Page 45 of To Go
I stare at my phone, wondering what I would even say if I did text him.
‘Who’s your favourite Bridgerton couple?’
‘What’s your favourite kind of muffins? I’ll make them for you at the café.’
‘When did you turn into a sex god? Or are you a natural at conjuring orgasms?’
Ugh, I’m pathetic. I need to refocus on my goals and make it happen. I look around my room at my postcards, each boasting a different foreign city, each with its own allure. This is where I’m going, what I want. No one is going to keep me from it.
Chapter 14
James
I’m going insane.
I’ve been at band practice for a few hours now and I can’t get her out of my head. I’m staring at the awful wood-paneled walls of Laur’s basement, but I’m not here. I haven’t stopped thinking about Stella since I left her apartment, despite my resolve to leave that night in the past, a burning memory to keep me warm for years to come.
Even with all that resolve, I can’t stop thinking about her on my couch, in my kitchen, naked in my bed. I’m craving the sight of her small, perfect tits on display for me, her nipples puckered and tight, the feel of her warm, smooth, skin under my hands, and the primal satisfaction as she shuddered under my ministrations.
“Dude, get it together, you’ve missed the pickup on each run through of this,” Jill’s annoyed voice filters through. Her hip pops out as she glares at me. “Is it your wrist acting up again?”
“I’m fine.” I can’t tell them that my wrists and elbows are screaming at me. I can’t tell them about the ice packs waiting forme at home. I just need to work through it. It’ll go away on its own. I picked up some extra strength ibuprofen yesterday, which should theoretically help, but right now I’m in agony.
“Whatever. We need to get this nailed down before our next set. I’m not going to miss out because you can’t keep a beat, and we can’t keep people entertained.” She’s not wrong. Beck doesn’t pay us an up front fee, but we get a percentage of whatever he makes on drink and food sales throughout the night. Basically, it means that the longer we keep people there, the more money we all make. We do pretty well for ourselves, playing a few nights a week. The downside is that all it would take is a few bad sets for the public to lose interest.
It would mean we go on tour again, play shows where we make money off of ticket sales. Which means moving. Again. No more home base. No more being close to family and friends. No more blue walls and bedrooms that actually belong to me.
No more Stella.
I dismiss that thought. I can’t have her anyway. But Nessa? I can get my shit together for Nessa. She’s been without family for far too long. I’m not going to be the reason she becomes lonely again.
“Let’s run it again,” I growl out.
“You got this?” Nick asks with a concerned look, glancing between me and the other members. “Because if you need to take a break, or if we need to find a backup drummer…” It’s not exactly a threat, but it riles me all the same.
I’ve had this hunch for a while now. Whenever my tempo stutters, or I rub my wrists, or I refuse to go out with them after a show, there are looks. Whispers. I know they’re thinking about replacing me. I’m the last part of the original ship, and while I’m a piece of theirs, it’s like we all know I don’t belong here.
“Yeah, I fucking got this.” I count out our intro and throw myself back into the music. I need this. I need the band. Withoutthis, I’m stuck with the company. I’m stuck in an office, in a suit, with a board of people whose morals are questionable at best. I can’t be stuck.
So I’ll make this work, even if it kills me.
Turns out that mentality is a bit too literal. I’m exhausted after practice. I head home to tend to my joints and read my book, but despite having burned off any potential energy left in me, I’m restless. My mind wanders and I can’t focus on anything. I can’t watch Penelope and Eloise fight over Colin. I can’t watch Penelope lose more people she loves trying to find love.
The best friend’s brother trope only makes me think of Stella. No matter the topic, she creeps into my mind like a virus, slipping into every crevice, infecting every part until there’s nothing left of me. Only her.
I stiffen in my pants as I remember her straddling me, riding me wantonly, head thrown back in ecstasy. I cup myself through my sweatpants, willing myself to think of anything else. Anyoneelse. Unfortunately, my thoughts always wind back to her. I give myself a solid stroke, shuddering as I remember the way her hand felt on me. The innocent way her eyes widened as she saw all of me for the first time.
I get a sick sense of satisfaction at the fact that I’m the only man she’s ever seen. Ever been with. Ever been naked before. The way her nipples tightened before I even touched them, begging me to suck and bite and lick, making her drip into my lap.
I stroke myself roughly, not caring how tightly I’m holding myself, pulling and gripping it. It doesn’t take long before my orgasm spills into my fist, evidence of what I can’t admit to myself.
Stella has more of a hold on me than I thought.
“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose,” I drawl to Stella as she places a frosty glass of beer in front of me. I take a sip, my eyes never leaving her as she bustles about.
This is the third show this week that she’s worked, and I’m starting to take it personally. I find myself looking for her when we arrive. She’s wearing what I’ve now come to think of as her “bar uniform,” or as I like to call it, the reason for my constant erection. It’s a pair of painted on jeans that make her ass look hand-crafted by god, and a white scoop-neck T-shirt that clings to her slender curves which has me aching to touch them.
“You must be so flattered to think I’m here to see you,” she says with a saccharine smile. “If you must know, the tips from the bar kick ass.”
