I had some fucking explaining to do.
The next day at rehearsal, Walt’s eyebrows shot up when he saw the mark on Charlotte’s neck. My mark. I stared him down as he started towards me.
“Something I ought to know about?” he said drily. Charlotte blushed faintly and lifted her hand to her throat, but I caught her fingers and squeezed them gently.
“Yeah,” I said. “Probably.”
We just eyed each other for a minute. Finally, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.
“Well, you’re not exactly children,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “As long as it doesn’t affect your performance, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
I grinned wickedly. “Oh, my performance is fucking phenomenal,” I said, and Charlotte smacked me in the stomach, her whole face turning red.
Behind Walt, Tyler and Joey burst out laughing, and Dan gave me a rim shot. Walt rolled his eyes as Natasha walked in.
“What did I miss?” she said, throwing her coat on the sofa and glancing at us. Then she saw the mark on Charlotte’s neck and did a double-take. The look in her eyes was unmistakable.
Jealousy. Anger. Hate.
It was something I was used to, but I didn’t want Charlotte seeing it. I kissed her on the forehead and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Give us a minute.” She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
I turned to Natasha, who was glaring at the door. “Tasha.” I snapped my fingers at her, and she turned her head sharply, giving me her best ‘rot in Hell’ look. “The minute,” I said, my voice low, “the fucking second you give her any shit, you are gone. Is that clear?” She was silent, her lips set in a thin, hard line. Finally, she nodded curtly and turned away, stomping off towards her music stand. I blew out a breath. This wasn’t the end. It never was. But maybe she’d think twice about messing with my little piece of happiness.
I was so fucking naïve.
Charlotte wouldn’t sleep with me that night.
“Seriously?” I folded my arms and stared at her from the door to the spare room as she pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms. They were black, with little white eighth notes scattered across them. Arthur had a sense of humour, apparently. “Why not?”
She smiled wryly at me and grabbed a tank top from the dresser before kicking the drawer closed.
“If I’m going to stay on as your PA, shouldn’t there be at least a sense of decorum between us?” she said, unbuttoning her blouse and shrugging it off. The sight of her full, soft breasts caught in that lace bra was starting to do amazing things to my cock. I shifted uncomfortably in the doorway.
“Are you shitting me?” I said, unable to look away as she reached behind herself and unclasped the bra. “Decorum? I’ve had my cock inside you, doll. More than once.” I took a deep breath. “I think we’re way past decorum.”
She laughed and pulled off her bra, exposing her creamy skin, and I groaned as my dick throbbed. She pulled the tank top over her head and tugged it down over that incredible set of tits. I could see the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, and my pulse started pounding as she reached up and removed the clasp from her hair. A black wave spilled over her shoulders, and I groaned again.
“Humour me,” she said softly, stepping up to me and standing on her toes. I bent, and she kissed my cheek. “Besides, a little edge will keep you sharp.” Her mischievous smile was starting to give me a fucking edge, all right. I growled softly, but she wagged a finger at me. “Remember, I get up earlier than some rock stars I could mention.”
I snorted. “If you want me up earlier, doll, we can arrange something.” I grinned down at her, at that playful smile and those dark blue eyes. “I’ll get up whenever you want.” Hell, I was up just looking at her in those adorable pyjamas.
She laughed again. “Sweet dreams, Kyle,” she said, giving me a little push. I grumbled and left the room, and she closed the door behind me.
Still muttering to myself, I stalked downstairs to the music room and yanked open the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet she’d bought on that first day. I fished around in the back and pulled out a few sheets of score paper. I’d been working on a song for her, and this was the first real chance I’d had to run through the whole thing. I dropped it on the piano and grabbed my Gibson. Tyler would be using his Les Paul to play the song – I hoped – and I wanted to hear how it would sound.
Two hours later, I was struggling with the chorus when my phone rang. I glanced at it. Wendy? At this hour?
“You okay, little sister?”
Her voice was shaky. “Yes,” she said, and I didn’t believe her for a hot second. “I just wanted to... to talk.”
“What’s got you up?” I asked, pulling the guitar off my shoulder and setting it down. “Please don’t tell me you’ve heard from that asshole.”
“No.” I could hear her moving something around in the background. Water running. “No, I just... I just had a bad dream.” The water stopped. “I’m sorry to call you so late.”
I dropped myself on the sofa and put my feet on the coffee table. “It’s not that late.” I glanced up at the clock. Two AM. Okay, so it was a little late. “Anyway, I was up. And it’s always nice to talk to you.”
She sighed, and it sounded like relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Wendy, stop.” I laughed as gently as I could. “You never have to apologise to anyone, ever again.”
There was a little smile in her voice. I could hear it.
“My hero,” she said, and I laughed again. “Talk to me? I just need to get my mind off... things.”
“Sure,” I said, leaning back. “Let’s see...” I smiled mischievously. “Charlotte and I are sort of official.”
Wendy gasped. “No!”
“Mm-hm.”
“What did Natasha say?”
I sighed. “Not a whole lot, thankfully. I warned her off. Told her she’d be out if she gave Charlotte a hard time.”
There was doubt in Wendy’s voice. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I raised one eyebrow, even though she couldn’t see me. “It’s just that Natasha seems like a pretty crucial member of the band.” Wendy hesitated. “I don’t mean any offence, Kyle, but Charlotte is still... new.”
“You’d think that, little sister, but you should see how Walt treats her.” I rubbed my chin. Damn, I really needed to shave. “And the guys are pretty taken with her, too.” I lowered my voice, although I didn’t particularly need to. “She’s got pipes like you wouldn’t believe, Wendy. She’s almost as good as Tasha. A few months of lessons, and we might be able to get rid of our little prima donna altogether.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you, tough guy.” She was sipping something. Chamomile, probably. That was her thing when she couldn’t sleep. “Anything else going on over there?”
I laughed. “You should come visit,” I said. “You can do that now, you know.”
She chuckled softly. “I guess I can. Maybe I will.” Another sip. “I’ll let you know well in advance, though.”
“Nah, the door is always open for you.”
“Thanks, Kyle.” She yawned. “I’ll let you go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. But thank you so much for talking to me.” She was smiling again. Her voice was brighter. “You’re the best.”
“You know it, little sister.” I grinned, and she laughed lightly. “Sleep well, okay?”
“Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you too, Wendy.” I hung up and tossed my phone on the table, stretching my aching shoulders. She and Charlotte would probably get along well; we really needed to have Wendy over to our place for a proper visit. Maybe dinner, or a movie. And I could play for them; Wendy always liked to hear my stuff when I came home from college on holidays.
That’s when I realised I’d started thinking of the house as our place. Not just mine. Mine and Charlotte’s. I smiled so wide, my cheeks hurt. The usual ache in my chest had been replaced by a slow, comfortable warmth that spread all through me.
The warm feeling carried me upstairs. I don’t think my feet touched the ground even once.
The concert was only a few days away, and rehearsal on Wednesday was spent mostly fighting with Natasha over which songs to include in the lineup. She wanted most of the new stuff I’d written – except for anything that was in Charlotte’s range. Not that Natasha couldn’t sing them, but she must have known that I hadn’t exactly been thinking of her voice when I was writing.
Walt must have been pretty tired of hearing us argue, because he wrapped us early. Natasha stormed out, the way she’d been doing the last couple of days. Plus, I’d had the last word, and that always pissed her off. She didn’t like being the one who had to back down.
I called Charlotte from the Jag and told her I was going to the Madhouse with the guys. She laughed and told me not to get drunk again, and I told her she was a brat.
“Yes, but I’m your brat,” she said playfully, and that warm feeling came back. I was so fucking smitten. And I hadn’t needed to chase her to the ends of the Earth, either. She’d come to me.
I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world.
At the Madhouse, I dragged the guys into the house studio and slapped down the music I’d been working on for the last three days. It was my way of silencing the little voice in my head that kept calling me a chickenshit. Tyler scanned it, then raised his eyes to me and smirked.
“What the hell is this, Romeo?”
I grinned at him. “Hey, maybe if you wrote music for a woman, you’d get laid more often.”
Joey laughed rudely.
“If he got laid more often,” Dan said, grabbing a copy, “he’d be in a fucking wheelchair.” Tyler snickered, and Dan glanced at me. “You serious with this shit, man?”
I nodded. “Like a fucking heart attack. I want to record it for her.”
Dan shrugged. “What are friends for, right?” He sat down at his drums, still reading the music. “Yeah, I can do this.” He flipped to the last page and nodded. “Too easy.” He tossed the sheets on the floor and picked up his sticks, beating out a rhythm in common time. “You want a warm ride for this? Wet or dry?”
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. I’d shaved. Finally.
“Yeah, warm,” I said. “And give me wet.” Dan nodded and washed his hi-hat a few times, cocking an eyebrow at me. The reverb sounded just about right. “Yeah, that’s good.” I handed Joey a copy of the music. “I know you’ve only got four strings, man, but do you think you can manage a smooth bass line for me?”
Joey snatched the music from me and slouched back on the sofa. He tipped his chin up at me, his eyes on my hand. It was still bandaged, even though it didn’t really need to be any more. “You ever gonna take that fucking thing off so we can see your ink?”
I looked down at my hand. I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d been waiting for. I had Charlotte now; there was no real reason to hide the tattoo. I peeled off the gauze and flashed my mark. Her mark. It was a red heart, trapped in a spider’s web. A few lines of webbing were wrapped over the tip and one side of the heart, and Charlotte’s name was written across it in flowing letters. A small spider was perched above the ‘e’.
Tyler whistled softly, and Dan leaned over his kit to get a better look.
“Damn,” he said. “You’re really fucking serious about her, aren’t you?”
I gave him a half-smile. “Yeah, I kind of am.”
Joey snorted and studied the music I’d given him. After a minute, he looked up at me, his expression dark. “Who the fuck do I look like, Sting?” He tossed the music on the table. “I’m not playing this romantic shit.”
Dan snorted.
Tyler grabbed his Les Paul. “Joey,” he said, sitting on one of the high stools, “all the shit we play is romantic.” He plucked a string and adjusted the peg. “Where the fuck have you been for the last two years?”
I sat at the piano and opened the cover. It was still down from my shit-faced version of Moonlight Sonata the week before. Showed how much the guys used the fucking thing.
Joey glared at Tyler and stuck up his middle finger.
“Seriously, Joey,” Dan said, tapping his sticks together. “You can’t help a guy get laid?”
Tyler howled with laughter. “I think he’s way, way past that point, bro.” He grinned at me, and I flipped him off, too.
“Maybe I’m fucking sick of this shit,” Joey said, kicking the table. We all looked at him, then at each other. “We used to play rock, remember? Three fucking years of actual music. Not this sappy pop shit.”
I took a deep breath. “Joey...” He glowered at the sheet music on the table. “I have a feeling that Tasha isn’t going to be with us for much longer.”
Three heads turned to me. Joey’s mouth fell open.
“What the actual fuck?” Dan stared at me. “Are you fucking serious?”
I shrugged. “You guys heard Charlotte last week.” Before Joey could bitch at me, I held up a hand. “And Joey, I know what you’re going to say.” I shook my head. “She can sing maybe half our stuff. I doubt she’d end up as a permanent member of the band. We might end up going back to being a four-piece.”
Tyler looked thoughtful. “You gonna pick up a guitar again?” He smirked. “Or are you our new keyboard player?”
I rolled my eyes. “What the fuck are we, Pink Floyd?” Dan snickered. “No, I’d play rhythm. I kinda miss my Gibson.” I looked at Joey. “So. Give me this one fucking song, and I’ll talk to Walt about kicking Tasha after the concert is over.” Joey narrowed his eyes at me. “Come on, man. Maybe he’ll even let you change the name of the band to something angry and bleak.” Tyler snorted. “Please?” I said.
“Just this one fucking song,” Joey said with disgust, and I nodded.
“Yeah. Just this one song.”
He rolled his eyes, then got up and grabbed his Fender. I grinned, and Tyler gave him a slow clap. “And the romantic bassist gives in,” he intoned, like a cheap announcer at a music festival, “knowing that when he finally finds a chick who can spell his last name, he’ll be asking us for the same fucking thing.”
“Fuck you, man.” Joey perched on the edge of his stool and tuned up his bass.
I grinned at Tyler, who winked at me. “Anything you say, Grzeskowiak,” he said, and Joey flipped him the bird again before going back to his pegs.
When Charlotte heard this song, maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a fucking coward any more.
If she ever heard it.
For the last few days, since she refused to keep me warm at night, I’d been waking up a little early and playing our usual game. She’d open my door, ready to start the day at eight o’clock on the nose, and I’d already be halfway to Heaven. Sometimes she’d help.
Those were the best days.
Friday was not a good day.
I’d been up since seven-thirty, propped against the headboard as usual, my dick in my hand. When my door flew open at five to eight, I grinned as well as I could, given that I was closer to coming than I’d been on any other day that week.
The woman standing in my doorway wasn’t Charlotte.
“Natasha!?”
She raised her eyebrows and smirked. “Nice view,” she said, closing the door. I scrambled backwards on the bed, almost crawling up the wall in my attempt to escape her as she swayed towards me. “Is that for anyone in particular, or are you keeping it for yourself?”
I stared at her in horror. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
She did that thing again. You know the one.
“Concert’s tomorrow, lover boy,” she said throatily. “We still haven’t decided what kind of music we’re making together.” She climbed onto the bed. “Maybe I can help you make up your mind.” She pulled off the silk shirt she was wearing.
There was a shuffle outside the door, and it opened. And I was well and truly fucked.
Charlotte stared at us: me on the bed, naked, my cock still at half-mast, despite the shock of my unannounced visitor; Natasha, on her hands and knees a few feet away from me, half-dressed.
Natasha looked over her shoulder at Charlotte. I couldn’t see her smile, but I knew it was there.
“I win,” she said, and laughed.
Charlotte backed away. The look on her face shattered something inside me.
“Charlie!”
She disappeared. I heard her heels on the marble floor of the foyer, and then the slam of the front door.
Natasha turned back to me and smirked. “Where were we?”
I lifted my foot, pushing it against her shoulder, shoving her back. “Get the fuck away from me!” She glared at me as I crawled off the other side of the bed, grabbing my jeans and pulling them on. I was shaking, but I wasn’t sure if it was from rage or fear or panic. Fuck, this was just like when Wendy had shown up. My whole fucking world was crashing down around my ears.
Again.