music room in the basement of a school. I put my foot up on an amp and drank a bottle of beer. I was getting paid cash for the show and I got to drink for free. To me, it was the best gig of my life.

I played for over an hour and only had about fifteen minutes in total of everyone’s attention. Those fifteen were because I played some cover songs. The other songs, the ones I wrote, everyone took the time to talk, walk around, get a drink, and completely forget that someone was standing on a stage, playing music, trying to survive.

But that wasn’t on them. That was how this world went.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath.

Hey Rose… where are you right now?

I shook my head and stared forward.

Why the hell had that thought come to me? That song had been locked away a while ago. I hadn’t worked on it. I hadn’t played it. I hadn’t sung it either.

To my left there was an old acoustic guitar. It wasn’t mine but I reached for it anyway. I quickly tuned it up the best I could, considering the quality of the strings.

I strummed a few chords and laughed. Amazing how songs I wrote years ago were still fresh in my mind.

I started to play the song, feeling the words on the tip of my tongue.

I wanted to sing the song… but…

“Hey, there you are,” a voice said.

I turned my head and saw Jess standing in the doorway. Holding a bottle of beer, wearing black leather pants, a low cut black shirt, her black hair pulled back. She looked like an after party dream and her eyes were locked on me.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I said.

“What song was that?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I lied.

I lied. I always lied to Jess. Our entire relationship was built on lies. Mostly said by me.

“Sounds good,” she said. “You should work on that. I can help you. I would take the-”

“Forget about it,” I said with a grin.

Yeah, Jess played guitar. She fronted a three woman band that had split up a couple months ago. The drummer got engaged and wanted to move with her fiancé. So Jess played solo shows like I did. We met over music and music was the foundation of our relationship. I didn’t plan to end up with her, but after one show and a bottle of whiskey, it turned into a long night that led into the next morning, and things just edged their way along from there.

A week ago she’d had a little too much wine with the bassist from her band and came home to curl up on my lap and whisper to me that she was in love with me. Before I had to give an awkward response or just lie to her, she fell asleep.

But it lingered out there and she knew it. I knew it.

I would have to shit or get off the pot, so to say.

Or just lie and keep hanging around.

I put the guitar down as Jess walked toward me.

“I’m serious about that song,” she said. “I would love to help.”

You’re not fucking changing the song I wrote for Rose…

I swallowed the words and grabbed Jess’s wrist and pulled her toward me. She crashed to my lap, fitting so nicely, throwing her arms around my neck.

The kiss was implied and instant.

She tasted like a fruity vodka drink. Something cherry.

She touched my face, only ever using her fingers and never digging her nails into me.

“That was a great show,” she said to me. “They loved you.”

“They didn’t watch me,” I said with a grin.

“Foster…”

“I don’t give a shit, sweetheart. I’m just happy to play. Drink. Get some cash.”

“Don’t forget the best part,” Jess whispered.

“Oh?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.

Jess stood up and walked to the door. She shut it and found a metal folding chair and jammed it under the doorknob.

She turned and lifted the bottom of her shirt up and over her head.

I let out a breath as I grinned.

“A rock star’s gotta get laid after a show,” she whispered.

Reaching back she unclipped her bra.

She climbed back onto my lap and gently thrust her chest at my face.

I groaned and shut my eyes.

I tasted her skin but it wasn’t…

Hey Rose, where are you right now?