Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (36 page)

             
He put the guitar down and stood up stripping off his shirt. He had red short shorts on and seeing him half naked made my heart race. He held my gaze as he came to me. He ran his hands up my legs and climbed on top of me pushing me back into the bed.

             
“I do, don’t I,” he whispered in a raspy tone.

             
I stared into his eyes as he lowered his face and put his lips to mine. I pulled at my clothes, but he held back, making out with me, fueling my desire. I could feel his hard cock through his shorts, but each time I reached he pulled my hand away.

             
“You’re torturing me,” I whimpered.

             
He ground his pelvis into me dry humping, making me wet.

             
“I want to hear it,” he murmured, as he kissed my face, lips, and then down my neck.

             
He rolled my T-shirt up over my head and un-tied my bathing suit top from around my neck, pulling it lower exposing my breasts. He moved leisurely down my body and spread my legs to sit back on his feet between them. He cocked his head and grinned sexily at me as he again ran his hands up my legs, but this time he ran them to my crotch and pressed firmly through my shorts. I moved my pelvis against him. He slipped two fingers under my shorts and beneath my bathing suit. Mathew smiled when he felt the wetness, then he sat back.

             
“Don’t stop,” I moaned.

             
I moved to undo my shorts and he put his hand over mine, stopping me.

             
“I want to hear it,” he said again.

             
I felt like I might orgasm right then, and my nipples got hard. I stared into his blue eyes.

             
“Fuck me, Mathew.”

             
He removed my hand and undid my shorts and then yanked my shorts and bathing suit down together taking them down my legs and off as he stood. I watched as he stripped out of his shorts, my breath catching at seeing him. He admired my naked body with his eyes and then cocked his head.

“Please fuck me,” I begged.

His eyes burned with passion as he climbed on top of me and thrust his hardness into me. We made love frantically, seeking, needing, our bodies responding to each other knowingly, exploding at the same time with deep panting rasps.

              “Do you want to go out and get something to eat?” he asked, as I lay curled into his side.

             
“Not really. I like it here in bed with you,” I answered.

             
We were alone, the world shut out.

             
“Is Gayle taking you to the airport Sunday night or am I?”

             
“Do you want to?” I asked mildly surprised.

             
I traced my fingers down his chest wishing our lives were different, wishing we could be together.

             
“I do.”

             
“Anxious to get rid of me?” I asked and smiled.

“Not at all,
” he said, running his hand down my hair and giving it a tug.

             
I pressed my fingers into my forehead. I was fighting with my emotions, feeling like I should say something about leaving, about our wonderful time together, something.
What did I want to say?
I swallowed hard.
I don’t want to go. I want us. I need us.
As the various thoughts raced around in my head, not forming words, he squeezed me to him. Almost as if he knew.

             
“It’s all been good, kid,” he said.

             
“Yeah, it has,” I said, fighting the tears.

I pointed to his guitar.

“Something slow?”

             
He threw his shorts on and grabbed his guitar. He sat at the bottom of the bed. He played, no words. It took me a minute to recognize the Eagles' “Best of my Love”
.
I heard the words in my head, even without him singing them.
Every night I’m lyin’ in bed, holdin’ you close in my dreams, thinkin’ about all the things that we said, and comin’ apart at the seams, we try to talk it over, but the words come out too rough, I know you were tryin’, to give me the best of your love.

Later when we made love
, he took his time, slowly and lovingly, he sent us floating together over a warm, calm, ocean.

We did end up meeting Bridgett and Gayle at a club for drinks. Mathew, despite his teasing and threats of bad behavior, behaved. It was a nice evening.

             
“Let me get that,” Mathew said as I zipped my suitcase shut.

             
I had said goodbye to Jack and the rest of the band last night. Mathew was actually going to be late to a practice they had scheduled, but he insisted on taking me to the airport. We checked my bag, and he walked me to the gate. The heaviness in my heart was overpowering, like a ripple when you throw a rock into still water, starting in the middle and radiating out to the furthest point. We sat down in the grey leather chairs.

             
“Why do they make airports so drab?” I asked.

             
“Never thought about it really,” he said, looking around, probably noticing for the first time.

             
“The colors they choose make it seem dull, almost sad.”

             
“Is it making you sad?” he asked.

             
“Yeah, it is.”

He
searched my eyes. I could tell he knew I wasn’t talking about just the airport.

             
“You need to go. The guys will be waiting on you. I still have twenty minutes.”

             
“It’s okay.”

             
He took my hand in his warm hand.

             
“I’ll miss you in my bed.”

             
“That’s nice,” I said with a snap. “Is that all it was for you?”

             
“No, Morgan, it wasn’t, and you know it,” he said seriously. “Bad choice of words.”

“Promise me
—”

He put his finger to my lips.

              “I can’t make promises and neither can you,” he said.

             
I pulled his finger away.

             
“I wasn’t going to ask you to promise anything except to keep in touch.”

             
I sighed as I fidgeted in the stiff uncomfortable chair.

             
“You know I’m not good at that, but I promise to try.”

             
“Fair enough, now get going,” I said, pushing on his back, trying to hold back my tears.

             
He stood and pulled me up wrapping his arms tightly around me, holding me for a long time.

             
“Go,” I whispered.

             
He reached up, framing my face with his hands.

             
“Morgan…”

             
His lips were tight, like they were sometimes when he was playing or thinking hard. His eyes stared into mine, his breathing shallow. I could tell he was struggling to keep his emotions in check as well.

             
“Unless you plan on watching me cry, you better go,” I said softly.

He kissed me one last
time.

Chapter
41

I went home with my heart shattered and raw. Logically, knowing it couldn’t work between us didn’t help ease the pain. I spent my summer trying to detach myself from him emotionally, again.
Kingdom Come did tour Australia that summer. He sent postcards, telling me what they were doing. The notes were brief with no reference to us. He seemed to be simply fulfilling his promise to try and keep in touch. The tour, of course, was to promote Kingdom Come, and their original songs and I think Mathew had high hopes it would catapult them to another level.

When they got home to San Jose and went back to playing the same gigs
, I could tell he was disappointed. The postcards stopped. It was the first summer since I’d moved that I didn’t go back. Mathew was gone most of it, and Gayle was busy with her own life with Bridgett. I’d made new friends in Escondido, so the summer was easier.

             
I started college in the fall. I met Max at a girlfriend’s Christmas party that winter. He was five years older than me. He was attentive and assertive in the beginning, and all the things I thought a boyfriend should be. We'd been dating now for three years. Kingdom Come would stay popular in the Bay Area. Gayle and other friends would run into Mathew, see him play at a club, and report to me. Many times it was at an after-party. I knew what those looked like, so even when they left details out, I could imagine what was going on. It was clear he was living hard and fast, like a rock star.

Our phone calls
grew further and further apart. When we did talk, I would ask him about the partying. “The usual” he would say. I never asked about the girls, and he didn’t volunteer; I knew they were there. He never inquired about Max, although he knew about him. I still lived at home, but I spent most of my time at Max’s. I went to school and worked part-time while Max worked all the time it seemed. My San Jose days, and Mathew, seemed to be behind me now.

“Morgan, nice to see you,” my mom teased as I came through the back door with a bag of laundry.

             
“I know you think I only come home when I have laundry.”

             
I dumped the clothes on the yellow tiled kitchen floor and started sorting it into loads. The washer and dryer were in the garage, just outside the back door.

             
“That’s about right. How’s Max?” she asked.

             
She was dressed in jeans and a button down flowered shirt washing vegetables in the kitchen sink.

             
“Good, working a lot.”

             
“How’s school?”

“Hard
,” I answered. “The math classes are kicking my ass.”

             
“Why you chose finance as your major, I’ll never understand. I hated math.”

             
I stood up from finishing my sorting and looked at her.

             
“Oh, Mom, you went to college to major in marriage,” I said. “It’s different now.”

             
She raised her eyebrows at me.

             
“Obviously,” she said.

             
We’d had the
why buy the cow when you get the milk for free
conversation more than once.

             
“Melanie’s getting married,” she said.

She dried her hands on a towel and walked around the counter to her desk.
I waited as she shuffled through papers, found the invitation and walked back handing it to me. I read through it.

             
“She’s too young,” I said as a jab.

             
Since I had been dating Max for three years, she thought there should be firmer plans. I, on the other hand, thought twenty-two was young. “Max is twenty-seven, remember”
was always her response. She’d married my dad at twenty-two and thought it was a good age; thought twenty-seven was too close to thirty and not committing, ever.

             
“You plan on going?”

             
Her head jerked back.

             
“Of course. We have to go. Don’t you want to go?”

             
“You paying?” I asked, not expecting they would.

             
“We planned on all of us going.”

             
“Then definitely.”

             
She laughed. I picked up a load from the floor.

“Will Max come with you?”

She came and held the door as I stepped into the garage.

“No, you kidding me
? I wouldn’t even ask him,” I said.

             
Max didn’t like doing much, except what was on his agenda. It was hard to even get him to come to my parents for dinner or holidays.

             
“Will most of the old group be there?” I asked as I put clothes into the washer.

             
“I would think,” she said.

“It should be a kick
, seeing everyone again,” I said.

Mathew flashed into my head; I could see his smile, his mischievous blue eyes, and his hair. I had not seen him since that summer. I smiled at our time together then. I saw his lustful eyes and unexpected feelings washed over me, making me shiver.
I wondered if he would be there.

             
“Mathew should be there,” she said.

             
I stopped loading the washer.
Had she read my mind?
She was standing in the doorway, watching me.
Had she seen me shiver?

             
“How do you know that?” I asked, getting back to loading.

             
“I talked to Ann the other day; the whole family's coming.”

             
I pictured us out by the O’Conner’s pool. “She’s seeing me,” he’d said, shocking the three of us.

             
“He’ll have a blonde on his arm is my guess.”

             
I scooped in detergent and closed the lid and turned on the washer.

             
“Ann didn’t mention that he was seeing anyone.”

“That means nothing
, Mom. He always has a girl close by; he doesn’t like being alone.”

             
“Will it bother you, I mean, if he has a girl?” she asked.

“I expect he’ll have a girl, and no
. We’ve both moved on.”

              She had pried on my summer returns, and she knew we had spent time together. She’d labeled it
dating
; I hadn’t. I knew she and Ann had talked about the night the two of us went to dinner there. We disagreed about the difference between
seeing
and
dating
.

             
“When’s the wedding again?” I asked.

             
“Next month, end of May, I think,” she said, picking up the invitation. “You really won’t even ask Max?”

             
“No, I really won’t. It’s a family trip,” I answered firmly. “That alone would send him running. I’ll have way more fun without him.”

             
I stared at her as I went past her back into the house. She let the door go.

             
“Okay, I’ll make the reservations then. I’m planning to leave Friday, coming back Monday afternoon. Does that work?”

“Yep
. I’ll make sure to schedule those days off with work.”

             
We sat at the kitchen table and talked while I did laundry. We reminisced about times spent with the group and laughed. My dad got home from work, and they talked me into staying for dinner. It really wasn’t so hard because my mom was such a good cook.

“Glass of wine?” m
y dad offered, opening a bottle of chardonnay.

              “I’m easy.”

             
After several glasses, I called Max to tell him I was staying home for the night. When I climbed into bed, I lay awake. I looked forward to seeing everyone. I looked forward to catching up with Mathew, assuming the girl would let him. I reflected back on the summer and my earlier feelings.
Really, had we only been eighteen?
I wondered about the band and the partying, and if any of that had changed. I thought about how much my heart had ached; how Max coming into my life had changed that.

When I fell asleep
, I dreamed of Mathew. It was dark at the beach, and he played his guitar by the firelight. Even though I was far away from him, I could still hear the music, but the words faded in and out. I walked across the sand toward him, but my legs were too heavy, I didn’t seem to be making progress. I turned toward the ocean and saw Max surfing, riding a wave into the beach.
Surfing in the dark?
He grabbed his board, the leash still on his ankle, and walked out of the ocean. All of a sudden, I could hear Mathew playing clearly. I could hear the words—“Wild Horses”
.

Before I knew it, we were on our way to Melanie’s wedding. The wedding was on a Saturday and the O'Conner’s had offered to put my parents and Pat up for the weekend. I was welcome there too, but I chose to stay with Gayle and Bridgett. It was a quick trip, and I wanted to be with them.

“Let’s see
,” Gayle demanded.

I turned toward her.

“Very nice, smokin' hot.”

             
“Thanks,” I said smiling.

I was wearing a sheer silk
teal dress with varying layers that flowed around me when I moved. I had chosen it because I thought it would look sexy when I danced. It was so sheer that you could see the bra or panty lines, so I wore nothing underneath.

             
“Mathew’s going to be there, I would guess,” Gayle speculated.

             
“Gayle, Mathew and I are long gone. Shit, it’s been, what, almost four years since I’ve seen him. You know he hasn’t kept in touch.”

             
She smiled and brushed my hair back from my face.

“Yeah, I know
,” she said, with a grin.

My parents picked me up
, and we drove to the Almaden Country Club. When “Here Comes the Bride” started, we all stood and turned to watch Melanie walk down the aisle. Of course she looked beautiful. Dressed in a sleeveless white gown with beading down the front, the veil covering her face could not hide her smile. Her father, his arm hooked through hers, appeared happy, but nervous. She was halfway down the aisle when I saw him. Our eyes met for an instant, locked and then broke as I continued to follow the bride. I sat down and watched the ceremony. As I was going through the reception line, I ran into Bobby.

“Morgan
,” he said and hugged me.

“
Wow, look at you all dressed up and adult looking. Oh, it’s been too long,” I said.

The weathered beach house filled my head, the smells, the sounds, the time he
’d driven me over the hill.

“I know
. The last time I saw you was…” he thought about it for a minute.

             
“Capitola,” I said.

             
“Oh,” he said, pained. “That wasn’t the best day, was it?”

             
“No, not exactly. How’s your family?” I asked.

Now there’s a safer subject.
Bobby gave me a quick run down on his family.

“You still have that Stanford T-shirt?”

“God, Morgan, I can’t believe you remember what I was wearing,” he chuckled. “And yes I do.”

             
Mathew caught my eye from across the room. He was talking and didn’t miss a beat. Butterflies filled my stomach. I looked back at Bobby, and he searched my eyes before he turned to look.

             
“Have you talked to him?” he asked, turning back to me, his back to Mathew.

“Today
? No.”

             
“Recently?” he asked.

             
I shifted uneasily under his stare.

             
“No, it’s been a couple years actually. We haven’t been very good about keeping in touch.”

             
Bobby and I filled each other in with the details of our lives as I watched Mathew work his way slowly to us. He kept getting distracted by people. Anytime I looked in his direction, he caught my eye, his blue eyes locking with mine. There didn’t seem to be a girl attached to him at the hip. When he finally approached us, I could feel my heart beat faster.
How ridiculous
I thought.