Page 4 of Bad Desire

“Man. Come on.” Jimmy’s calm in the face of his frustration. A quality that made him a damn good roadie back in the day and makes him an even better producer now. “She needs to put all that shit Sheila put in her head about you to bed. And you...well, when’s the last timeyouput someone to bed?”

“Since when is my sex life your problem?” Michael scowls, even though Pike can’t see it.Fuckin’ armchair therapist.“You gonna up my Viagra prescription, too, motherfucker?”

“Hell no. I’m hoarding that shit for myself.” After they stop cracking up at that, a serious note comes back into his old friend’s voice. “She’s a good girl, Mick. You’re a good guy. That’s all I was thinking.”

A good girl. Such a good andbeautifulgirl. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He should kick her out tomorrow.But I won’t.He can’t say any of that to Pike, so he just says the bottom line. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

Jimmy lets a few seconds tick by. The silence says more than the two words that follow. “Then don’t.”

Three

Mick’s mountain retreatis a seven-bedroom and three-bath vacation home with a loose interpretation of “rustic.” The owners spared no expense in making it look like Ma and Pa Ingalls went shopping at Pottery Barn. Lily’s second-floor room is down the other end of a long hallway from the main suite. Mick’s suite.Michael.Over dinner he said to call him Michael.“Mick Lange’s out there. Hope you weren’t expecting to find him here, darlin’.”She’s honestly not sure what she expected to find. But she’s enjoying each discovery.

Like how Michael hums and sings while he cooks. Little snatches of songs—not his own. Classic soul and R&B. Sam Cooke. Marvin Gaye. Teddy Pendergrass. He tells her before she can whip out her phone and Google lyrics and doesn’t mock her for not knowing every reference. He poured wine for her—compliments of the owner’s private stock. But he doesn’t drink himself. Not anymore. He likes old jeans and half-sleeve shirts. Like he’d be more comfortable under the hood of a car than holding an electric guitar or leading a band.

And he wants her. Whatever it was that she felt when she first saw him at the door...he feels it, too. It coils hot in her belly, makes her a little lightheaded. And it makeshimhard. He tried to hide it, adjust himself under the table, but Lily can’t forget the sight of that tent in his pants. Or the way he watched her sipping her pinot. Not because he was craving a drink but because he’s cravingher. Not some ‘80s video vixen with teased hair or a gorgeous Hollywood actress. His ex-wife Teri Austin was a supermodel and she still does the occasional throwback commercial for L’Oréal. But it’sLilyhe had his eyes on tonight.

She’s not a blushing virgin or a nun. Her dating life’s on par with other Millennial city girls and she’s had her share of Tinder hookups. But very little of it compares to Mick Lange just watching her from across the room. God, if it’s this hot before anything even happens, what will it be likeduring? She goes into the en suite bathroom and splashes some water on her face. But she doesn’t feel any less flushed after, and her pulse is still racing.

Lily riffles through her bulky backpack until she finds her vape pen. She takes a hit of indica before she can give in to the urge to pull out her bullet vibe instead.There’s no reason you can’t do both,says that little voice at the back of her mind. The weed buzzes through her system quickly, way faster than gummies. And as much as she loves getting off while stoned, getting off to Mick—Michael—feels dangerous. At least while they’re under the same roof but not in the same bed. She’s done it a few times to the fantasy of him in her bed at home. Something her therapist had a field day with.

“Are you using him to avoid directly engaging with your conflict with your mother?”Who gives a shit if she is? It’s not like she candoanything about Sheila. Besides try and live her life on her own terms. She’s graduated college. Done with her Master’s. She’s got degrees under her belt and a good job in Manhattan. The place she just moved into in Washington Heights. Friends that Sheila hasn’t met and never will. So Lily’s never been able to have a healthy long-term romantic relationship? So what? She’s here to put some of those demons to rest. Stare that conflict in the face. No matter that the face is devastatingly handsome. Or that the body is fifty-four years’ worth of fuckable.

Damn.The calming, easy, haze suffuses her. Her bones are heavy and loose at the same time. And she’s horny as hell. But Michael Lange isn’t the one to help navigate that right now. Not yet. Not tonight. So she brushes her teeth and does her skincare routine. Then she gets into her sleep shirt and slides under the sheets unfulfilled.

###

He has no businessletting her stay the night. It’s a mistake. Just like dinner was a mistake. But it’s been too long since Michael made any significant ones and apparently, he’s been missing the fix. Lily is his shot of Jameson’s, his line of cocaine, and he hasn’t even tasted her yet.

The thought turns into a lyric and he grabs a sticky note off the counter and scribbles it down. The new album needs two more songs to finish it off, and maybe it’s a sign that Sheila Mistry’s kid is inspiring one. The song that got him a Record of the Year award in 1992, “Wicked Little Girl,” is supposedly about his ex. At least, that’s what Sheila and the rest of the world assume. Truthfully, he’s never bothered to correct the story because how can he tell anyone it’s really about the cat who used to visit his fire escape? But now? Now, this time, he’s legitimately got words and bars for a naughty young woman.

A vice in cotton and denim who shows up at his door with one bag and no plan except maybe fucking him. He could inject her directly into his veins. Lick salt and knock her back. Put her cunt on his tongue like a tab of acid. She’s a bad decision just waiting to be made.

He groans and shifts his dick in his shorts.Put it in the music. Put it all in the music.Not that the reminder does any good. She’ll be downstairs any minute. Lured by the smell of fresh coffee and the vague sketch of her agenda.

“I thought it’d be good for you both.”

---