Track 08: Jack and Jesus
“I drink you down nice and slow,
Burn my insides like the memory of us.
I’m saying more prayers with you around,
But I can’t tell if it’s to Jack or Jesus.”
THINGS WERE TEETERING. PRECARIOUSLY.
And no, not just my emotions about this whole mess.
People thought big things were hard to move—hard to change. People were wrong.
My reputation was big. My reputation was like the Titanic.
The largest ship in the sea.
‘Practically unsinkable.’
Until it wasn’t.
‘Is the Blake-Parker Project over already?’
After last weekend in Miami, Bruce insisted that we proceed even more cautiously. ‘Too much, too quickly is not believable, Miss Tyler! We. Need. Believable. We. Need. Real.’ I was pretty sure he was having TIAs in between each word as he sputtered them out, dabbing his forehead with the handkerchief that I’d never seen him have to pull from his jacket pocket before.
Fine with me.
I was still hurting—no, reeling—from what had happened between Zach and me. We left the following day for Pittsburgh where the heat from Miami was put on the cooler. Literally. It was freezing in Steel City and I made sure that any conversation—any interaction—with Zach was served on ice.
I smiled and refused to let myself flinch when he gently kissed my cheek for the crowd (who screamed for more). The performance—our performance—was strained and I knew we weren’t the only ones who felt it. It was the first time something between us had felt faked.
‘Hot and heavy to cold and strained! Another of Blake’s boys bites the dust!’
I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but I didn’t—couldn’t—because unfortunately, the only part of me that was currently in pieces to give was my heart. So, for now, silence would have to be my loudest protest. That and the two songs I’d written for my new album, cooped up in my hotel room, and wandering back down a path that left sand in my mind and sadness in my soul.
The press, though, was going crazy. Bi-polar really. But mostly assuming that my date-and-dump habits were still going strong. But there was no going back now.
‘Blake Tyler, fast and furious to slow and steady? What is it about Zach Parker?’
Tay made me stop checking the quicksand known as social media when I told her that I wasn’t going to survive this. Hopefully, at least ZPP would come out whole.
“Happy birthday, Ronnie!” I exclaimed just as Tay and I entered the private area that Ash had reserved in the corner of the Rep Room—a dark and decadent bar downtown. Ron’s eyes lit up when he saw us.
I liked Ronnie. I’d say he had the kindest, biggest heart out of all of them. Maybe that’s why I was always lulled into conversation with him. I wanted to turn my brother down when he invited us out for celebratory drinks because I didn’t want to be around Zach—a feat I’d managed to accomplish for most of the weekend (aside from the being on stage part.) But it wasn’t the right thing to do, no matter how Taylor insisted that after a four-hour show followed by a one-hour meet-and-greet, it was ok to say ‘no.’
He clicked off his phone and shoved it into his oversized sweatshirt that hung low over pants that looked like they belonged to me. For a country boy, he preferred a slightly more emo look even as the biggest smile crossed his face as he pulled me into a bear hug. “It’s your birthday, you should stop working,” I teased.
He was always on his phone doing what Tay did for me—posting, commenting, tagging, and general appraisal of the social network situation.
“I know.” He smiled sheepishly and sank back onto the bar stool without reaching for his cell again; I estimated about two minutes before he had it out again and was checking for followers and updates.
“Sis,” Ash said and pulled me in for a side hug. “Taylor.” His tone slightly harsher to greet her; she barely pulled out a tight smile in response. I was about to ask what the heck was going on, but Alex tugged me to him and began rubbing his fist on my head.
“Seriously!” I groaned.
Ronnie treated me like a friend. But Alex, he and Bobby treated me just like Ash; I might as well have been their sister, too.
“Blake sandwich!” And there was the proof.
Crushed between two men who hadn’t played football (but looked like they should have) was just what I wanted to have happen right now. And when I was finally set free, after they had cheered their glasses over my head, I was left to face Zach.
I tried to prepare for this. Black high-waist jeggings, light pink, long-sleeve crop sweater, and tall suede boots. My clothes clung to every length and curve; I wanted to remind him what a mistake I was.
Sitting casually at one of the other tables in our corner, my gorgeous country god sat fisting a beer bottle in one hand wearing a Steelers ball cap, his hair peeking out from underneath it. I may have been the famous one, but he was the one who looked like he didn’t fit in with his ripped-up jeans and plain tee pulled tight over his muscles as he rested his elbows on the table, perfectly unimpressed with the Rep Room. Not because he thought he was too good for the place, but because he didn’t care if they thought it was too good for him. Maybe confidence was what I saw. Assured of who and what he was.
I wanted that.
Every day punched new holes in my self-assurance. I didn’t know how much longer that ship had before it sank.
“Baby Blake,” he said tightly, eyeing me up and pulling his beer to his mouth. When his full lips closed over the top of the bottle, all I could think about was them closing over me. And my whole body tightened and tingled. His stare glinted with something that I wanted to believe was desire, but could have just been the dim lighting. Still, my nipples hardened against my tight sweater in response.
“Zach.” I returned, taking a deep breath, realizing too late that I looked like I was trying to shove my boobs up. Something that I begrudgingly admit to doing many times in the past. Guilty as charged.
“Maybe you should put your jacket back on,” he said gruffly. “It’s cold in here.”
I wasn’t that cold, but my head ducked down for long enough to see that my tits were about to poke a hole through my shirt. Forget headlights, my girls had on their high beams. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest as though that would erase the evidence.
“Does this place serve cake?” I heard Alex ask over the music and crowd that was starting to pick up. “We need to get this kid some cake for his birthday!”
“What flavor you want, Ron?” Bobby’s voice boomed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Hey, Blake,” I heard Ash’s laughing voice and I knew this wasn’t going to be good. “Speaking of birthday cake flavors… Remember your fourteenth birthday?”
Nope, this wasn’t going to be good.
“Seriously, Ash?” Why was MY birthday the focus of the night? Because I was standing with Zach and my brother was still closet-pissed about Miami. There were no cameras and that meant there was no reason for us to interact. I should have been grateful for the interruption, but this was just going to be a humiliation. Another one.
“What? What happened?” Alex asked and Bobby chimed in wanting to know, too.
Taylor shot me a sympathetic look but there was no way she could stop him either.
I could only swallow and stare as my brother revealed yet one more moment in my saga of embarrassed adoration for Zach Parker.
“A week before her birthday, I came downstairs to hear my mom asking what kind of cake she wanted. And you know Blake, she was like, ‘Whatever you guys want.’ So,” he laughed deviously, “I casually mention that Zach is coming over for the family dinner, too, and that he loves key lime pie.”
My arms tightened protectively over me like doing so made any difference in stopping this story. Heat rose into my cheeks as Ash continued.
“Wouldn’t you know it, dinner rolls around and out comes Key Lime Pie. Now me, I’m dying on the inside as Blake woofs down her slice, at some point asking, with her mouth still full, if Zach is enjoying it. And of course, he’s not because Key Lime is disgusting. At that point, I couldn’t hold it in. The look on her face—pure confusion until she realized that I’d made the whole thing up.”
“Oooo!” Bobby yelled with a lighthearted smile.
“Rookie mistake!” Alex chimed in.
“Whatever.” I tried to play it down. It was a stupid prank—the kind of stupid prank that they played on each other all the time and the kind that I’d played on him many times during our childhood, but still; I hated how he always had to bring up stories of all the stupid things I had done because I’d been blinded by the stars in my eyes whenever he was around.
“That’s not even the best part,” he paused because he was laughing so hard that he had to catch his breath.
“It really is,” I interjected. “I think you can stop now.”
“C’mon, Blay!” He clapped me on the back and yanked me close. Nope, I wasn’t getting any consideration from Ash tonight. “The best part is that, turns out, Blake is allergic to whatever those types of limes are that are used to make it. So that night her face blew up like fuckin’ Will Smith in Hitch!”
I rolled my eyes and pulled out of his arms. Walking over towards where Tay and Ronnie were sitting at the perimeter of our little circle at the bar, I flagged the bartender and ordered a Jameson and Ginger Ale. A double.
“You know I’m just teasing you, sis!” I heard him yell to me over the music—and the laughter.
Yeah, I thought, but only to remind Zach how pathetic I was. Stupid siblings…
Ignoring him, I spent the next half an hour engrossed in conversation with Ronnie about a new TV show that was based on James Patterson novels—another thing that we had in common. The more the alcohol soaked in, the more my mind could pretend to ignore Zach even if my body couldn’t. In fact, it felt like my boobs were locked in a stare-down with him and my sex ached because of it.
I wouldn’t say that I was trying to make him jealous because I wasn’t actually flirting with Ronnie, but Ronnie was nice and our conversation was comfortable, the way he tried to plot how we could make it onto this TV show as extras. I clung to comfortable like an umbrella in the midst of a hurricane; it wasn’t going to be able to save me from the storm, heck, it wasn’t even going to keep me dry. But, at least, it felt like I was doing something other than begging to be blown away.
I drank my cocktail quickly enough to take the edge off the situation, but slow enough that it didn’t look like I was desperate to get drunk. Slowly but surely, I was able to forget for a moment the mess of emotions that appeared to be permanently tangled.
The next time I looked for Tay, wondering if we should get going, I saw her showing Zach something on her phone and then reaching up to whisper in his ear. There was no reason in the entire world that I had to be jealous, but I was.
Love makes you crazy.
I tore my eyes from them and instead glanced through the curtain that only partially shielded the private room to take stock of the rest of the place. The Rep Room had filled out since we’d arrived. Whether it was just for Ronnie’s birthday or because he knew the whole story about Miami, Ash had claimed one of the ‘private’ rooms at the end of the bar. It was basically just a corner of the space that was semi-shielded from the rest by deep red, sheer curtains. They gave some sense of privacy, but also allowed everyone else to see who was here—which I was sure was great for marketing purposes, judging by all the people who kept snapping photos of me as they walked by.
‘Blake Tyler spotted at the Rep Room!’ I could see the headlines now. Next week, there wouldn’t even be standing room in this place.
Tables that had at first littered the main area were now cleared away leaving a large cushioned seat in the center of the dance floor. I watched as couples filtered to the floor. There was one that mesmerized me—both tall with dark, sultry hair, and Hispanic if I had to guess from their dance skills. ‘Despacito’ began to play and the way they moved made me feel like I was watching soft porn—but I couldn’t look away.
“Blake.” I jerked as the shock of his touch on my sleeve exploded through my body. I turned, and from the stony look on Zach’s face, realized just how close I’d been leaning next to Ron, both of us trying to look at his phone. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
I wanted to say no. It was too late, I was too tired, and I’d had too much alcohol.
“Sure.”
Typical.
I stood, expecting him to just take a few steps away from the bar, but instead, he began to walk through the curtain. My eyebrows rose in question.
“Let’s dance.”
My head jerked back to the rest of our group. Ash was watching us but he was also simultaneously in the middle of a heated argument with Taylor—and I had a feeling that it had to do with me.
Swallowing over the dry lump in my throat, I nodded and followed him through the sheer fabric and into the lights.
“Since when do you dance?” I rasped as we weaved through the couples on the floor. Even with the loud music, I could hear the whispers. I saw the looks that they gave me. Some even attempted a photo while they moved.
He stopped just in front of the center seating, melting me with his stare. “Since you needed me to.”
I gasped as he pulled me to him and we began to dance.
He was amazing.
I don’t know why I thought he’d be anything but. Maybe because I’d never seen him dance. With an ease and agility that I’d only seen on the football field, his body moved against mine and all the alcohol I drank now backfired on me as the heat in my body rose and all the reasons that I was angry at him fell away.
“Were you really allergic to the pie?” he asked softly.
I shuddered and averted my gaze. “Yeah,” I answered quietly, keeping my head tilted to the side, trying to look at anyone else but him. “You know me. When I set out to do something embarrassing, I never half-ass it.”
His chest rumbled against me as he laughed.
“Just ignore Ash. You know how he is.”
I nodded, speechless.
Was he being nice to me? Why was he being nice to me?
Was my brokenness really that obvious?
“For future reference,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “my favorite kind of cake is carrot cake.” He pulled back to find my eyes again. “Just like yours.”
My breath caught. Don’t read into it, Blake.
Licking my lips, I began, “W-what do you want—” My question was broken off with a surprised inhale as he tugged my body flush against his. I knew it was because of the crowd on the floor and he was moving me out of the way, but it was still no less of a shock to my body. “—to talk about?”
We swayed gently and perfectly in sync. From the outside, it looked calm. Between us though, there was a war being fought in the stillness. His body was impossibly hard against mine. My clothing, that had been chosen for a specific purpose, now betraying me as my nipples hardened. They would have stood out against my thin sweater if my breasts—that were heavy and aching—weren’t smashed against his chest. And my jeggings? The thin fabric let me feel every dip and ridge of his body where it was pressed against me. I was surprised he gripped my hips so tightly, knowing that I could feel every inch of his cock thickening.
“Miami.” As if our proximity wasn’t enough to lure me back to the beach. Memories of that night flooded back—along with the same reaction from my body flooding into my underwear. The heat. The neediness. The desperate plea for release. All there. This time, though, when I pressed my hips against him to feel more, he couldn’t stop me.
“I heard what you said. We don’t have to talk about it,” I replied as I licked my lips. They felt chapped, but really they just craved his kiss.
“I’m sorry for what I said.”
My feet stumbled at his words. Thankfully, he was holding me so tight that it didn’t matter.
“I mean, it was the truth,” he continued with a tight rasp. Why did I even bother to get my hopes up for that split-second? “But I’m sorry for how I said it.”
Everything felt fuzzy. Wow, that drink was strong.
Warm and fuzzy.
But not in the cute way. Warm and fuzzy in the way that something was building inside of me, steadily crossing the line from comfortable to uncomfortable. A constant pressure made worse because I could feel it building, instead of it just overtaking me all at once. A slow torture of touch.
“You don’t usually apologize to me,” I said shakily. “W-what did Taylor say?”
Our skill didn’t match that couple who was still somewhere on the dance floor, yet our bodies moved together in the same way that said, in our minds, there were no clothes between us and no people around us.
His forehead dropped to mine. Burning. The alcohol. The music. Him. A recipe that baked a release inside each one of my cells. Every brush, every rub, gave my body more of what it was begging for. Good thing my leggings were black because I was soaking through my underwear and they were next in line to be drenched.
My eyes drifted shut, feeling the way his hardening cock began to arch against me. Lost in pleasure. Lost in him. My hips rolled against his erection with a mind of their own, needing more but more was always too much.
With a curse, he spun me so that my back was now to him, my ass cradling his hard ridge. One of his hands stayed splayed on my stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to the underside of my breast. His other hand gripped my waist, attempting to hold my hips steady. Distracted, those fingers teased their way underneath the waistband of my pants.
My head tipped back, savoring each moment that he was touching me. I wanted him to answer my question. I also wanted him to ignore it so that this dangerous dance wouldn’t end.
Then an unfamiliar body pressed against my front and my eyes shot open as I gasped. All the desire that had been building in my body now rushed from it like a dam bursting. The moment was broken.
“Any chance I can grab a dance with Blake Tyler?” The drunk, frat guy slurred. Beer in one hand, his other reached for my waist, but was stopped short as Zach grabbed it and twisted it to the side until the man’s face contorted with delayed pain.
“Not tonight, buddy.”
I was afraid this was going to be like Miami all over again. I hated this. I hated how I couldn’t just have one moment in public without crazy happening.
I saw Andrew begin to move towards the floor. If this guy didn’t listen to Zach, Andrew would have him outside, on his ass, and banned from the bar in five minutes flat. Thankfully, the drunk guy backed away with his hands up. “Alright.” He shook his head, causing some of his beer to slosh over the side and onto the floor. “Sorry. T-they darrred me,” he slurred, looking to the side where his buddies were. “Whateverrr. Y-you’re fucking broken anyway,” he grumbled and stumbled as he made his way back to his group of snickering friends by the bar. Harmless drunk.
“C’mon, Blake! Let him be the inspiration for your next break-up song!”
“Parker’s only going to be good for so many!”
Zach’s body turned to granite against me as their words and laughter echoed over the music, heads beginning to turn our way. I winced before I could catch myself. Sticks and stones, they say… But what about words that cut sharper than a knife?
Broken.
Broken Blake.
He spun me back to him, cupping my face. “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know anything.”
“I’m not,” I said quickly. Too quickly.
“I know when you’re lying, Blay.”
“I’m fine. They… have a right to say what they want.” And they did. And maybe they had a point.
His jaw clenched. “No, they don’t. How can you fucking say that after what that piece of shit just said? It’s me, Blake. You can rant. You can rage. You can be angry with me.”
“I can’t be angry!” The words came out more forcefully than I realized. My head darted side-to-side to make sure I wasn’t causing more of a scene. “I can’t be angry because they are right. I used those break-ups… for inspiration. For lyrics. It’s true.”
“Blake, that’s what we do. We use life. We use our happy and we use our hurts to make something beautiful. Those shitheads have no clue who you are; all they know are the headlines. Your fans—your Babes—they know you. They know that what you write comes from all of life: the pieces that ripped you apart and the people that put you back together.”
I stared, no longer able to move or speak voluntarily as his words mesmerized me. The way he spoke as he swayed our bodies was hypnotizing, tempting me with what I was afraid to believe.
“Maybe I am broken.” The confession mumbled from my lips. With the music, there was no way he could hear what I said and yet somehow, he still knew.
“Christ.” His eyes pinned mine. “You are not broken.”
I nodded, but trying to swallow down my embarrassment was like trying to force a watermelon down my throat. Not pretty.
“But you still don’t want me…” Always pushing. The moment was broken anyway.
His mouth thinned, intent on ignoring my accusation. That was the thing about Zach. There were consequences… lines that couldn’t be crossed… for those that hurt me. Only, they didn’t apply to him.
“You asked for my help, Baby Blake. I’m not going to let you ruin it.”
My brow furrowed in confusion as I stared up into his smoldering, golden eyes. Someone bumped into me from behind—the couple that I’d been watching—and shoved me harder against him.
“How am I ruining it?” Besides by being detrimentally attracted to him?
“Christ,” he swore, locking his arms protectively around me. “You’re drunk and you were hanging off of Ronnie. People were starting to notice. If you thought being caught in Miami was bad, imagine the news tomorrow that you’ve decided to date through every member of the Zach Parker Project.”
I froze as I processed his words. Blinking back through snapshots of the night, I knew he was right. I hadn’t been thinking.
Why was I never thinking?
One nod turned into several frantic ones and I heard him swear low under his breath. His fingers lifted my chin and I tried to stop my lip from quivering.
He bent his head close to mine. “Blay,” he said softly, the word tickling my cheek. “It’s going to be ok, ok?”
I licked my lips. “Ok…”
I could have sworn that I heard a growl escape him, but with the music I couldn’t be sure. “This is the part where they watch us make up, alright?”
It took a second to register what he said, but then I understood what he was doing. The dance. The apology. It was still all part of the show.
But how did I reconcile the words that came from his mouth with the way his body felt against mine?
“Yeah…” I agreed softly, wondering if he could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. It was trying to make a break for it; I didn’t blame it.
He gave me a soft smile—the kind that made my stomach flip—and when his thumb brushed over my lower lip, I realized that he was waiting for me to do the same. Tipping the corners of my mouth up, I nodded slightly into his hand as though I were forgiving him. The moment felt drawn out as I was dimly aware of the variety of cameras, their flashes blending in with the lights from the DJ.
I expected that to be it. I expected him to pull me back to our friends in the corner just like I’d expected him to not be a good dancer.
I expected wrong.
His eyes stayed locked with mine as his lips drifted down—like he’d been trying to keep them afloat for as long as possible. But you can’t tread water forever.
I didn’t breathe until his mouth touched mine, afraid that even just an exhale would push him away. Gently his lips molded to mine. The tip of the iceberg. Only ten percent of the desire that lay beneath the surface.
My body ground against his—and he let it. The desire that had disappeared now returned with a vengeance. But trying to fulfill it was like knocking politely on the door to get into Fort Knox. No, I would need more weapons than I had right now (or maybe ever) if I was going to break inside of him.
He kissed me like he rejected me: with practiced ease. And because he needed to.
I whimpered when he pulled back.
“Why did you do that?” I begged. He didn’t answer me and I followed his eyes to where Tay stood holding my jacket, awkwardly waiting for our moment to end.
He leaned towards her and I heard him say, “She’s drunk.”
“I am—”
Tay shoved my jacket at me and rolled her eyes at my half-hearted (and slightly slurred) protest. “Yeah, ok, B.” She laughed. “I called for the car. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
I grumbled as I shoved my arms into my jacket, about to turn and follow her when Zach grabbed my arm. My breath sputtered in surprise when I found his face so temptingly close to mine again.
“Text me so I know you got back ok,” he growled, looking around to all of the people watching us.
This wasn’t anything like the mob in Miami. Heck, I was walking maybe fifty feet to the car outside, but he stared at me like he was this close to carrying me back to my room himself to make sure I made it there ok.
Protective. Just like a brother, I tried to rationalize.
The warm tingles that gleefully skipped up my spine reminded me that ‘rational’ and ‘Zach Parker’ were mutually exclusive.