Islands, by their very nature, have a way of trapping you. There’s an edge on every side, a border that’s more than just a thin line on a map. Even when you’re ready to leave, an entire process must be undertaken to bring that desire into reality.

I’ve been considering it.

The thing is, I’m not ready to leave, not just yet. This place has been too inspiring for me to throw it all away and start over again. Especially given the way that my publishers are reacting to the first draft.

“They love it,” Taylor tells me, her voice overflowing with excitement as it tumbles out through my phone and across my ears.

I’m sitting on a bench in the middle of town, surrounded by business that are closed for the season. It’s peaceful, like an imaginary universe where I’m the only one left on Earth. The only sound is Taylor’s excited chatter through my phone and the soft ring of the flagpole nearby, rustling in the breeze while a metallic portion of the rope taps over and over again against its hollow tube.

This is where I go to work, now, far from the cabin that once felt so warm and cozy but now provides nothing but miserable memories and a close proximity to the one person I’d rather not be around.

“That’s good to hear,” I tell Taylor. “I love it, too.”

“Seriously, though,” my agent continues gushing. “The first book was fantastic, it really was, but this is a whole over level. Everything is so raw and real and… brave. You’re really exposing yourself with this.”

“Thank you,” I reply, not knowing what else to say.

“When can we get the next few chapters?” Taylor questions. “Everyone’s dying to know what happens.”

I stare at the empty shop windows across the street from me, my mind drifting away as I consider what it must be like to live here in the summer time. I’m trying to avoid my agent’s question, because I’m not entirely sure of the answer.

“Hello?” Taylor finally blurts. “Did I lose you.”

“I’m sorry,” I stammer, pulled back into myself.

“When can we get the next few chapters?” Taylor repeats.

I hesitate for a moment. “Am I talking to you as an agent, or as a friend?” I question.

“Both,” she informs me. “Always both.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna cut it,” I laugh. “Can you tell the agent to step outside?”

Taylor pauses. “Of course,” she finally replies, a surprisingly understanding move for sure a tight-laced woman. “What’s up?”

“It was all flowing,” I tell her, “I was writing pages and pages of really incredibly stuff. Words I could be proud of. I was in my groove, but now there’s nothing. I’m back to square one.”

“What are you saying, exactly?” Taylor continues.

“I saying I don’t know when you’ll get more to read,” I confess. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to sort out before my mind is ready for that. These characters, they’re great, but they remind me of a place that I’d rather not think about right now.”

Taylor lets out a long sigh. “You fucked him, didn’t you?” she finally questions, stepping outside of her strict professionalism for a moment. I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard Taylor swear, and it completely throws me for a loop.

“What?” I blurt defensively, then immediately realize I’ve been caught. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I mean, Grant has a certain power over women,” Taylor states bluntly.

“Don’t remind me,” I groan.

“So, what happened?” Taylor continues. “You thought you could change him, but now you realize the guy’s a lost cause and you’ve been wasting your time?”

“I think I knew that from the beginning,” I admit. “I just hoped I was wrong.”

“Well, that does explain why the stuff you’re writing is so fiery,” continues Taylor. “I mean, these characters just jump off the page. Honestly, the only one I don’t entirely believe in is the stalker girl.”

“Really?” I question.

“I mean, it’s not my place to comment,” Taylor continues. “You’re the writer, not me. Everyone else seems to love it.”

“No. I want your notes, Taylor,” I reply, not quite sure if this is the truth, or if I’m just excited to talk trash on Jessica in some strange, round-about way. “I always want your notes.”

Taylor hesitates for a moment. “Everyone else rings so true, but between you and me, that woman is a bit much.”

“Tell me about it,” I offer with a laugh. “You should meet her.”

“What? She’s real?” Taylor continues. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I wish that I was,” I reply.

Taylor considers my confession for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. “With all this drama, I’m confused why the writing stopped,” my agent admits. “I thought that’s what got you going in the first place.”
“It was,” I admit. “I just don’t want to be in that place anymore. I don’t want to be around those people. I don’t want to see… him.”

“Ah, sweetheart,” Taylor sighs, her tone changing to one of genuine sympathy. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“I think so,” I confirm with a laugh.

“Well, what do you need?” my agent questions, getting down to business. “How are we going to keep things moving? Because what you’ve got so far is incredible. I don’t care what it takes; this book cannot stop moving forward.”

“I need my advance,” I finally tell her. “I know that it’s supposed to come after I’ve turned in my rough draft, but if I’m ever gonna get there, then I can’t be staying in your cabin any longer.”

Taylor lets these words linger in the air between us for a moment, trying to piece together a plan in her head. “I think I can work something out,” my agent finally says, “but only because the stuff you’ve sent us is so fucking amazing. You keep turning in ideas like this and you’ll be able to do whatever you want.”

I let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I gush. “That’s such a relief.”

“I’ll get the money wired into your account as soon as I can,” Taylor assures me. “Now get back to work.”

 

 

I tired to find a place on the opposite end of the island, I really did, but for some reason nothing seemed to suit me. The original cabin was so cozy, so perfect for a struggling writer like myself, that some random shack up for seasonal rental just won’t do.

Of course, I’m also working with a limited budget, and although the advance for my second book was quiet generous, it needs to last me a long time, maybe even several years. Besides, I haven’t even gotten a quarter of the way through writing this one.

Fortunately, I eventually found a place that called out to me in the same way Taylor’s cabin did, a small cottage nestled up in the woods that overlooks the same cove I was originally trapped in. I was weary about being this close to Grant’s place, partly out of my disdain for the man, partly because I’d rather Jessica didn’t know where I lived. After the break in, there’s no telling what that woman is capable of, but the price was right and I’m trying to deny her any sway over my life at this point, for better or worse.

The cottage has a deck that’s absolutely perfect for writing on, allowing me to sit out in the shade of the massive evergreens while I gaze down at the sparkling water far, far below. It’s technically possible to hike down to the beach from here, but it was take a very, very long time and you might end up breaking your legs when you tumble down over the steep, rocky cliff side.

I feel protected here, perched up high so I can see the rest of the world coming. The only thing this private getaway hasn’t provided yet, however, are words on the page.

The move was quick and easy, but now that I’m here, the inspiration I assumed would come bubbling back has refused to rear its head. Instead, I find myself staring at my word processor for hours on end, then switching over to Solitaire, wasting away my day as digital playing cards dance their way across my laptop computer screen.

Lately, I’ve started confronting an utterly terrifying thought, something that has been hinted at by a number of artists, including myself, but rarely ever said out loud.

Is it possible that I can’t create without pain in my life? Is drama the fuel that I need to survive?

I certainly hope not, but the longer I sit up here on my perch, slowly burning through my advance money as the days stretch into weeks, I’m not so sure anymore. The most productive I’ve been during this entire trip was when things were getting the craziest.

Back then, words were flowing like water from my fingertips.

I’ve tried everything to get myself started up again, struggling to jump my creative motor through long walks in the woods and one or two day trips to the other islands nearby. Nothing seems to help, although there was one day I found myself strolling closer and closer to the old cabin, tempting fate with every step as I imagined that brilliant yellow sports car rumbling around the corner.

The car never came, but that was the one of the few nights I actually managed to get some words down.

I’ve also become a regular at Captain’s Cove, showing up like clockwork every Wednesday and Friday night for dinner.

The waitress, Beth, has made a personal promise that she’ll warn me if she ever spots Grant coming, but he never does. She’s good about not taking sides, and although she clearly loves the guy, it’s quite apparent to her that I’ve got good reasons for steering clear.

Tonight is Friday night, and I’m excited to be getting out of the house for a bit. I’ve been staring at my computer screen all day, struggling to coax forth the words that refuse to come. It’s exhausting, the mental drain causing me to physically ache after hours and hours of absolutely no progress.

But now I’m out of there, on the road towards town with the windows down as the cool wind whips itself refreshingly across my face. I blasting music, letting myself get swept away in the sound as my phone shuffles through every hit I’ve got.

Classic after classic comes spilling through my car speakers, sing-along jams that have me raising my voice and pushing the speed limit. It’s only when an old Bad Blue Medicine track arrives that my breath catches in my throat.

It’s their first hit, an up-tempo rock and roll number that blasts along with hooky, sloppy, rock and roll brilliance.

Of course, my first instinct is to reach out and turn the stereo off, but as my hand flies in that direction I stop myself. Now I’m listening intently, my fingers hovering over the nob but refusing to change the volume.

I’m not gonna lie, this is a really good song, and one that I haven’t heard in ages.

If this had happened two months back I’d be thrilled to sing along, but now I’m not quite sure how I feel while Grant’s vocals cascade across my ears. I’m flooded by a potent mixture of emotions, from disgust, to anger, to a strange and powerful joy. The connection between Grant and I had been so strong in such a short amount of time, and a small taste of that feeling once more is wonderful.

It’s also sad.

I reach out and take the volume knob in my hand, intending to turn it down but then shifting directions at the last minute. Instead, I crank up the volume, giving in to the music as it flows across me, singing along like my life depends on it. I’m belting at the top of my lungs, letting out all the anger and frustration that’s been pent up inside of me.

When the song finally finishes, I fall back into my driver’s seat, exhausted.

Grant is still an insufferable asshole, but that felt nice.

It’s not long before I pull into the parking lot of Captain’s Cove, turning off my engine and climbing out of the car. My mouth is already watering as the powerful scent of the restaurant wafts out into the parking lot, a familiar hint of the incredible meal that’s about to follow. If there were ever a time for the term hidden gem, Captain’s Cove would be it.

I walk down the path and open the door, immediately greeted by Beth.

“Hey!” I cry with a wide smile and open arms, giving the woman a strong hug. “How’s it going tonight?”

I release my grip and then glance around the room, staring in shock at the empty tables before me. The place is utterly vacant, which is routine during the afternoon but absolutely unheard of on a Friday night.

The next strange thing I notice is that a corner of the restaurant has been cleared out, the tables missing but a small stool and microphone set up in their place. Speakers are situated on either side of them.

Behind, a keyboard and acoustic guitar are positioned, as well as a large upright bass that’s been left leaning up against the wall.

“We’re trying out an open mic,” Beth informs me.

I laugh. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not going well.”

Beth smiles and leads me over to my usual table, sitting me down and offering a menu. I wave her away. “Just the usual,” I say.

The woman nods, then turns and heads back towards the kitchen, disappearing through the swinging doorway.

I gaze out at the ocean view through the window before me, taken aback by just how much it reminds me of the date that me and Grant once had here, not so long ago. Tonight’s massive yellow moon is reflecting off of the water in exactly the same way, shimmering and dancing over the waves in a way that is almost hypnotizing.

Between this moment of reflection and the Bad Blue Medicine song on my way here, I actually find myself missing Grant.

Of course, I often reminisce on the bountiful inspiration that his drama seemed to bring me, but this new, warm nostalgia for the man is not that at all. The kind of yearning I feel is simple, without any cues from my lacking creativity or stagnant writing.

I just miss him.

Not that it really matters. The guy’s a mess and, without significant personal changes, he’s dangerous for me to be around. I can’t get involved with someone like that, I just can’t.

Grant needs to fix some important aspects of himself before I ever see him again. I can’t be the one to do it.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by someone clearing their throat over the microphone, their rattle echoing out loudly across the empty restaurant. I turn my head and stop abruptly, utterly stunned by the sight of Grant sitting perched atop his stool with an acoustic guitar cradled in his arms. He’s wearing a dark button up shirt that’s been rolled up past his elbows, revealing colorful, muscular forearms that are completely covered in tattoos.

Immediately, a number of different emotions swim through me, some of them good and some of them bad. Still, I remain seated.

Grant and me lock eyes, but he doesn’t give me his typical self-assured smirk. Rather, the man nods, as thought in reverence of the fact that I’m still in my seat instead of bolting for the door.

“Hello everyone,” Grant finally says into the microphone, waving to a crowd that’s not actually there. “Welcome to the first Captain’s Cove open mic night. We have one performer this evening… yours truly.”

Second’s later, Beth emerges from the kitchen with a sizzling plate of my usual order, the salmon. It’s only been a minute or so since I sat down, so it’s clear now that my food was prepared early.

“You promised you’d tell me if Grant was on his way in,” I whisper to Beth out of the corner of my mouth.

The woman nods empathically, but not too empathically. “I never said anything about telling you he was already here.”

I roll my eyes as Beth leaves, offering a faint smile. Whatever Grant’s trying to do here tonight, she’s not responsible. I can’t hold this against her.

“It’s weird,” Grant continues. “I’ve played shows for crowds that go on for so long you can’t even see the end of them. I’ve played for the heads of record labels that held my career in their hands. I’ve played for other musician’s that I admired. And never before have I been this nervous.”

The man’s admission makes me immediately crack a smile, unable to contain myself.

“This song is for a very special woman,” Grant says proudly. “Someone I didn’t treat very well when we first met, because I wasn’t a strong enough man to realize what I mess I was. At this point, she doesn’t owe me anything, and that’s not why I’m here. I just wanted her to hear this song because there was once a time when she really, really liked it. I’ve been working on this song for a long time, but I think it’s finally finished.”

Grant takes a deep, muffled breath into the microphone. Moment’s later, the muscular man’s fingers start to move, his right hand strumming gently as he begins to play the first beautiful chords the gorgeous acoustic number that I know and love.

“This song is called Riley,” Grant offers.

What follows is one of the most incredible performances I’ve ever seen. Grant is completely in sync with the music, his body swaying gently from side to side on the stool as he croons away. The playing is loose and emotive, but not so much that it takes away from the man’s performance. I can tell that he’s been rehearsing, perfectly aware of every tiny moment that he creates.

As I listen, it’s hard to keep the tears from welling up in my eyes. I’m still upset with him, but the raw emotion being projected across this room is simply too much for me to maintain my composure. We’re communicating without speaking now, the lyrics and melody saying endlessly more than any conversation ever could.

As I listen, I notice that Grant has changed the words. Before, the meaning of this song had been hidden away through metaphor, and although I’d known the lyrics were about me when I heard them, the actual subject was cleverly obscured. Now, everything is right out in the open, any vagueness stripped away to reveal the once hidden truths. The rawness is intoxicating, creating feelings within me that I yearn to push deeper into.

The only word to the chorus is my name.

When Grant finishes, I quickly wipe the tears away from my eyes, offering up my solo applause that fills the room awkwardly.

“Thanks, that’s my set,” Grant says into the microphone. “I’d love to play a little more but I’ve got dinner plans. Don’t worry though, Jeff, Sarah and Derek are gonna set the mood for everyone now.”

Three figures make their way out of the kitchen as Grant leaves his stool. They take their positions at every instrument, quickly setting themselves up before breaking out into a pleasant, romantic jazz tune.

Grant strolls up to the table, standing for a moment and taking me in. “First, I’m sorry,” he finally says.

I nod. “Apology not accepted,” I inform him. “Yet.”

“Can I sit down?” Grant asks.

I pretend to think about his request for a minute, then finally reply. “Sure.”

Grant sits in the chair directly across from me.

Moments later Beth appears with a rare steak, placing it before the rockstar. “Enjoy your meal,” Beth offers, smiling and making direct eye contact with me to see if I’m okay.

I give Beth a thankful nod before she turns and leaves.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot to say,” I finally start in, “but before you tell me anything I just have to ask, why do I recognize the guys in this band?”

Grant seems confused at first, then glances back over his shoulder in a moment of understanding. “Oh yeah, I bet you do,” the rockstar replies with a chuckle. “I met Jeff and Derek on our first date here. Had to kick their asses for being obnoxious and drunk, but we’re cool now. They’re actually great guys, just had a bit of a problem. Two weeks sober now for each of them. It’s a start.”

I shake my head in amazement. “You just… became friends with them?”

Grant nods. “I saw the guys in town a little while after our fight and we started talking. Turns out they’re pretty damn good players. They’ve been recording with me. Sarah is Derek’s wife, actually.”

“That’s… pretty wild,” is all that I can say, then backtrack a bit. “Are you sober, too?”

“For now,” Grant replies with a smile. “I’m trying.”

That smile. Of all the things I’d missed about this man, I’d forgotten about how intoxicatingly charming his smile was. Despite the hardness of his exterior, this simple but fleeting expression is like a window into the soul of the sweet, innocent boy that once was.

The second I feel his charisma creeping its way through my veins, however, I immediately put up my defenses. The song was nice, but there’s more going on here than just a simple misunderstanding.

“I have to tell you this up front,” I begin. “I’m not gonna be with you if you’ve got those other girls hanging around. Not that there’s anything wrong with that kind of thing, as long as everyone’s on board. Whatever. I get it. It’s just not my scene.”

“I know that,” Grant tells me with understanding grace. “They’re gone.”

I’m completely blindsided by the man’s words, taken aback but this unexpected revelation. “Are you serious?” I question.

Grant nods. “I sent them home a while ago. Well, Jessica at least. I know she’s the one who leaked the song.”
“How did you find out?” I ask him.

Grant shrugs. “It was obvious from the beginning, I just didn’t want to see it. That’s not why I kicked her out though, I kicked her out because she’s not you.”

“Not even close,” I affirm.

Grant laughs. “Amber’s still on the island somewhere, though. Full disclosure.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“It’s not like that,” Grant assures me. “She’s getting sober, too. Our whole situation, whatever you want to call it, that’s over, but she’s still on the island. I set her up with a cabin on the other side.”

While I’d rather Amber was just completely removed from his life, there’s something about the care that Grant has given her situation that’s actually kind of sweet. She was never really the problem anyway, seemingly swept away by Jessica’s influence and too weak to do anything about it.

“So it’s just you now,” I reply, mulling this revelation over in my head.

Grant nods.

“How’s the recording going?” I question.

The handsome rock and roller takes a deep breath into his broad chest. “Well, that session band is great,” he says, nodding over towards the guys as they continue to serenade us with beautiful, sweeping jazz chords. “But honestly, I’m having a little trouble again.”

My eyes light up as the man says this. It’s not that I want him to struggle, far from it, but there’s a truth in his admission that I find myself deeply relating to.

“Don’t get too excited,” Grant laughs.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I can’t get anything done, either. When everything was going down between us, I was completely on fire. The words were flowing like never before. Now, I feel like I’m right back where I started.”

“Me too,” Grant admits, then changes his expression to one of grave concern. “You know that’s not why I’m here, right.”

“I know,” I reply with a laugh. “I don’t need that drama in my life, anyway. Being inspired is great, but if that’s what it takes to fuel my creative side, I’d rather just get a job in finance or something.”

“What if it’s not the drama that inspires us?” Grant continues.

I consider this. “What else would it be?”

Grant declines to reply, staring out the window for a moment and then shrugging it off. “That’s now why I’m here,” he repeats, almost to himself. “I’m here for you.”

Hearing the musician say this so directly once again fills my body with fluttering butterflies, only this time I decline to push them away. Instead, I give in to the powerful longing, letting it sweep over me like a powerful wave from the nearby ocean. It feels good to accept the potent current that I’ve been struggling against for so long, but I’m happy I resisted this long.

Giving Grant another chance would’ve meant nothing if he was the same man from our last encounter, an endless cycle through bad boy behavior and the eventual destruction of our relationship before it even had a chance to form. Sure, that still might happen, and I’ll take every step forward with a massive heap of skepticism, but I believe the man when he tells me that he’s grown.

He’s done more than just tell me, in fact. He’s shown me.

I suddenly realize what Grant was about to say, offering up the words myself. “What if it’s not the drama and destruction that inspires us?” I suggest. “What if we’re inspired by each other?”

“Exactly,” Grant replies with a smile. “I mean, that’s not why I’m here. I’d give up the record completely if it meant spending another day with you.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” I counter. “I like your records.”

“And I like your writing,” Grant replies.

I burst out laughing. “You haven’t even read my writing!”

Grant reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small, paperback copy of Her Broken Heart. “I got it online,” the man informs me. “I’m only one chapter in, but it’s really good so far.”

I smile. “Well, I appreciate the effort.”

“Kinda sad, though,” Grant continues.

I nod. “Well, it was written during a sad time in my life.”

Grant hesitates, trying to choose his words carefully before continuing with whatever he’s about to say. I have to admit, seeing him do this is even more charming than I expected, a complete shift from the man who used to run his mouth and say whatever he’d like without any regard for the consequences. I’m certain this isn’t a habit that’s been eliminated completely, but the fact that he’s taking special care for me is deeply impressive.

“I don’t think you need to be sad to write,” he says. “I think you can be happy and fulfilled and healthy… and your new book will be just as good.”

“Why do you think that?” I question.

“Because that’s how I feel about my record now,” Grant explains. “It just took meeting you for me to realize it.”

I want to believe Grant so badly, but there’s still a kernel of doubt hidden in the back of my mind. The tortured artist is a stereotype that’s been around since the beginning of art itself. All of the greatest creators, whether a painter, a musician, or a writer like myself, have been tortured souls.

There’s something dangerous about it, sexy even, and it’s ingrained in our bones. I’d be willing to bet that the caveman who carved the best stone art got all the most beautiful cavewomen.

But that’s no way to live, and the chance to prove an age old idea wrong is more than a little exciting, especially if I get to do it with Grant by my side.

“This is really nice,” I tell the beautiful man across from me. “Let’s appreciate it for a moment.”

We spend the next while eating and enjoying the music, reliving our first date and then eventually discussing other dates we’d like to have in the future. I give in to his charms completely, and by the time we’re finished with our food, Grant and me are completely on the same page.

“So the songs finished,” I observe. “It’s really beautiful.”

“It’s almost done,” Grant informs me. “Very close.”

“I’m sorry it leaked online,” I offer. “I can’t believe Jessica would do that just to fuck with me.”

Grant takes a deep breath. “It’s my fault for keeping her so close when there were so many warning signs. I can’t blame anyone but myself.”

I shake my head. “It’s weird hearing you talk like this,” I admit. “You really have changed a lot.”

“Well, I met a very strong woman who wasn’t going to wait around while I stayed stuck in my rut,” Grant continues. “That’s not to say I’ll never make another mistake. In fact, I’ll probably make a lot, but I’m gonna give it my best shot.”

“That’s good to hear,” I reply, reaching across the table and running my fingertips over Grant’s large hands.

“The song leak was a blessing in disguise, actually,” Grant informs me. “The track went viral. Everyone’s clamoring to hear the final recording.”

“Really?” I blurt, my eyes going wide. “That’s great! Why haven’t you finished it yet?”

“I still have one more thing I’d like to record,” he tells me. “Have you ever sung backup vocals?”

 

 

It’s weird being back here at the cabin, looking up at the dark cottage and the beautiful star filled sky above it. I honestly never thought I’d return to this cove after gathering my things and heading up into the hills.

Grant pulls out his keys and unlocks the door. He starts to push it open but I stop him.

“Wait,” I suddenly blurt.

Grant turns to me with a look of deep concern. “What is it?”

“I just realized that I’ve never been inside your place before,” I tell him. “I have this whole idea in my head of what it looks like, and that’s about to go away forever.”

“Whatever you’re imagining is probably much more exciting than the real thing, so savor it,” Grant replies with a smile.

The man pushes open the door of his cabin and flips on the light, revealing an immaculately clean living space with beautiful, ultra modern furnishings. It’s gorgeous, but not cozy, with design choices that are clearly masculine.

“Did you bring in all this furniture yourself?” I question, stepping inside.

Grant nods. “I had someone do it for me, but I helped pick out a lot of the stuff. You like it?”

“I prefer the rustic cottage feeling,” I admit, “but this suits you.”

I stroll over to the stainless steel fridge, opening it up and checking out the contents. Instead of the decaying leftovers and various condiments that I’d expect from a man like Grant, I find an entire shelf of bottled water, along with a vast assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables.

“Wow, you really have been working on yourself,” I admit, “and it’s so clean in here.”

“It wasn’t before,” Grant admits with a laugh.

The hulking, muscular man leads me through his small living room to a door that, I assume, once lead to a bedroom. Instead, the original door has been replaced by one that is thick and heavy, a small window built into the middle so that you can see between. A computer and mixing board are set up nearby, while two large speakers hang on either side of the doorway, completing the makeshift recording booth.

“Aw, so these are the culprits,” I laugh, strolling over and running my fingers along the hard grid of the speaker grill.

Grant winces a bit. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“I’ll consider forgiving you,” I tell him with a smile. “I’ve still got a lot of apologies to consider though, so that’s going on the bottom of the pile.”

“Fair enough,” the rockstar concedes.

“So this is where it all happens,” I continue.

Grant nods. “Are you ready to get in there and sing?”

A wave of anxiety suddenly rushes over me. When I accepted Grant’s offer back at the restaurant, I hadn’t quite considered what it would actually feel like to sit here with him in the studio. When you take all the complexities of our relationship out of the equation, he’s still one of my musical heroes, a man whose voice I spent years listening to and admiring. The prospect of singing in front of him is suddenly absolutely terrifying.

I normally have no problem stepping up to conquer the various situations that arise before me. I’m a bad bitch, and proud of it. For some reason, however, this moment perfectly strikes upon my deepest insecurities.             

It’s not that I have a terrible signing voice, either. I can carry a tune, and nobody’s ever complained after hearing me rip it up for a karaoke night, or belt out Happy Birthday. I’m just not sure if I have any business being immortalized forever on an actual album track from a talented, well known band.

Grant notices my hesitation. “You’ll be fine,” he promises.

“You sure about that?” I question. “Because I get the feeling I’m going to deeply embarrass myself.”

Grant laughs. “I guess we’re both feeling a little out of character tonight,” he says. “You’ll be great. If you don’t like the way it sounds in the track, then we’ll just delete it right away and nobody will ever hear your part. Fair?”

This is just barely enough to get me into the vocal booth.

Grant leads me into the converted bedroom and places me before a large, beautifully crafted microphone. There are amplifiers and guitars everywhere in here, as well as a massive drum kit positioned in the corner. Grant hands me a set of headphones.

“Put these on,” he instructs me. “The chorus is one word and it’s your name, so I think you’ll be fine on the lyrics.”

I slip on my headphones and stand up straight, watching as Grant leaves the room and closes the door tightly behind him. He walks over to the computer and presses a few keys, then moments later the sound of my own voice miraculously appears within my headphones. It sounds like I’m in a large, spacious room now, my voice echoing out off of the invisible walls.

“This is weird,” I announce, taking note of the cascading sound.

“You’ll get used to it once the track starts,” Grant assures me, his voice suddenly appearing within my headphones. It sounds as though he’s standing right over my shoulder.

“Sounds good,” I reply, taking a deep breath.

“I’ll start the song and you can just listen for a bit. When it gets to the chorus, all you have to do is sing the same thing that’s already there,” my new producer explains. “Think you’ve got that?”

“I think so,” I confirm.

“You ready?” Grant asks one last time.

I don’t respond.

“Riley?” he questions.

I let out all the air from my lungs in a long sigh, trying to collect my thoughts. “I have no idea why I’m so nervous,” I finally admit. “This isn’t like me.”

“That’s okay,” Grant offers. “I’ve been doing this my whole life, so it’s easy for me. Most people have trouble their first time. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” I finally say with a nod, as though confirming this with both Grant, and myself. “Roll it.”

Seconds later, the song begins to play through my headphones, soft and sweet as it drifts past my ears. I’m immediately taken by just how beautiful this recorded version is, much cleaner than the demo Grant had presented me some time ago. It sounds like a light piano has been added in the background, which just serves to elevate things even more.

The chorus finally arrives and I open my mouth to sing, but nothing comes out.

Grant lets the song play on a little bit longer and then stops the track.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just… I don’t know if I can do this. If you want someone to write your liner notes then I’m your girl, but I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes to be a backup singer.”

“Fair enough,” Grant continues. “You want to stop?”

His words are a relief, but I hesitate to accept them. I’ve never been one to give up easily, and I do appreciate this opportunity of trying something new. Besides all that, I absolutely love this song, and actually singing on it would be something to remember for the rest of my life.

“Do you have any tricks for when you’re nervous performing?” I question.

There’s a moment of silence from Grant, then some faint shuffling. Seconds later, the muscular man appears in the window before me, shirtless.

“Oh my god,” I blurt.

“Just imagine the audience is naked,” he calls out playfully.

I can only see his upper half through the window, but I now realize that Grant is completely nude. There’s plenty to look at, regardless, his incredible chest and abs just as impressive to gaze upon as the day I first say them.

I open my mouth in an attempt to come up with some witty reply, but the words refuse to come as my focus remains squarely locked onto Grant’s beautiful physique and the gorgeous, colorful tattoos that line his arms.

“Is it working?” Grant continues, because you’re just as quiet as before.

I smile, shaking my head as I laugh to myself.

“Maybe you should try getting naked, too,” Grant suggests.

I take off my headphones and hang then up on the microphone stand next to me. Slowly, I get to work pulling my shirt up over the top of my head, my heart slamming hard in my chest as I reveal my body to the powerfully attractive man.

I’ve never been more thankful that I happened to wear my cute underwear.

Grant watches me move with rapt attention, just as caught up in the moment as I am. There’s something utterly intoxicating about this moment, and I’m suddenly reveling in the shift of power dynamics. While I’m normally the one completely swooning over Grant, I now have him in the palm of my hand.

Realizing this, I hesitate for a moment while unbuttoning my jeans.

I look up and lock eyes with the musician. “Like this?” I coo, my voice muffled through the closed studio door, but feeling very sexy all the same.

Grant nods.

I continue to strip, slipping my jeans down and then gracefully stepping out of them. I’m in nothing but my bra and panties now, but I continue with the show, gradually peeling those away until I’m completely exposed.

Grant steps away from the window.

“Hey!” I call out, confused. “Aren’t you gonna come in here and have your way with me?”

I suddenly hear the track start up again in my headphones, the song faintly spilling out into the room from their position on my microphone stand. Not knowing what else to do, I hurry back over and pick them up, placing them over my ears once more.

I’ve just barely made it in time for the chorus, but when it arrives I’m ready.

I open my mouth and begin to sing, the words spilling out like a soft river of velvet. I feel completely safe in this moment, putting everything I’ve got into this simple repetitive refrain of my own name. Eventually, the chorus ends, leaving me to stand in silence while the next verse plays out.

I let the music envelope me, swaying my nude hips from side to side with my eyes closed tight. When the next chorus comes I begin again, singing along with the beautiful melody of the track. At this point, I’m completely lost in the music, and the next thing I know I’m harmonizing, creating a new but equally beautiful set of pitches to go along with what’s already there.

This next chorus goes on three times as long, eventually leading to the end of the song. When the music finally fades away I return from my trance, feeling strangely satisfied.

The door opens up and Grant steps inside, closing it softly behind him. He strolls towards me as my eyes drift down to the incredible size of his manhood.

“That was amazing,” Grant tells me with a wide grin. “We got the take. You even did harmonies!”

“I did?” I repeat back to him, the whole thing seeming like some kind of strange, surreal dream.

“Yep,” the man says, gently taking my headphones off and hanging them next to me.

I gaze up at him, completely locked into this moment as the man wraps his huge, muscular arms around me and pulls me close. Our lips meet, sending a shockwave of arousal through my body. I’m shaking, the powerful sensations that pulse through me just too much for my small frame to take.

Down below, I can feel Grant’s manhood swelling against my hip, growing larger and larger as we passionately embrace.  Once the member has reached it’s full potential, I reach down and grip Grant’s thick rod between my slender fingers.

A soft gasp escapes the man’s lips as he reels from my gentle touch, craving even more but forced to be patient as I dole out the pleasure to him gradually. I start to pump my hand up and down across Grant’s length, watching intently as his expression reacts to even the subtlest movements. I’m in complete control.

Not for long though.

Eventually, Grant begins to play with my most sensitive areas in return, gently rubbing me in in a series of perfectly executed circles. It’s as though the man knows me better than I know myself, pacing his movements with incredible accuracy.

My face flushed red, I’m forced to stop stroking Grant’s rod, much too focused on my own blossoming pleasure. With each passing second I’m becoming even more consumed by warm, aching sensation, damn near buckling at the knees when he finally slips his fingers inside of me.

Eventually, Grant pushes me back, positioning my body on one of the large guitar amps. I sit on the sturdy black cabinet, my lets spread open as the muscular musician knees down before me. He buries his face in my crotch, immediately getting to work with his tongue as I lean back against the wall behind me.

I reach down and run my hands through Grant’s shaggy hair, loving every moment of the way that he services me.

Deep down in the pit of my stomach, a flower has started to bloom, it’s pedals unfurling slowly and basking in the pleasurable light that pours down onto them. As Grant laps away, these flowers continue to bloom, vines creeping their way down my arms and legs, filling my body with satisfaction and an escalating tension. The pressure grows until I feel as though there’s just not enough room left in my body, quaking hard as clench my teeth tight and let out a long, anxious hiss.

“I’m so fucking close,” I finally groan, but Grant already knows this. The man is right here with me, picking up on every signal that I’m sending his way. He’s an attentive lover, singularly focused on giving me pleasure that I so desperately crave.

Grant keeps up the pace of his swirling tongue, and seconds later I’m erupting with orgasmic sensation, my entire body convulsing wildly as it’s completely overwhelmed. There’s simply too much happening for me to maintain my composure, lost is a tidal wave of climax that turns my mind upside down and inside out. I feel as though I’ve left my body completely, hovering above myself for a moment when the feelings surging through my body are just too much to take.

Finally, I return to my physical frame, the orgasm passing and leaving me in a state of utter shock. I’m completely satisfied in a way that I never thought possible.

“That was incredible,” I gush.

“More?” Grant questions, pulling back from between my legs and looking up at me with a mischievous grin.

At first, I assume the man is joking, but then I remember our first time together in the woods. His endurance is uncanny, a perpetual motor of never ending passion and charm.

“I mean…” I trail off, considering his offer. “Yeah. If you have the energy.”

Grant scoffs. “If I have the energy,” he repeats back to me, rolling his eyes.

“I want you inside me, though,” I tell him.

The next thing I know, Grant has stood up and pulled me along with him. We kiss briefly, reconnecting for a moment in this midst of this sexual avalanche.

“Thank you,” Grant says, two words that could be referencing a myriad of different things at the point. Regardless, I completely understand want he means, and nod in return.

Suddenly, Grant is turning me around, leaning me back over the amplifier so that I face away from him. The hulking man sets up into position behind me, aligning himself carefully before thrusting forward in one slow, confident swoop.

I let out a satisfied groan as Grant enters me, struggling to come to terms with his incredible size. When I finally do, however, the fullness is gratifying in a way that I can only barely begin to describe.

I feel whole.

Grant quickly gets to work pumping in and out of me, his mannerisms much more wild and animalistic than the encounter we had before. He’s getting lost in the moment, consumed by desire as he passionately takes be from behind.

Meanwhile, I’m bracing myself against the amp, gazing back over my shoulder at Grant and loving every second of it. The man continues to escalate the speed of his movements, belligerent with lust until he abruptly stops and pulls back.

My expression changes to one of alarm as I see Grant tense up.

“What’s wrong?” I question.

“I’m sorry,” Grant says, clearly battling some inner demons. “I got a little carried away there. I didn’t mean to be so rough with you.”

Immediately, I sit up so that my back is pressed tightly against Grant’s chiseled, muscular chest. I put my arm back and wrap it around his neck, pulling the rockstar close over my shoulder so that I can whisper in his ear.

“You can be a bad boy in here with me,” I tell him. “Just not out there.”

The second I say this, I can feel the tension evaporate from Grant’s body. The man leans me forward and begins to thrust again, only this time with as much ferocity as he can muster.

Somehow, despite the speed of his movements, Grant still manages to hit me in just the right way, aligning his manhood so that the pleasure it provides is simply uncontainable. It doesn’t take long for me to explode with orgasm yet again, screaming out wildly as every part of my body swells with a second helping of pleasure. This time, however, Grant reaches climax along with me.

The two of us suddenly push together tightly and hold, writhing with pleasure until finally the sensation passes and leaves us utterly exhausted. I gaze back over my shoulder, locking eyes with the man and then kissing him deeply on the lips.