The Rider List: An Erotic Romance (16 page)

“Yeah, fine. Thanks for asking.”

Jeanine is looking outside on the patio. “We’re going to have to start making people check out the boogie boards. Then maybe they’ll bring them back.”

The conversation is all work now. Thankfully, no one is interested in the family emergency that doesn’t exist.

“I’ll see you later this afternoon.” I head for the door, listening to their goodbyes.

Sitting in my car, I look at the buildings, my eyes stopping on Bungalow A. I feel a sudden urge to see Evan. Maybe it’s because I’m tired and delirious. But who cares?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Evan

I watch the sunrise from the deck. Workers from the hotel are loading up coolers with drinks, and a couple of guys are starting to get the grills going.

I didn’t come out here to see the sun breaking over the horizon, or to watch the calm, morning ocean waves with the shrimp boats drifting off in the distance. And I certainly didn’t come out here to watch preparations for the Fourth of July event that I have no plans to attend.

I came out here because I was sick of sitting in that house.

Sleep never came last night. I tried twice to no avail, and eventually gave up around three o’clock. I flipped through my notebooks, looking at old music and lyrics, wondering how it all came to me so easily back then.

I was eleven years old the first time I picked up a guitar. It belonged to my grandfather, and I was over at his house one afternoon when I picked it up. He told me to be careful with it, that it was almost as old as he was. I remember strumming the strings, having no idea what I was doing, and this horrible sound coming out of it.

Grandpa told me it was out of tune. I asked why he bothered to keep it around if it was so old and didn’t sound right. He told me he used to play it sometimes out on the porch. He would play songs for my grandmother and she would sing.

It sounded boring to me at the time. Two old people sitting on a porch by themselves singing songs wasn’t exactly an exciting glimpse into the future for an eleven year-old boy.

Of course, I had no idea that I’d end up making a living as a musician. Grandpa never knew, either. He died when I was nineteen, just one year before Tuesday’s Fault played its first gig.

All of this history and the confusing, messy present swirled violently in my mind all night, which kept me from sleeping.

It’s more tranquil out here on the deck, and I’m beginning to feel like my mind is slowing down and maybe I’ll be granted some sleep.

I hear a knock on the door, followed by a long succession of knocks. I get up and go through the house, expecting it to be the morning visit from Jeanine. But it’s Audrey.

There’s a frown on her face, and it’s one of the worst ones I’ve ever seen. It’s almost like it’s her crying face, but she’s not crying—no tears, no hitch in her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says, as I open the door. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

She steps past me. Reflexively, I lift my hand and touch her back. She doesn’t move away from me. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t turn around and launch into a barrage of anger at me. Good sign.

“I’m so tired,” she says, her shoulders slumping for extra effect. “I didn’t sleep all night.”

We’re standing at the edge of the kitchen area. She’s facing me, and we’re about a foot apart.

“I didn’t sleep, either,” I say. “Couldn’t.”

“I have so much on my mind.” She turns and walks into the den, where she sits on the couch and then tips over, her head resting on a pillow. “Are you too tired to talk?”

I sit on the edge of the coffee table directly across from her. I shake my head as I reach out and with one finger, move the strand of hair that has fallen across her face. I tuck it behind her ear. I feel her warmth, her softness, and I wonder how the hell I could have ever entertained the idea that I could leave here and never see her again.

She’s licking her lips and doing something with her mouth that makes me think she’s thirsty. The dreaded all-nighter cotton-mouth.

“Let me get you something to drink,” I say, and go to the kitchen. I pour us both a glass of juice, go back to the den and find that Audrey is sleeping, her mouth slightly open, her breathing even and peaceful.

After pulling a light blanket over her, I lie next to her and manage to squeeze into the space between her back and the couch cushions without waking her up.

I lie there wondering what’s going through her mind. What is it that she came here to say or ask? I imagine there’s way more than I would be able to guess, especially considering how tired I am.

The perfect calmness of this moment relaxes me.

She might not be here to stay, but at least she’s here now.

My mind is no longer racing.

She’s brought comfort to me, even though I know the conversation we’ll have later won’t be easy.

My eyes are closed without effort this time.

Having Audrey here like this—our first time literally sleeping together—feels just like I had hoped it would, even though I know there’s a good chance this first time will also be the last.

The end of that thought comes slowly, mixed with maybe a one second pause that feels like an hour….

Chapter Twenty-Three

Audrey

It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am when I wake up. How long have I been asleep? I reach for my phone on the coffee table and that’s when I feel it.

His arm around me, his hand on my stomach.

I’m not even wake enough to realize he was there until I feel him. He’s not moving, so I haven’t disturbed him. The reach for the coffee table isn’t an easy one but I manage to snag my phone.

It’s noon. I got here just after seven this morning. Almost five hours of sleep. Not great, but not bad.

When I showed up here this morning, we hardly said anything to each other. I must have fallen asleep almost immediately after sitting on this couch.

My eyes focus on two glasses on the table, each filled with orange juice. They’re probably warm and disgusting, but I’m so thirsty and my mouth is so dry, it’s tempting.

He moves behind me. “Hey.” His voice is gravelly and damn sexy that way. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

“Shit.” He sits up and puts his hand on my leg. “You okay?”

“Yeah, much better.” Although I’m sore and stiff from sleeping like I did. “I’m really thirsty, though.”

He gets off the couch and goes to the kitchen. “Juice, iced tea, water….?”

“Tea.”

I look at my phone while he’s getting the drinks, happy to see that Wyatt didn’t call or text this morning, but my mom left a voicemail. I’m listening to it as Evan comes back with the drinks and sits next to me.

Mom’s voicemail says she’s worried that I didn’t come home. Shit. Then she asks if I can take Sophie to a friend’s house, which is all the way across town. I take several long sips of tea as I listen to her: “I’m out getting my hair and nails done. I won’t be home for another couple of hours. If you can’t, it’s fine. Just let me know.”

I send her a text asking what time Sophie needs a ride.

While waiting for her response, I say his name out loud. “Evan.”

He looks at me. His face has a line on the side of it. A mark left from a pillow seam. His hair is messy and it makes me think of my own and how it looks, but I don’t care so much that I need to find out.

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to say what I’m going to say.

“Evan,” I say again.

He tilts his head and grins, but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m just going to have to get used to your new name. Or your old name. Your
real
name.”

He lets his head fall back against the couch and looks up at the ceiling. “I deserve the sarcasm.”

“You really do. And more.”

He looks at me. “Let me have it.”

This isn’t what I wanted when I came to his bungalow this morning. I didn’t come here looking for a fight. I came here in search of an explanation. “I want to know why. All of it.”

“Want to grab lunch while we talk?” he asks.

“I’m waiting for my mom to text back. Might have to take my sister somewhere.”

He nods once, then drinks, finishing off the glass and putting it on the coffee table.

Mom texts back. Sophie needs a ride at 1:30. I send her a quick text, letting her know I can drop Sophie off.

“I have a little over an hour,” I say.

He puts his hand on my thigh and caresses it lightly. Almost like he’s testing whether it’s okay for him to touch me. “Where’s your car?”

“I parked it in the lot down the street. No one will see it.” And then I think of something. “I guess we slept through Jeanine’s visit.”

“Oh well.” Evan stands. “I’ll make us something to eat. I’m starving. Come on.”

We walk to the kitchen area. I sit on a stool at the bar as he opens the refrigerator and starts gathering things to make sandwiches.

I don’t have to ask again for him to talk to me. He just starts.

He tells me about Indianapolis, and how it was a turning point for him. A wake-up call. I feel my stomach turn when he tells me about what he initially thought might have caused him to collapse. Stroke, heart attack, all of it is scary. But the actual explanation for it makes me feel better. At least it isn’t serious or irreversible.

“Exhaustion,” he says, as he opens the bread. “Want yours toasted?”

I say yes, not really caring either way. I just want him to continue the story.

He tells me about the “27 Club.” Jimmi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain. I know of Hendrix but I’m more familiar with Cobain. Morrison, not so much. He rattles off the names of several more musicians who all died at twenty-seven.

“I was already past that age,” he says, “not by much, but it’s not about the number. That’s just coincidence.”

“Weren’t those drug and alcohol related?” I have no idea if that’s the case or not, it’s just a way for me to ask if he has a problem without directly asking it. I get up to get more iced tea, and I refill his glass as well. He’s taking the toast out and making the sandwiches. I know what he’s putting on them because I picked up all the stuff.

“Not all of them were due to drugs and alcohol. And I’m not saying I was in as bad a shape as any of them. It just scared the shit out of me.”

I sit on the stool again. “That’s scary.”

He brings the sandwiches over, sits next to me, and we eat while he talks about the band, their history, how they got started, their big hits, everything.

While he’s talking, I’m eating and remaining silent because I’m a little worried about admitting that, while I recognize their music, I wasn’t exactly their biggest fan. Not that I didn’t like them, I just hadn’t gotten into their music.

Would he even care about that? I don’t think so. He doesn’t seem vain at all. He didn’t before I knew who he was, but now it’s even more striking because I know he’s a famous musician and he’s not anything like I would have imagined if I knew who he was before I met him.

After eating, Evan brings the entire pitcher of iced tea over to the coffee table.

“I’m going back and forth with the band.” He shakes his head. “They want me back, but I’m not ready to give them a yes or no just yet.”

“Are you leaning one way or another?”

There’s pain in his eyes when he looks at me. Like no matter what the answer is, it’s not an easy one. “I’m leaning toward no. And a big part of it is writer’s block. I’ve always been able to pump out more songs than we need for one album, but it’s been a lot harder lately.”

It’s hard to feel happy about this because I know none of this is easy for him and he arrived at this decision because of a health scare, but I have to admit I’m glad to hear that he’s leaning toward not going back. Or at least that’s what he’s favoring now, anyway.

I manage to keep a neutral expression on my face. “You have to do what’s best for you.” I immediately regret saying it. Such an empty phrase that people say when there’s really nothing to be said.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll have to get used to doing that for once. I’ve been going at this almost twenty-four-seven for ten years, and believe it or not, there’s not a lot of glamour, and there’s a lot of time spent doing nothing.”

I want to know what that life is like. I’ve never thought about it much, but I want to understand now because of Evan. But now is not the time. He’ll tell me, I’m sure.

But there’s one thing I have to know, and I feel like this is the time when I have the best chance of getting an answer.

“Are there lots of girls?” I didn’t intend for my voice to be so light and carry such a tone of concern, but that’s how it comes out.

He smiles and shakes his head, then lets out a sigh. “That’s something else you should know. First of all, there aren’t currently a lot of girls and there have never been a lot of girls. Honest truth. Swear.”

“They’re not throwing themselves at you all the time?”

He shifts in his seat and leans on an elbow, like he’s settling in for a long explanation. “They do. Sometimes they do. And I’m not going to lie and say that I haven’t been with any of them, but there aren’t many and it’s been a long time, anyway.” He looks at me seriously. “I have a good reason for it.”

“Which is?”

“You know I have particular things I like. A certain way I like to fuck.”

There’s that boldness again that has captivated me since the first day we met. He has no shame about his sexuality, and he’s gradually breaking down my own inhibitions.

He’s looking at me, waiting for me to acknowledge it. So I give him a nod.

“It’s not something I’ve ever done with anyone else.”

I hate the fact that I doubt that. Even though it’s just a little doubt, it’s still there.

He continues, “I’ve always fantasized about the things we’ve done, but I’ve never had any kind of serious long-term relationship with enough time to let those things happen and not rush them. And because I’ve spent the last ten years of my life traveling almost ten months out of the year, I never hooked up with a girl to do any of these things. The things we’ve done take a little time.”

Now I get it. And it makes sense.

“You’re almost all I think about now.”

He sits up and takes the glass from my hand, putting it on the table. He pulls me close to him. He has one leg pulled up under him as he sits, the other foot on the floor. I’m sitting cross-legged. My leg touches his and it’s enough to make me want to feel him on top of me. That’s where I think this is going…

But I’m wrong.

“The other part of this is that I have no interest in being the guy that girls chase because he’s in a band and famous. Zero. The kind of girls who were always around…those were the ones who were single-minded about hooking up with famous rock stars. They bore me. They’ve bored me for years. And since I could be someone else with you, someone who was going to be here for a few months, it all worked. But I had no idea it would become what it has.”

He pulls me closer to him, almost face-to-face, and he whispers, “I’ve imagined things, I’ve played them out in my mind so many times. It was all fantasy. You’ve become my fantasy girl…but you’re even better because you’re real.” He raises a hand and touches the side of my face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I lied.”

I shake my head. “I get it now.”

“Good, but I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go on so long.”

He moves toward me slowly, his lips brushing along mine, and he kisses me softly before pulling back. “I thought it was over and I don’t want this to be over.”

My eyes are darting back and forth between his. He’s sharing something with me, something that can’t be easy.

His voice a whisper, he says, “I haven’t told anyone the whole story. Not the band, not my family, no one. You’re the only other person who knows the whole truth now.”

My throat tightens like it always does when I start to get choked up. I don’t want to cry, I don’t even want to let it show, so I fight it back.

Evan kisses me. It’s a long kiss, somehow gentle and fierce at the same time. It doesn’t feel like the kind of kiss that leads to sex. There’s something else there, an underlying want or need to be close to each other, and not for the purpose of getting ourselves off.

After a few moments of this blissful kiss, he slowly pulls his face from mine. Evan looks at me intensely. “Will you forgive me?”

“Yes.”

“I was going to say something about starting fresh, starting over, but I think we’re far past the point where that’s possible.”

I laugh a little. “Yeah, I’d say so.” The moment is tense, and I decide to try to break it. “I mean, you could always go back and relive those fantasies you’ve already lived out with me. Pretend they never happened, maybe?”

His eyebrows raise up a little and he looks down at where his hand is caressing mine, then looks back up. “I wouldn’t want to replace those memories. And besides, there’s more.”

Now it’s my turn to look surprised. “More fantasies?”

He nods. “That is, if you think you trust me enough.”

“I do.”

He shakes his head. “After what’s happened, you have every reason not to. I won’t do this unless you’re absolutely sure you trust me. It’s not negotiable.”

He’s just shared things with me he hasn’t told his band mates or his own family. He’s poured his heart out to me. “I do. I really do.”

“So you’re sure.”

“Yes,” I say, forcefully, almost too loudly.

He chuckles. “And not only trust with my fantasies, but with yours.”

I look at him blankly.

“Audrey,” he says. “You do have fantasies, right?”

“Of course.”

“And have you fulfilled them? Does anyone even know?”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

He kisses my hand, then my arm, all the way up to my neck, as he whispers: “I want to be the guy who fulfills your fantasies. Would you like that?”

His warm breath on my ear is making me shiver. “Yes.”

“So tell me one.”