Page 54 of Backstage

I kiss Lilly just outside the elevator and motion for her to get in while I take the next one. If I go up with her, I may never make it to the restaurant to have coffee with my friends. All the way to the restaurant, I can’t get the smile off my face—I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life. I find Michael and Simon having breakfast in the restaurant but no sign of Thomas. As soon as I get my coffee and sit next to them, they stop talking. Simon looks at me with a smile from ear to ear as Michael puts his elbows on the table.

“So, is Lilly as sexy naked as she is dressed?” Michael asks with a mischievous smile.

I give him a dirty look while sipping my coffee, trying to hide my irritation. I’ve become hyper-protective when it comes to her. “How would I know?”

Simon bursts out laughing. “Don’t deny that you slept with her. You both disappeared after yesterday afternoon’s concert, and when we passed by your room, we heard loud and clear moans,” he says as Thomas, who has just entered, sits next to me. “Either you were watching porn, or you were fucking.”

I burst out laughing, and, luckily, I sound sincere and convincing.

“Yes, I was fucking, but not Lilly. The girl who helped me with the demagnetized key...she stayed to test if it worked,” I lie with a mischievous smile, hoping it sounds convincing enough.

Simon seems to be studying me, Michael’s already laughing, and the only one who appears perplexed is Thomas. I already know he’ll be waiting to interrogate me later when the others leave. Unfortunately for me, that scenario materializes five seconds later when the two of them get up and leave me with only a cup of coffee as a shield against Thomas.

“What are you doing with Lilly?” he asks me when the others are far enough away not to hear us.

“Nothing, I fucked the receptionist, not Lilly.”

“I saw you kissing her in front of the elevator, not five minutes ago. Try rephrasing your answer. So, what’s going on with Lilly?”

I turn to him and I study him while he’s sipping coffee. He doesn’t seem angry but somewhat worried. He seems concerned about me. Or her.

“We just fucked.” I try to downplay it, on the defensive. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like bragging about what I’m doing between the sheets to someone else.

Thomas is watching me closely. He seems almost angry. “She’s a good girl; she’s smart, and she has a big heart. Don’t fuck her brains out like you do to the others,” he says, so harshly it bothers me.

It irritates me so much that it makes my stomach go sour, and I don’t even know why. Usually, these things roll right off me. I let stuff like this bounce right off me, especially when it comes to women. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t want him poking his nose into my life, which is entirely irrational since we’ve shared every single thought for years, or if it’s because of the exact words he used to describe Lilly and I know he’s right.

“Look, I fucked her, but I didn’t fuck her brains out. Don’t worry.” I get up and walk away and leave the coffee exactly where it is with Thomas.

“Damian, I’m not kidding!” he yells as I’m leaving, and I don’t look back.

*

I arrive on Lilly’s floor in a bad mood and my stomach in a knot. The conversation with Thomas upset me because he hit the nail on the head: it’s different with Lilly. I knew it when I dreamt of slipping between her legs, and I knew it this morning when we had breakfast together. It was never just a fuck with her.

I knock on her door, and she opens it in her bathrobe and wet hair. I would jump on her right now if we didn’t actually have to talk about what happened in my room last night.

“Sorry, I just finished showering. Did I miss any important meetings?” she asks me with a puzzled look.

I smile at her and shake my head no as she steps aside and lets me in—wrong move. The bed is so close I would only have to lift her a little bit to throw myself between her legs.

“No, we need to talk,” I say as I lean against the wall and watch her brush her hair.

“Okay...you know that’s always a bad sign when a man says that to you after you’ve been in bed, right? Usually followed by, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ The worst sentences ever invented by mankind.”

I can’t help but laugh at her joke. She doesn’t seem too serious about it. I observe her for a few moments, and for some obscure reason that clouds my brain. I feel the need to clarify with her. But I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.

“If you came here to tell me that we’re not together, that we’ve had fun but you don’t want anything serious...I know. I know you’ve never had a steady woman, and I certainly didn’t expect to be the one to change your mind. I had a great night. I’d definitely like to repeat it because that thing you do with your tongue literally drives me crazy...but if you don’t want to hear from me anymore, fine. We’re both adults. We can live with that, right?”

Her words rush out all in one breath like she’d been rehearsing them for a long time—probably in the shower while she was washing away the smell of our night. While her mature reasoning makes a lot of sense, she doesn’t seem particularly sure of what she just said. Almost like she’s saying what I want to hear instead of what she actually wants to tell me, but I decide not to press her. Because I have no idea if I’m ready for her honesty. I don’t know if I am more afraid that she wants something more from me or that she doesn’t want to see me anymore. I came here to tell her precisely these things, yet I feel annoyed when she says them.

“Well, I see we’re on the same page,” I say seriously. “And if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to repeat that thing with my tongue a few more times,” I add to soften the atmosphere.

She bursts out laughing and breathes a sigh of relief that I can’t decipher. “Okay, but now, if you don’t mind, I have to change and go out with the other idiots...and hope they believe me when I tell them that yesterday afternoon I had a big headache and came to bed. At least it’s true that I ‘came’… multiple times, to be honest,” she explains, grimacing, pushing me through the small corridor.

“According to my band, I fucked the receptionist,” I wink at her.

Lilly smirks and pushes me out the door. I walk away from her room with the knowledge that she has said out loud the speech I was going to give her, but with the unpleasant feeling that it’s not really what I want.

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