Summer's Hidden Melody - Chapter 2

In the compilation that went out, my beta, DayDreamDreamer (on ffn) didn't get listed in the header info due to my wacky email.  She deserves a huge shout-out for her diligent work in pre-reading and catching my typos!  Thanks, hon!

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“I am so in love!”

“Again?” 

I look up from my laptop as Rosalie waltzes through the hotel room door.  Eleven a.m.  I didn’t expect to see her until at least one.

“Laurent is amazing—an absolute beast in the bedroom!  The things that man can do with his fingers…” She trails off with a dreamy expression on her face, then focuses on me.  “But you had Anthony.  Tell me he’s just as good as we imagined.  Don’t kill my fantasy—lie if you have to.”

“No need for that,” I reply smugly. “He was everything…and more.  I can’t even begin to explain it.”

Rosalie flops down onto her bed and shoots me a withering look.  “Try anyway.  I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m in no mood to give you a smackdown now.”

How does one describe heaven?  What exactly was it about the mind-blowing sex that made it so incredible?  Was it his confident attitude—that of a man who knows his way around a woman’s body?  Perhaps it was how he put the knowledge to use—how he found the spots that drove me crazy, exploited them, brought me to multiple orgasms through them. Or maybe it was the unexpectedly tender concern he showed for my comfort afterward.

A pillows arcs through the air and smacks me in the face. 

“I want deets, bitch!  Spill ‘em.”

I give her the bare minimum to get her off my back.  For the first time in my rather robust sexual history, I am reluctant to kiss and tell.  She does have to rouse me out of a dreamy daze several times when I get lost in my memories.  I’m not apologizing for anything, though.  How am I supposed to concentrate when I’m recalling the pounding rhythm of his thick, heavy cock between my legs?  It’s not possible.

“When did you end up leaving his room?”  Rosalie has moved to the bathroom and is washing last night’s makeup from her face.

“Um, I think it was around five.”

“Five?  Why the hell so early?  Did he kick you out or something?”

“No, he was still asleep.  I didn’t want to wake him up.”

Rosalie pokes her head out of the bathroom with a look of astonishment on her face. “Help me understand this.  You and Anthony Cullen had wild animal, come-to-Jesus sex, he washes you in the shower after more of said sex, then dresses you in his clothes and tucks you into his bed…and you are the one sneaking out the morning after?  Am I missing something?”

I give her my signature shrug of indifference, even though I’m not entirely feeling it this time.  “Yes, Anthony was surprisingly sweet and attentive, but I’m not about to delude myself into thinking that my life will turn into the plotline of a romance novel.  Flings and one-night stands are what he does, and I don’t expect anything more.  Honestly, I’m not even sure I would want more with him.”

“So you’re saying that if he pledged his undying love, dedicated the band’s next album to you, and wanted to spoil you rotten, you’d tell him to go to hell?”

“Well, if he does dedicate the next album to me, I might reconsider.”  I give her my best smirk.

“It would be convenient if you were with Anthony,” she says in a thoughtful voice.  “You could double with me and Laurent.”

I raise an eyebrow.  “I don’t think one night with The Beast counts as dating.”

“For your information, he wants to see me again.  We’re getting together after the show in Tampa.”

“Seriously?” 

“I’m almost insulted by the way you said that—like you can’t believe he’d actually be interested in me for more.”

My eye roll shows I’m not going to dignify that with a response.  Actually, it’s the other way around—I’m surprised Rosalie is willing to see him again.  I hate to be cynical, but I doubt she would have agreed if he didn’t have celebrity attached to his name.

I know I’m not that much better, lusting after Anthony as I do, but I’m positive I’d feel the same about him even if he weren’t a huge star and drop-dead gorgeous.  Anyone who can make music like he does and sing it in such a passionate way is guaranteed to own my heart.

What I didn’t tell Rosalie is that it kills me to have slipped away while he slept, without even a note saying goodbye.  I was honest about the reason—I have no desire to put faith in a fairytale—but I don’t feel as nonchalant about the situation as I’m acting.  Even though the little girl in me wants to believe in a magical happily ever after, I know better than to leave my heart open to hurt.  I don’t want to experience the devastation when it the romance is over, as it invariably will be.

After sleeping most of the afternoon away, Rosalie is ready to hit the town.  Even though I’m in a weird mood and don’t feel like going out, I dutifully play the part as her wingwoman and/or DD while she looks for her next conquest.  The girl may be “in love,” but she’s still Rosalie Hale. 

It looks as if she’s got a catch on the line, but when she gets a text from Laurent, she cuts the fish loose.  Color me surprised.

I don’t recall Rosalie ever voluntarily ending a night early, but after floating on Cloud Nine for a bit, she has me drive her back to our hotel.  I’m tempted to take pictures of her goofy smile for posterity’s sake.  Could Laurent really be the man to tame the untamable?

           

He seems to be off to a good start.  Rosalie spends the majority of the drive to Tampa deep in a text conversation with him.  She takes twice as long as usual getting ready for the concert and is uncharacteristically jumpy as we wait in our seats. 

She had texted Laurent our location, and when he walks onstage, he blows her a kiss.  The squeal she makes is deafening, but my searing glare goes unnoticed.  All through the evening, he sends her winks and meaningful looks.

Their mutual eye-fucking isn’t the only performer-audience interaction happening.  On several occasions, I catch Anthony staring at me.  In spite of myself, my body trembles from the connection we share as he sings his own words to me.

…a need twisting with fire, a stain burning my soul…

…find me lost, bared bones, frozen flesh for us…

…keep dark hope alive, you won’t leave me left behind…

I don’t reach out for him as usual when he descends from the stage to run through the crowd.  But he stops at my row anyway, pushes past the two people beside me, and crashes his mouth onto mine.  I’m pretty sure my heart stops beating when the kiss is displayed on the huge screen for everyone to see.

He’s gone as quickly as he came, and I’m left stunned.  That was definitely not something I was expecting.

Rosalie gives me a strange look, but I don’t have the mental power to decipher it.

“You’d be fucking crazy not to take whatever you can get from that man.”  She shakes her head at me.

I’m sure the rest of the concert is spectacular, but I don’t hear a note of it.  My head is too wrapped up in what ifs and why nots.

“I’m supposed to wait here.  Laurent’s gonna send someone to bring me back stage,” Rosalie says when the final encore is over.  “What about you?  Is Anthony…?”

I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder.  “We didn’t exchange numbers or anything, and I’m not going to chase him down like some sort of desperate beggar.”

“Why not?  That’s what we were doing before,” she points out truthfully.

“Yeah, well, it’s different now.  As a groupie, I was okay with being pathetic.  But I refuse to be one of those girls who can’t understand the meaning of ‘no.’”

“How much of a bigger ‘yes’ do you need than someone shoving his tongue down your throat in front of thousands of people?”

“Just drop it, okay?  I’m gonna head back.  You know the drill.”

She gives me a pitying look but nods at my words.  “I’ll call you if I need anything, though I can’t imagine that happening.  I’ll be back tomorrow morning in time to make checkout.”

We exchange kisses on the cheek, and I join the line of people departing the seating area.  I’m almost through the doors to the concourse when I think I hear my name.  I swivel my head to see if I can catch the direction of the voice, but it doesn’t call out again.  Figuring I must be imagining things, I step forward to exit the main arena.

The chest that suddenly materializes in front of my face is surprising firm when I smash into it.

“Fuck!” I cry out, bringing my hand to my aching nose.  My eyes are watering from the collision, and I can’t make out the face of the person I’m about to bitch out.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

I recognize those soft-spoken tones.

“Em?” I use one hand to wipe away my tears while the other reaches out blindly in front of me.

“Are you okay?  Damn, I’m sorry.  I wasn’t expecting you to—“

“It’s fine, and so am I.”  I give him a reassuring pat and am again surprised by the hardness of the muscle I’m touching.  “Jesus, Em.  Are you, like, Clark Kent with a body of steel underneath your regular clothes?”

My vision is clearing, and I can now make out the blush growing on his face.

“Um…I…”

Feeling just a bit devilish, I grope those inviting pecs one final time before bringing my hands back to myself.  I’d bet all the money in my meager savings account that the guy is sporting wood right now.

“So Em, what can I do you for?”  I know I’m not playing nice, but I can’t seem to help myself.

“Oh, uh…Anthony.  I’m here for Anthony.  I mean, he wanted me to get you.”

I had guessed as much, but when I hear him confirm it, a jolt of excitement shoots through me.  It is quickly followed by trepidation.  It makes no sense to follow Em back to his brother.  It might seem that he likes me—hell, maybe he actually does—but in the end, all that I’ll get out of playing with the fire that is Anthony Cullen will be a burned heart.

And some spectacular sex.

“Alright, Em.  Lead the way.”

---------------------------------------------------

“You can’t put it off forever, Bella.  Sooner or later, I’ll get the truth out of you.”

“Mm.  Less talking, more rubbing.”

Anthony laughs and digs his fingers deeper into a tight shoulder muscle.  “Maybe I’ll withhold the rest of your massage until you tell me why you ran out on me.  Is that a good threat?”

I moan as he works out a knot.  “No.  This is your punishment for seducing me on the painfully lumpy couch of your craptastic dressing room.”

“Bella…”  His hands pause in their movements.

“Anthony,” I whine, letting my naked body slump against his.  My lower back brushes against his semi-erect dick. 

He grunts, and I smile.

“Already?  Even for a 25-year-old, your recovery time is impressive.”  I slide a hand behind me and curl it around his girth. 

Before I am able to give him a few teasing pumps, he closes his own hand around mine.

“How about we move this party back to my hotel room?  Unless you really want to go another round on this couch that you love so much…?”

It’s hard to get myself under control when my fingers are wrapped around his hardening cock, but he has a valid point.  This stupid piece of furniture really sucks.

Our clothes get put on a lot more slowly than they came off, especially when we keep interrupting the process by kissing and groping one another.  It’s almost two a.m. by the time we stumble out of the tiny dressing room he’d been given.  I don’t expect to see anyone in the hallway other than maybe the night cleaning crew or security, so I jump a little when I notice Em’s lengthy frame by my feet.  He’s sitting on the concrete floor, his back leaning against the wall.  With a lowered head and closed eyes, I wonder if he’s asleep.

Anthony stops at his brother’s feet and aims a light kick at the black Converse.  I smile at the sight—I have the corresponding women’s pair in my hotel room.  Em stirs and pulls out ear buds that I hadn’t noticed.  He looks up at us with large, mournful eyes, and I have the sudden urge to give him a hug.  He must be taking Rosalie’s tryst with Laurent pretty hard.

“What’s up, Em?” Anthony asks, draping an arm over my shoulder.

Em pushes himself to his feet.  “You haven’t been answering your phone.  Irina needs to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“What could be so urgent that she has to plant you outside my door?”  He doesn’t seem too concerned about whatever’s causing Irina’s haste.

“I was supposed to get you an hour ago, but I waited until you were, uh…finished.” 

Poor Em looks so mortified that I impulsively grab his hand.

“That was sweet of you,” I tell him, hoping to put him at ease. 

I don’t think it helps.  He stares down at our joined hands with alarm on his face.  Anthony notices, of course, and laughs.

“Easy, Bella.  Don’t make the poor kid come in his pants.”

“Anthony!” I snap. “Knock it off, for fuck’s sake.” I might not have personal experience with sibling relationships, but it’s obvious that Em is floundering. I let go of his fingers, dimly noting their calloused state. 

“Irina said something about Perez Hilton and pictures and…” he casts me a nervous glance, “…and Bella.”

Anthony pulls out his phone.  “I guess I’d better call her, then.  She won’t leave me alone until I do.”

“I think she’s still asleep in the admin lounge.  She was waiting for me to get you, but when I went to tell her you were, um, busy, she had passed out.”  He looks down at his feet. “I didn’t want to wake her up.”

“Ha, I don’t blame you,” Anthony replies with a knowing grin.  He turns to me.  “I’ll go let the Wicked Witch yell at me for a bit.  Why don’t you wait in the dressing room until I’m done?  Trust me, you don’t to be caught in her crossfire.  I’ll be lucky enough to come back with my balls still attached,” he chuckles.

For Em’s sake, I swallow all the suggestive rejoinders that spring to mind.  I simply nod and accept the quick kiss he plants on my lips.

As I watch him depart, I hear the door open to the dressing room.  I follow Em inside, where he starts gathering up Anthony’s things.

“What in the world are you doing?” I ask, wondering why he’d be taking care of such a menial task. 

“My job.” 

He stuffs Anthony’s sweaty stage clothes in a plastic bag and moves on to picking up all the trash that’s strewn about.  Anthony isn’t the neatest person I’ve ever met.

I bend down to grab an empty soda can lying by my feet.  With the two of us working together, it only takes a few minutes to straighten up the room.

“Thanks,” he says when we’re finished.

I take a seat on the lumpy couch.  “How are you getting back to the hotel?  Are you riding with us?” 

“No, Irina.”  He glances at the door as if he’s unsure if he should leave or not.

“Why don’t you keep me company while we wait?”  I pat the cushion beside me.  “This thing is big enough for both of us.”

After a moment of indecision, he lowers himself onto the couch, as far away from me as he can get.

I study him in curiosity.  “Hey, can I ask you a question?  Why are you working for your brother?  I mean, you don’t seem to enjoy it all that much.”

He starts to fidget, his fingers twitching in his lap.  For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer, but he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I get nervous around other people,” he murmurs, not looking me in the eye.  “I had a few bad panic attacks when I was a kid, and since then, I’ve preferred staying around people I know really well.” His expression is grim.

 I wondered if his panic attacks were a result of his parents’ death in a fire when he and Anthony were young.  According to what I’ve read, their aunt and uncle took them in.

Em shook his head as if to dispel whatever thoughts were in it.  “When I graduated high school, Anthony was nice enough to give me a job and bring me on tour with him.”

“Hmm, I think he’s getting just as much, if not more, out of the deal.” 

“It’s more than that.  He also helps me when…”  Em’s voice trails off, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.

I’m dying to know what he was going to say but can tell he’s reluctant to talk about it.  I change the subject.

“There’s not much out there about you, though now I can understand why.  I knew Anthony had a brother but I’ve never seen any details.  I know you’re younger…let me guess—21?”

“I just turned 22 a few days ago,” he admits.

“Well, hell!  Happy birthday, Em.”  I put as much warmth as I can into the sentiment.

He smiles shyly, and it shocks me how the soft expression changes the way see him.  For the first time, I notice that he’s actually quite good-looking.

“It’s really too bad about Rosalie and Laurent,” I muse to myself.

“Yeah, it is,” Em asserts rather forcefully.  “She shouldn’t be with him.”

I’m a bit taken aback by the emotion in his voice.  It seems so incongruous with his reserved personality.  Of course, I’ve only spent a few minutes with him here and there, so what do I know?  I give him some sort of weird grin that’s part apologetic and part sympathetically supportive.  I’m pretty sure it comes across looking like a cringe.

He seems rather worked up, and the fingers on his left hand are moving a lot now.  Squinting, I lean forward and watch them carefully.  There seems to be a pattern, and it looks familiar…

“Is that a minor blues progression?” I ask hesitantly.

“What?”  Em gapes at me like I’m speaking in a foreign language, though to him, maybe I am.  His fingers have become still.

“It looked like C-minor-seven, F-minor-seven, A-flat-seven…you know—tonic, dominant, subdominant…”  There’s no change in his bug-eyed expression.  “Okay, maybe you don’t know.”

He manages to pull his jaw off the floor.  “It was a minor blues progression.  I was just…sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.  But how did you...?”

I shrug.  “Music major.  I play guitar and have taken some jazz theory classes.  I’m not, like, super at it or anything, but I’ve sat in on a few jam sessions with friends.”  I chuckle.  “Of course, you also happened to pick a key that I’ve practiced a lot.  I think I could play C-minor blues chords in my sleep. If you’d gone with, say, E-flat, I just would’ve assumed your hand had nerve problems or something.”

Em lets out a soft snort of amusement, and again, I am treated to that beautiful, gentle smile.

“It must be incredible to hang around such talented musicians all the time.  Do you ever play with them?” I ask.

Em starts to speak, but his quiet voice is drowned out by the sound of the door opening.

“Hey, how’s my baby momma slash new fiancé doing?” Anthony sings out merrily.

“Excuse me?”  I stare askance at him.

“Oh, you don’t know our story?  Apparently, we’ve been seeing each other in secret for several months, I knocked you up, and you were furious that I was messing around with other women.  But you’ve taken me back, and tonight during the concert, I asked if you would marry me.”  He smirks.  “Obviously, you said yes.”

Mrs. Bella Cullen?  That has a nice ring to it.  The teensiest bit of a wistful smile forms on my lips, but it is quickly replaced by a smirk to match Anthony’s. 

“Of course I did.  Though I was tempted to tell you to fuck off when you proposed without giving me an obscenely huge ring.”  I wiggle my bare finger in his face.

He leans in close and sucks the finger into his mouth.  His tongue swirls over it, and I can’t stop a low moan from escaping.

He pulls back to let my finger slide out of his mouth and then put his lips to my ear.  “I’ve got something obscenely huge for you,” he murmurs.

I’d laugh at his line, but I’m too damned horny.

“How about we get back to your room so you can give it to me?”

One moment I’m pressing my thighs together while sitting on a threadbare couch, and the next, I’m being carried out the door in Anthony’s arms.  I barely have the presence of mind to throw a wave to Em before I’m lost in hungry kisses.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Tell me where.”

“Right…there!  Oh god, yeah.  Keep going.” 

A bead of sweat rolls down Anthony’s temple as he slams into me.  “I’m so close.  Gonna come so hard!” he grunts heavily.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.”  I keep up the breathy chant, focused on chasing the crest of the wave that is about to crash over me.

Anthony’s fingers dig into my thighs as he repeatedly yanks me onto his driving cock.  He’s on his knees between my spread legs, his back hunched over as he channels the entire force of his muscular body into filling me.

And yet, I need more.

“Harder,” I beg.  “Fuck me harder!”  It’s right there, that ball of building pressure, waiting to be burst open.  I just need a little more…

Then I feel him swelling, stiffening, and finally pulsing within me.  Even though I know he must be finished, he continues to thrust, pushing me closer and closer and…

“I’m coming!” I gasp, digging my heels into his ass and clamping down on his slowly softening cock.  Curling up my pelvis, I squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of my orgasm.  Anthony waits until my legs loosen from around him and fall to the bed before he eases out.

“Thanks for hanging in there,” I tell him as he’s pulling off the condom and cleaning up.

“We aim to please.”

“Is that a royal ‘We,’ or are you speaking for Anthony, Jr., as well?”

“C, all of the above,” he answers with his signature smirk and lies down on his side, his head propped up by his arm. 

“Well, both of you do a very good job of that.”

He nods in acceptance of the praise, but then his expression becomes serious.  “Bella, did you leave my room in Miami because you didn’t want to see me again or…because you thought the morning after would be too awkward or…?”

I don’t really want to talk about it, but I suppose he deserves an explanation.  I meet his eyes with an earnest gaze.

“Look, Anthony, it’s no secret how you roll when it comes to women, and I’m fine with that.  I’m also careful not to let myself get attached.  So, yes, I did want to avoid any sort of goodbye weirdness that morning, but the bigger truth is that I needed everything to end on my terms. 

“See, my mom had been blissfully unaware that my dad was cheating on her until it all exploded in her face one day.  I saw her go from a strong-willed, independent person to someone who let herself be swept away by things she felt out of her control.  I don’t want anything like that to happen to me, so I tend to be proactive.”

“Or you’re afraid to trust anyone,” he says gently.

“That’s definitely part of it.  I don’t have a problem admitting that I’m guarded when it comes to getting close to people.”

“Hmm.”  He’s quiet for a moment, his stare vacant as if in deep thought.  Then he grins.  “It’s going to make things difficult for us when the baby comes.”

The cloud of tension over us dissipates. “For sure,” I say in mock seriousness.  “But we’ve got a few months to figure that out.  I’m not even showing yet.”  

“Well, if we’re taking things one step at a time, how about you spend the day with me?  We don’t leave for Jacksonville until tomorrow morning, and I have a completely open schedule for once.”

If I were a cartoon, my eyebrows would be floating somewhere above my head.  “Are you serious?  After what I just told you about preferring to keep my distance from people? I’m more than ecstatic to be your fuck buddy, but hanging out together toes the line to the danger zone for me.”

“Certainly you have friends—you’re touring the country with Rosalie, after all.  Maybe once you and I get to know each another better, we can develop a friendship.” He grins mischievously.  “One with benefits.”

I shake my head.  “I don’t think it works like that—at least not for me.  I’ve only been in a few semi-serious relationships, but I can tell you that I don’t like to share.”

“Okay, then we won’t share,” he says, almost dismissively.

Now my eyebrows are somewhere in space orbit.  “E. Anthony Cullen not have a different girl in each city?  That’s, like, defying the laws of physics or something.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad!”

At my pointed stare, he grins sheepishly.  “Not every city.”  He reaches out a hand to cup my cheek.  “I like you, Bella.  I want us to spend more time together and see what happens.  Usually, I can’t do something like that because of my travel schedule, but, hell, you’ve got the exact same one right now.”

I snort.  “So it’s really a matter of convenience.”

“Absolutely,” he teases and slides his body on top of mine.  The tip of his again-hard dick grazes my entrance.  “See how easy that was?”

I moan at the sensation as he slips through my folds and rubs over my clit.  “That’s not fair.  How can I think straight when you’re doing that?”

“You’re not supposed to.  You’re supposed to agree that after I fuck you senseless, we’ll try to sleep for the few hours left of the night, and when I wake up, you’ll still be here.  Then we’ll order in brunch and find some way to occupy ourselves until I take you out to dinner tonight.”  He uses one hand to squeeze my breast while the other reaches for a condom on the nightstand.  “Go ahead, Bella, say yes.”

“No,” I reply, but it’s a weak-willed whimper that squeaks out of me, and Anthony can taste his victory.

“Just stay with me.  One day, that’s all I’m asking right now.”  His cock circles maddeningly just outside my entrance. 

I groan when he breaks contact to roll the condom onto his shaft.  “Fine,” I concede with a needy grumble.  “Now hurry up and get that dick inside me before I change my mind.”

“Anything for you, babe,” he replies, and in a smooth, powerful thrust, he fills me yet again.

True to my word, I relax enough to doze off after our fast and furious round of sex.  When my brain registers the sun brightening the room, I fight the urge to flee and, instead, scoot a little closer to the left side of the bed where Anthony is sleeping.  I’m not a cuddler, and it seems he isn’t, either, but I feel like I need some sort of reassurance that I’m not making a huge mistake.  I rest my head against his bicep and go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, one of my worries is proved valid when we get up for the day.  There’s an air of awkwardness surrounding us, and I find myself unsure how to act.  Normally, my one-night stands and I part ways in the morning, if not before, so it’s strange for me to take a shower and then sit down to omelets and orange juice in a man’s undershirt.  

After eating, we decide to watch a movie but end up missing most of it.  I’m not taking my situation for granted and take every opportunity to appreciate Anthony’s body.

Irina stops by in the afternoon with a scowl of disdain for me and a fuming glare for him.  Apparently, she had a rough morning trying to deal the media and public backlash.  When she urges me to check my Facebook account, I find out that someone has hacked it and is posting inflammatory remarks about Anthony’s fellow band members, other musicians, and even the political situation in the Middle East.  I agree to let Anthony’s team take action on my part to have it shut down.  I know I’m in over my head when it comes to being in the public eye.

It’s over two hours before Irina feels satisfied enough with the security of my online accounts.  She gathers her things, sighs heavily, and trudges out the door.

“Is it like this all the time?”  I ask Anthony as a car is driving us to my hotel.  “I don’t know how you deal.”

“It’s crazy, that’s for sure.  I actually don’t mind it much, but being a celebrity by choice isn’t for everyone.”  He gets a faraway look in his eyes as he stares out the car window.

I wonder if he’s getting second thoughts about wanting to spend time with me.  “We don’t have to go out tonight.  I mean, it was hard enough trying to sneak out of your hotel without getting mobbed.  Staying in is fine with me.”

Anthony puts an arm around my shoulder and draws me close.  “No, I want to take you to a nice dinner, have some pleasant conversation…do things the right way.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a checklist,” I say with a smile.  “Besides, you should have thought of that before you knocked me up.”

When we arrive at my hotel, I change into a rather conservative dress.  I know there’s a high probability of me being photographed tonight, and I want to look classy versus trashy.  It’s not the I normally dress like a two-bit hooker—that’s more Rosalie’s style, actually—but I feel like I have to meet the high expectations of the public. 

I’m not sure if I like that, though.

The restaurant is not brightly lit, and I’m thankful, but Anthony and I are seated in a central location.  He’s very at ease being in the spotlight, and I am impressed with the polite way he handles interruptions of our meal by fans seeking autographs and pictures.

Our conversation is light and easy, and the food is excellent.  Other than the frequent clicks from pictures being taken, it feels like a normal, successful first date.

Anthony asks me to stay the night with him, but I grudgingly decline.  It’s not that I don’t want more incredible sex, but I need to take a step back and regroup.  I’m not used to being around someone who’s larger than life, and I have to process what it all means.

Rosalie’s not in our room when I return, and all of her things are gone.  She did leave a note explaining that she would be staying with Laurent for the night and riding the tour bus to Jacksonville.  I shake my head.  Typical Rose.  She’s picky and plays hard to get, but after making up her mind, she dives in head first.

I find it difficult to fall asleep.  I’d actually hoped to use my friend as a sounding board, but now I’m on my own.  I wonder how long her relationship with Laurent will last and if she’ll be hanging out with him for the rest of the summer.  I’m glad we’ve already paid for all of our hotel stays.  I’d have a hard time affording the full cost of a room on my own.

Anthony texts me goodnight and again as he’s getting on his “bus.”  He has his own customized trailer for travel, as does Jasper and his family.  Jake and Seth share one between them, and Laurent and Tyler occupy another.  When I had asked him why some of the band members choose to also get hotel rooms, he gave me a sheepish look.

“Since Jake hooked up with Vanessa—Bartender Chick,” he winked at me, “Seth has opted to stay at hotels.  Laurent and Tyler usually stay on their bus, and of course, Jasper always does.  As for me, well…”

He didn’t have to finish for me to guess the reason.  I can imagine that he wouldn’t want to give all the one-nighters access to his personal space.

I hit the road shortly after Hidden Summit’s caravan departs.  I hardly miss Rosalie’s company since one of us is usually asleep as the other drives.  In fact, now I can sing at the top of my lungs without a care.

I have to fight through a horde of nosy concert goers when someone recognizes me in the entrance line and starts taking pictures.  Before it gets too crazy, arena security comes to my rescue and escorts me to my seat.   I’m a bit surprised to see Rosalie there—I thought she might be standing in the wings or some other exclusive location. 

She greets me with an enthusiastic hug.

“Bella!  Can you believe all this? It’s beyond belief. It’s just…just…unbelievable!”

I laugh at her vocabulary issues.  “Yeah, it’s definitely hard to believe.”

“It was so nice traveling here with Laurent.  I’m spoiled for normal modes of transportation now.  There was so much space to move around! We had lunch in bed while watching a movie, and I didn’t have to use a nasty bathroom at a rest stop.”  She gives me a look of curiosity, though there’s a hint of something else—cunning, maybe?  “I loved watching the guys do the sound check this afternoon.  I’m surprised you weren’t there with Anthony.  He said you wanted time to yourself?”

“Yeah, I just needed to think about some things.”

Rosalie shakes her head.  “Whatever, Bella.  I’m not going to try anymore to understand what the hell’s wrong with you.  But don’t come crying to me when he ditches you for someone else.”

I just roll my eyes.  I tend to do that a lot around her.

The show is thrilling as always.  Again, Anthony locks eyes with me several times, and I feel dazed by all his attention, especially in public.  Can I handle this?  Is it worth it?

At intermission, Rosalie goes backstage with one of Irina’s assistants.  I’d like to get a pretzel and a beer from a concession stand, but there’s no way I’m risking my neck like that.  It’s bad enough overhearing snarky comments from people seated near me.

I get out my phone and see that I’ve missed a recent text from Anthony.

When do I get to kiss you again?  After the show?  Sooner than that?

I smile.  At least this time, it won’t be a surprise when my mouth gets molested as he passes by.

“Bella?”

My grin widens.  “Hey, Em!  Come to keep me company?”

“Uh, Anthony heard about what happened to you in line earlier.  He sent me to see if you need anything.”

That was sweet of him, but…

“Geez, Em, I don’t know what kind of deal you guys have worked out, but I’m not going to let you wait on me.  Here, have a seat.”  I pat Rosalie’s empty chair.

He looks around as if Big Brother is watching him.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.  I’m supposed to—“

“—find out if I need anything,” I cut in, “and it turns out I do.  I want you to hang out with me for a little bit.”  I can see that he’s nervous to be around so many people, so I give him my most inviting, non-threatening smile. 

Hesitantly, he lowers his tall frame into the seat.  “So, um…how are you?”

Surprised but happy that he initiated conversation, I keep my answer light.  “Well, the humidity’s kinda gross, but I’m trying to get used to it.  The next two weeks are all southern cities, so the weather won’t change much, huh?”

“The air does get drier as you move west.  That should help.”

“Yeah.”  I try to think of another innocuous topic.  “The band’s playing well.”

Em’s face darkens, and I get another fascinating glimpse of strong emotion from him.  “Jasper flubbed the turnaround in ‘Whisper for You’ and wasn’t lock-step with Jake in ‘Shatter.’   As usual, Laurent and Tyler tried to outdo each other in their ‘Catch Midnight’ solos and ended up destroying the somber tone.  Seth kept spacing out and sounded robotic.  He’s too young and talented for his own damn good.”  Em is practically growling at the end, and his hand is tapping out furious rhythms on his leg.

I’m taken aback by his outburst and don’t know what to say, so I just stare at the rapidly-moving fingers, hypnotized by their speed and dexterity.  “Wow, sounds like you know their songs inside and out.  Though I guess it’s not that surprising since you hear them all the time—the ‘off’ parts are probably obvious to you.”  I frown, feeling like I need to defend my statement.  “Still, while the performance may not have been perfect, they’re doing it live, which adds a certain measure of difficulty and isn’t expected to be the same quality as a studio recording.”

“Maybe,” he grudgingly allows, still drumming away. 

I search for a way out of the awkwardness.  “You must think Anthony did okay, though.  You didn’t say anything about him.”

Where Em was heatedly irate just a moment ago, now his face is blank, emotionless.  “Anthony is always great at his job.  He does exactly what he’s supposed to do.”  His voice is flat.

“Which is—?”

He shrugs, his eyes moving over the empty stage. “Looking good, entertaining, drawing a crowd.”  He pauses, lowers his gaze, then continues in a barely audible voice.  “Letting the world hear poetry in the music.”

“Yes,” I whisper, my heart skipping a beat as I think about Hidden Summit’s lead singer.

I think of the way Anthony’s words touch my soul and shudder in desire.  Rosalie is right.  If I am ever going to risk my heart, it will be with someone like him—a person who so obviously understands the deepest emotions and the repercussions of experiencing them.  It is clear from his songs’ lyrics that love is the treasure he seeks, and when it is found, he will never betray it.

How could I not explore the possibility with him?

I’m excited, nervous, and impatient.  Now that I’ve given myself permission to try, I want to start right away.  Maybe Rosalie and I aren’t so different, after all.

Turning to Em—who I notice is watching me intently—I grab his forearm.  He startles at my sudden movement but doesn’t pull away.

“Can you take me to Anthony now?  Is there enough time?”

His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to see inside me, trying to measure some hidden quality.  I tilt my head in bemusement.

“What?”

Again, he glances toward the stage.  A band crewmember has begun to prepare the set for the second half.

“If we hurry, you should have a few minutes.”

I don’t want to miss my chance.  I can’t stand the thought of waiting over an hour to let him know how I feel.

“Then we’d better hurry.  Come on!”  My hand slides down his arm to close around his hand.  I inadvertently cut off his tapping rhythm as I pull him to his feet.

Em takes the lead and guides me to yet another small backstage dressing room.  He knocks quietly.

It appears that we interrupt a pacing session when Em pushes the door open.  Anthony stops midstride.

“Bella?”

I rush over and throw myself onto him.  He’s stunned but manages to catch me and stop both of us from falling onto the floor.

“What’s this all about?” he laughs into my mouth as I attack him.

“I think we need to take a step back.  It’s too much, too soon.”

“Um, okay?”  His words are muffled by my tongue.

“Yeah.”  Kiss.  “I mean, we’re still getting to know each other.” Deeper kiss.  “I should be your girlfriend before I’m your fiancé.”  I’m devouring him.

He pulls back and sets me on my feet, his body shaking in laughter.  “Is that so?  I’ve never had one of those before, but it sounds like fun.”

There’s muted conversation outside the door.  Em takes a step inside the room.

“Five minutes,” he murmurs to his brother.

“Damn,” Anthony says, giving me a look of longing. “No time to celebrate.”

“We’ll make the best of what we have,” I insist, my hands going to the button on his jeans.

“Hell yeah.” 

Our mouths crash together as I push him down onto the closest chair.  I barely register the sound of the door closing behind me.

--------------------------------------

Over the next two weeks, I learn firsthand what it’s like behind the scenes of a concert tour.  It’s not glamorous by any stretch, and though I’m having a blast, I am beginning to understand why it’s too much for some people to handle. 

The cities are different, but the routine is the same.  Travel, rehearsal, personal prep, sound check, performance, meet and greet, team wrap-up, rest, and then it’s on to the next venue.  With such a compressed tour series, the band hits only the largest cities across the country.  As they go further west, the distance between destinations is longer.  Sometimes the crew packs up the stage in one city and immediately hits the road for the next.

After Jacksonville, I agree to travel with Anthony and let him ship my car home.  I need a few days to get comfortable with the idea of "living" with a guy, but it helps when there is staff dedicated to do the cleaning, cooking, and laundry.  It’s almost like being in a hotel suite, which—by the way—Anthony has stopped utilizing.  We do make good use of the bedroom in his trailer, though, and spend a lot of time of his free time there.

I’m getting to know the other members and several people on the crew.  Seth and I had an easy rapport from the minute we met, and now I view him as the younger brother I never had—despite his frequent sexual innuendos.  I’d probably have a similar sibling relationship with Jake if it weren’t for Bartender Chick.  She makes no secret of her dislike of me and does all she can to limit my interaction with her boyfriend.  I’d protest, but she’s got her man’s balls so tightly in her fist that it’s really not worth the trouble.

I don’t see much of Jasper or the rest of his family.  On the few occasions that I’ve talked to Alice, she seems down-to-earth and interesting, but parenthood is really taking its toll on her and Jasper.  Apparently, the baby has terrible colic and spends most of its waking hours screaming its head off.  I’d probably be stumbling around in a daze, too, if I had to deal with that.  I once asked Jasper why Alice and little Sophia didn’t stay home so he could concentrate on making music.  He gave me a patient smile and said he didn’t see the point in having kids if he wasn’t around to enjoy them.  Honestly, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying much of anything at the moment, but I do respect his commitment.  My own father certainly failed in that regard.  From what I’ve seen, Jasper is a great dad who’ll only get better as the kid grows up.  I can’t imagine him cheating on his wife and walking out on his family.

Tyler is almost the polar opposite of Jasper.  He doesn’t believe in monogamy or the family life.  He says he’s married to his music, and his only steady girl is his alto sax, Sandra.  No one’s allowed to touch Sandra except him, but once he found out my love for saxophones, he lets me tool around on a backup, “less expensive” horn—it’s only valued at around $8000 versus the $14k that his vintage Selmer Mark VI is worth.  As a music major, I know my way around all the standard instrument families, but I’m still honored by his trust in me.

Laurent spends a good deal of time making goo-goo eyes at Rosalie. The more I get to know him, the more I’m squicked out that I ever thought he was hot.  I mean, it’s not that he’s gotten less physically attractive in my estimation, but I can’t reconcile his looks with his smarmy, inconsistent personality.  He drools over Rosalie and acts like she’s the center of his universe, but every so often, I’ll catch him leering at me or Vanessa.  I wonder if it’s less about who we are and all about what we are—the supposedly untouchable girlfriends of his bandmates.  In that way, he and Rosalie are a good match because they always want more than they’ve got.

Rosalie hasn’t spent much time with me much since she got wrapped up in Laurent.  When I try to talk to her about it, she blows me off and blames the side effects of new love.  I wonder if she’s still harboring jealousy over me being with Anthony instead of her.  I don’t dwell on the thought, though.  I’m not a fan of drama.

I can understand why she’d be jealous, though.  Anthony knows how to have a good time.  Besides all the fabulous sex, we go out often.  He gets into exclusive clubs and restaurants, and I meet all sorts of famous people.  Money is never an issue, and he’s given me several gifts of flowers and jewelry.

It’s not completely the life of Riley for me, however.  I haven’t gone anywhere by myself since getting mobbed at the Jacksonville concert.  The hate isn’t as bad as it was the first week that Anthony and I went “public.”  Irina was a little too eager to inform me that several “anti-Bella Swan” Facebook groups and websites had sprung into existence.  I’ve stopped going on social media sites because of all the crap about me that’s flying around.

Truth be told, the party scene is wearing me down.  We may go a different club each time, but it seems repetitious and uninspiring.  I’m the only one to feel this way; Anthony is just as enthusiastic to go out as ever.  Jake, Tyler, Laurent, and Rosalie are right there with him when it comes to staying out as late as possible.  I nearly fell over in shock the other night when I fought to hide a yawn and noticed Bartender Chick doing the same thing.  For the briefest instant, we shared a sense of empathy, but when Jake started teasing me, her disdainful glare was back in full force.

“Hey Babe,” Anthony says to me after the Houston concert.  We’re waiting for Irina to run the wrap-up. “Tyler found this new spot we wanna try out.  It’s about 45 minutes away, but it supposed to be a pretty hot scene.”

I’m lying on the couch with my legs across his lap, and he’s running his hands over my thighs.

“Don’t we have to leave at seven tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, so?”

“We probably won’t get back to the trailer until four or five, and you know how car sickness makes your hangovers so much worse.”

“Then I won’t drink too much.”

“You’ve come back drunk every time we’ve gone out except for that first night,” I point out.  “I think we both know it’s gonna happen.”

“Relax, Babe.  I’ll be fine.”

I’ve already learned that the dismissive voice he’s using means he doesn’t take me seriously at the moment.  I’m a little pissed and decide to take a stand.

“Well, I could use a change of pace tonight.  Maybe order some take out, watch a movie, and curl up on the couch.  What do you think?”

He shrugs.  “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

“Great.  I could go for Chinese.”

“That sounds good.  Could you order some Szechwan Beef, extra hot, and put it in the fridge for me?  I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow.”

My brow crinkles.  “You’re not—?  Oh.”

Irina enters the room, and my disappointed expression goes unnoticed.  It’s probably a good thing he didn’t see—I feel a little embarrassed that I assumed he’d change his plans for me.  I don’t want him to start thinking I’m a demanding girlfriend like Bartender Chick.

Anthony’s focused on the upcoming night and plants a distracted kiss on my lips as he leaves the green room with the group of club-goers.  I’m left to my thoughts and those on the team who are returning to the caravan.  No one opts to get a hotel room due to the early departure time.

There are a few raised eyebrows aimed in my direction when I get on the 15-passenger bus without Anthony.  I realize it’s the first we’ve voluntarily gone our separate ways.  Em is sitting shotgun, as usual, so that he doesn’t have to share a seat with anyone.  I take a seat in the next row back and lean forward to tap him on the shoulder.

“Hey!  Any plans for tonight?” I ask.

He scoffs, but even that noise comes out sounding subdued.  “I’m heading back to my trailer, as usual.”

“How’d you manage to swing your own, anyway?  I mean, the crew rides a coach bus, and even Irina has to share a trailer with three other people.”

“I, uh…well…”  His anxiety factor jumps up about three levels. 

“It’s fine if you’re not comfortable telling me,” I assure him.  He seems so stressed, and I wish I could see him relaxed for once.  “I’m getting Chinese and watching a movie in Anthony’s trailer.  Want to join me?”

It was a token gesture, and I certainly never expected him to give a hesitant nod of his head.  I manage to keep the astonishment off my face when he asks what time he should come over.

“Whenever you want.  I’m going to find a place to order from in a minute and have John pick it up.   Other than changing into some comfy PJs, I’ll be ready to hang as soon as we get back.”

“Back” was a relative term considering we weren’t leaving the venue site.  The twelve semis belonging to the band were parked in a secure lot about a fifth of mile from the arena.  It was an easy walk, but for safety reasons, most of us took a shuttle bus.  I, for one, wasn’t chancing an encounter in the parking lot with pissed-off Anthony fanatics at 12:30 at night.

I’d just changed into cotton shorts and a tank when Em knocks on the door.  I twist my hair back into a messy bun and let him in. 

He takes a step inside the trailer and then freezes, his eyes growing wide.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.

I'm stunned less by the words and more by the fact that it was Em who said them. I'm just as shocked when heat rushes to my face in the form of a blush. There’s strange feeling in my chest, maybe because of the raw honesty and emotion in his voice.  I don’t have to worry about him trying to sell me a well-practiced line.

In return, I take in his appearance.  He’s wearing flannel pajama pants and a plain white undershirt that shows off his toned body.  Showing through the fabric are dark swirling shadows, but I can't make out the designs.

He’s still staring, and it makes me feel off balance.  I need to lighten the mood.

“What, do you have a private gym in that trailer of yours?” I ask, playfully squeezing his bicep. 

“Yes” is his simple, earnest answer.

“Oh.  Well...that explains it.” 

We’re both standing in front of the open door, so I make a gesture for him to continue inside.  “I’m sure you know this place better than I do, so there’s no point in telling you to make yourself at home.”

“Anthony and I don’t spend much time together,” he says, glancing around the trailer.   “You’ve been in here more in the past two weeks than I ever have.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I settle myself on the couch in the trailer’s small living room area.  Em’s gaze moves between the empty space beside me and an armchair.  He’s full of surprises tonight as he chooses to sit on the cushion next to me.

“So, what’s your pleasure?  Action, horror, drama, comedy?”  I nudge his side with my elbow.  “Chick flick?”

“Actually, I brought something…but if you don’t want…I mean, it’s not a big deal if…”

“You brought a movie with you?” I look at his empty hands in confusion.

He turns a cute shade of pink and reaches behind him.  His hand slips under his tee shirt and pulls out a Blu-Ray disc that was tucked into the waistband of his PJs.

“A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen,” I read from the case.  “What’s it about?”

His face lights up.  “Well, it’s got Sean Connery, so it’s already a winner in my book.  Actually, it was his last leading film role before he retired.  He plays Allan Quartermain, and he’s sorta forced into helping the British Empire prevent an international war.  He ends up teaming with Captain Nemo, Tom Sawyer, Mr. Hyde, the Invisible Man, Dorian Gray…Mina Harker…”  He flushes even darker.

“Ms. Harker of Dracula fame?” I ask with a smile.

“Yeah, but in this movie, she remains a vampire after Dracula’s death,” he says excitedly.  “She acts all prim and proper, but there’s this scene when she fights Dorian Gray, and she’s just so…so…” 

“Hot?” I supply.

“Yeah, really hot,” he laughs.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to live the rest of my life without experiencing her hotness.  Let’s watch it.”

John, one of the assistants, drops off our Chinese food about twenty minutes later.  Em retrieves it because I’m riveted to the screen.  It’s a really good movie, and I agree with the assessment of Mina’s hotness. 

Though most of my attention is on the TV, I do notice that Em seems more relaxed as we chow down.  I put Anthony’s food in the fridge, but the rest is fair game for both of us.  We decide to split our meals and share them. I ordered beef and broccoli with spring rolls, while Em picked out sweet and sour chicken with French fries.  I give him a little grief for his anti-thematic choice, but he justifies it by dipping them in his sweet and sour sauce. 

Stuffed and tired, I relax back on the couch and watch as Mina and Dorian have it out with each other.  It’s intense, but I’m having a hard time paying attention as my eyelids droop and my muscles slacken.

“Do you mind?” I yawn as my head falls against Em’s shoulder.  There’s a dim part of my brain that remembers he’s not a fan of contact, but fatigue muddies my thought processes.

I don’t if he answers or not, but he doesn’t move away.  Just before my world fades to black, I think I feel him support my limp body by curling an arm around me.

The jolt of the semi moving forward wakes me from my deep sleep.  Groggy and disoriented, I stretch and look around.  I’m in Anthony’s bed, but I have no idea how I got there.  Anthony is splayed out on top of the covers beside me, asleep and making occasional moaning sounds.  He reeks of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

I feel like crap, but I know he’s doing worse.  I force myself out of bed to fetch a bottle of water and some aspirin.  I have to go through the living area to get to the kitchenette, and I notice that the Chinese food mess from last night was cleaned up.  Anthony certainly wouldn’t have taken care of it in his condition, so I assume it was Em.  I wonder if he put me in bed, too. 

The drive to Phoenix takes us over 18 hours, and Anthony spends a good portion of it either passed out or throwing up in the bucket I brought to him.  He must have really been on a bender last night.  I’m glad I didn’t go out.  I got trashed last week and don’t want to repeat that experience any time soon.

Em answers my text and confirms the theory that he cleaned up and put me to bed.  It cracks me up how even his electrons manage to sound soft and awkward.  But I’m pleased that he came out of his shell for me.  Hearing his laugh is like finding a perfect pearl in an oyster.  And like a treasure hunter, I want to collect more.

The days seem to fly by much too quickly.  From Phoenix, it’s onto San Diego and then a short hop to L.A.  We round out California with a show in San Francisco—the third in as many days.  The band takes a day off when they arrive in Las Vegas, and Anthony plans a full day of activities.  We hit casinos, restaurants, clubs, and even catch a comedy show. 

By midnight, I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me—you think I’d know better than to wear stilettos for a day on the town, but Anthony is still going strong.  While he feeds off the celebrity treatment, all the attention just wears me down.  Even Jake and Bartender Chick bow out to spend a night at the Bellagio.  Rosalie’s ready for action, as usual, and Laurent is right on her midnight blue heels.  Tyler hooked up with someone midday and hasn’t been seen since.

We’re sitting side by side at a private table in a club.  “Babe, I think I’m done,” I tell Anthony when he suggests going to MGM Grand for some poker.

He pulls me in close and drops hot kisses on my shoulder.  “How am I supposed to win without my good luck charm?” he whispers in my ear. 

I weave my fingers in the long hair on the top of his head.  “Come back with me,” I murmur.  “I’ll play strip poker with you.”

His grip tightens around my waist.  “God, that sounds so good.”

I know him well enough by now to say the word he hasn’t yet voiced. 

“But…?”

He moves back in his seat to look me in the eyes.  “We’re in Vegas, Bella!  Since we’re taking off after the show tomorrow, it’s our only night out.  How can you even think about going back to the trailer and missing it all?”

“Missing what?  I’ve been to casinos before.  I don’t think the games are played any differently no matter where you go.”

“Have you been to the Grand?” he challenges.

“Okay, so the décor isn’t the same!  Maybe the lemon garnish in my vodka will be cut in a different shape.  I want to spend some time with you.  Alone.” Both my volume and my gaze drop.  “We’ve done a lot of things together, but I feel like I’m still just getting to know you.”

“Aw, baby, come here.”  He wraps his strong arms around me.  “I know the schedule’s been crazy, but there’s just over two weeks left.  Then we’ll go somewhere fun.  Just the two of us.”

This is the first we’ve talked about staying together after the tour.  Anthony hadn’t brought up the subject before, and I was too chicken shit to face possible rejection.  But now it’s out there.

“That sounds amazing…”  I hesitate only briefly before taking the plunge.  “Look, I hate to bring up the future and logistics and all when our relationship is so new, but following the band on tour was a vacation of sorts for me.  At some point soon, I need to look for a job and focus on a career.  I don’t want to be the college grad who lives with her mom forever.  My loan payments are going to start up in a few months, and I don’t have much saved up.”

“Seriously, Bella?  You’re worried about money?  How much do you owe?”

“What?”

“How much?  Is it more or less than twenty grand?”

I frown.  “Well, I qualified for a lot of need-based scholarships and financial aid, so I ended up borrowing fifteen thousand.”

He scoffs.  “Pocket change.  Have Irina put you in contact with my account manager.  Let him know where the money should go, and I’ll sign off on it.”

“Anthony!” I gasp.  “I can’t take your money.  I mean, that’s just…it’s too much.”

“It’s really not a big deal.  I’m aiming to win at least twice that at the tables tonight.”  He winks and takes a sip of his beer.  “I want you around, and if you can’t because of something as simple as money, I’ll take care of it.”

I shake my head.  I’m still not able to understand how so much money to me is an afterthought for him.  “But…why?”

Anthony laughs, his rich voice vibrating the air around me.  “I know it’s not possible that the always-confident Bella Swan doubts her worth.  It must be something else you’re asking me.”  At my gaping stare, he chuckles again and puts a finger under my chin to close my jaw.  “You’re crazy sexy and phenomenal in bed.  We get along really well, and you make me laugh.  Normally,” he winks, “you’re a lot of fun to be with.  We’ll let your current desire to ditch the party slide this time.   Also, you manage to do with few others can—keep me in my place.”  He places a tender kiss on my lips.  “We’re a good match, Babe.  You and I, we’re great together.”

His expression is sincere, and I give him a kiss of my own.  It quickly heats up, but there’s a part of me that’s disconnected from act.  Everything feels a little…off, but I have no idea why.

When a hand slips under my skirt and works its way toward my thong, I pull my lips away from his and arch an eyebrow.  “Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?”

He sighs and draws back his hand.  “I do, but I also want to stay out longer.  You know how Laurent cleaned me out at the tables in New Orleans, and I’m sick of hearing Rose talk shit about it to me.  I need to shut both of their faces tonight.”

I nod in understanding.  “Are you okay with me going back?”

“You know I’d rather have you with me, but I’m not your warden, Babe.”  He flashes me one of those delicious smirks.

“No, although that sounds like something fun we can try later.”

“See what I mean?” he exclaims happily, “You’re amazing.”

A text from Laurent draws his attention, and I use the diversion to make my exit, giving Anthony a goodbye peck on the lips.  My extremities tingle from the wine I drank earlier, but my walk is steady.  I don’t want to wait for the band’s driver to pick me up, so I opt for a cab.  The caravan is located on the outskirts of the city proper, and it takes about thirty minutes to get there with traffic.  That gives me plenty of time to control my urge to freak out.

The multitude of blinking lights outside the cab windows is the perfect visual representation of what’s going on inside my head.  There’s a storm of thoughts flashing and moving and I don’t know where one ends and another begins. 

I start with the money thing.  I felt uncomfortable enough accepting the small gifts he bought me, but he wouldn’t be swayed.  Letting him take care of such a significant loan amount—significant to me, anyway—is a different level of too much, especially since we’d only known each other for such a short amount of time.  I can just imagine what the media would say if they found out.  I’d be labeled a gold-digger or a whore, for certain.  While I know better than to let strangers affect me with their words, there’s a part of me that feels the same—that he’s paying me for my time.

It would be different if we were in a long term relationship with a future, I suppose.  I had been too overcome with impulsive excitement to be forward-thinking when I suggested the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.  How could we ever work out?  Hidden Summit is based out of New York, and my plan was to go back to Seattle and look for a job, or even internship, in the field of journalism.  I’d love to work for a music publication, but I’ll settle for getting any type of writing experience under my belt.  Can I put those dreams on hold to see where my relationship goes with Anthony?

So much of the answer to that question depends on how I feel about Anthony, and the problem is that I’m just not sure.  I mean, I like him, a lot.  All the reasons he cited for why we’re good together are valid.  We do get along well, and the sex is nothing short of amazing.  We laugh, have fun, enjoy each other’s company…

What about…love?  Do I love Anthony?  Do I even know him well enough to make such a determination?  I thought understanding his lyrics would be the same as understanding him, but I have yet to see a glimpse of the uniquely passionate soul that gave life to his songs. 

I don’t have any standard for comparison, but I’ve long believed that love would knock me over.  It would be a source of light and warmth, maybe not always fireworks, but definitely more intense than what I feel for Anthony.  Deeper.

That’s a big part of the problem.  I consider our relationship to be rather shallow.  We go out, we tease, we get naked, but there’s never been any sort of meaningful conversation.  I don’t place all the blame on him—I’m certainly no Aristotle—but the few times I’ve tried to engage him, he’s changed the subject.  Hell, I’ve spent more time talking to Jasper about the band’s music than I have with Anthony, and Jasper is the member I’m least familiar with.

By the time the cab drops me off at the security entrance to our gated lot, I’ve determined that I am not in love with Anthony…at the moment.  Unfortunately, this conclusion leads me back to my initial dilemma:  should I take the chance to see if we can become more—if I can fall in love with him?

I’m turning this over in my mind as I walk to his trailer. The faint sounds of a piano reach my ears, and I smile at the thought of Seth playing so late at night.  Then I realize that the music isn’t coming from his and Jake’s trailer or the one that houses the instruments.

It’s coming from Em’s.

Puzzled and more than a little curious, I take a seat on the steps leading to his door.  The melody seems familiar, but I can’t pair it with any song I know.  It’s melancholy and full of longing in its minor key, yet there’s an undertone of hope with the unexpected but completely organic appearance of major chords in the upper register.  It’s breathtakingly beautiful, and suddenly I know the feeling of love.

This song is love.

I am drawn into its story until the music stops abruptly.  Its loss almost causes me to gasp.  I wait for it to begin again but am disappointed to be met with a long silence.

Standing, I am about to knock on his door when there is a whisper of music again.  This time, however, the voice belongs to an acoustic guitar.  The notes are the same, but the song takes on a different quality—more humble, vulnerable…real.

I hate to interrupt, but familiarity of the musical lines is a riddle begging to be solved. 

When I knock, the sound cuts off as if someone has strangled the musician.  I want to giggle as I picture Em’s shocked face at discovering he has a visitor so late at night.

He doesn’t disappoint.  The lines in his brow are deep as he stares at me in surprise.  He’s in another pair of PJ bottoms, green this time, with another white undershirt.  And what is that?  Do I detect signs of a semi at his crotch of his pants?  Could it be that he was thinking of Rosalie as he played?

I tear my gaze away and wonder why I feel a slight ache between my legs in response.  I mean, Anthony did leave me wanting, and I’m a very sexual being, but hell!  It’s Em in front of me.  He’s one of the last people on earth I’d expect to give me a lady boner.  Thank goodness ours aren’t as visible as men’s, though my cheeks are more pink than usual.

“Uh, what are you doing here?” he asks.  “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great,” I lie rather pathetically.  “I was just coming back and heard music coming from your trailer.  What were you playing?”

“Um, uh…”  He looks absolutely panicked, and I reach out and grab his hand without thinking.

“What’s wrong, Em?  Is this a bad time?  Should I…do you want me to leave?”  I say this even as I squeeze his hand more tightly.

He turns to look over his shoulder into the trailer and then angles back toward me.  The conflict on his face is easy to read, but he makes up his mind rather quickly.  He tugs me forward.

“You can come in.”

I poke my head inside, and then my body follows.  I suck in a breath as I look around.

The division of rooms isn’t like the other members’ trailers, and Em’s looks nothing like a living space.  In fact, other than a door to a partitioned area at the end of the unit and walls lined with acoustic foam, it’s the unadorned inside of a shipping container.

It’s what the trailer holds that made me gasp.  One half of the space is dedicated to an impressive array of expensive-looking gym equipment.  The other side holds instruments on stands and music equipment.  There’s a full-sized keyboard, a large drum set, several guitars, and a variety of other instruments: trumpet, sax, flute, clarinet, trombone.  A large mixing board serves as a focal point to the room and a tangle of wires run from it to various microphones and electronic devices.

“Wow,” I breathe.  “It’s like a professional studio in here.  Do you actually live…?”  I trail off when I notice several open suitcases containing clothes and a queen-sized mattress lying on the floor beside the mixer.

“I’ve never seen the band practice in here.  Is this where they record?”

He shakes his head self-consciously.  “No, it’s mine.”

“All of it?  So you’re, what…a one-man band?  Or you mix songs?” I say slowly, trying to make this new information fit into my perception of Em.  I notice a spiral bound notebook of manuscript paper and several loose sheets beside an acoustic guitar lying on the mattress.  “You compose.”

“Well, I—“

Something clicks in my brain.  “Holy shit!” I gasp, cutting him off.  “Em…spelled ‘ee-em’…E. Cullen.  It’s you who’s written the band’s songs!”

Pure terror takes over his entire body.  He takes a staggering step backward, and I’m pulled along with him.  I don’t think he even realizes he’s still clutching my hand. 

“I’m not…I mean…you can’t…”

I’m able to lead him over to a battered couch and pry my fingers from his grip so I can guide him into a sitting position.

“It’s okay, Em.  I’m not going to say anything to anyone.  I promise.”

He doesn’t respond, and I’m not entirely sure he heard what I said.  His eyes are darting back and forth around the trailer as if he’s searching for a source of help…or an escape route.

“Hey, look here, Em.  It’s okay.”  He still seems locked inside his head, so I lay my hands along his jaw and gently turn his face toward mine.  “Please look at me.”

After some of the longest seconds of my life, his clouded eyes focus on mine.  “No one can know.  I can’t…it would be too much…all the people…”

I bring my hands back down to wrap around his again.  “I would never.  I realize we don’t know each other that well, but I promise you can trust me.”  I try to convey the sincerity of my promise with my voice, eyes, and touch.

Time stands still as I watch him struggle to regain control of himself.  Slowly, like a heavy curtain being drawn back, the tension eases from his face.

I try to keep my own expression calm and supportive, but my already jumbled thoughts are now a mess of confetti in the winds of a hurricane.  There are so many questions I want to ask—to demand—but first I have to voice one truth.

“Em, your songs, they’re incredible.  They mean so much to so many people…to me…and I have to say thank you.  For all the hundreds of thousands whose souls you’ve touched, thank you.”

Embarrassed at my heartfelt praise, he angles his head away from me, but drops his chin and blinks in a gesture of acknowledgement.  A long, quaking breath escapes from between his lips.

I can tell the worst has passed.  Releasing his hands, I sag against the worn fabric of the couch.  Both my body and mind are exhausted.  So many revelations in just over an hour.  It’s nerve-wracking, to say the least.

Neither of us speaks for several minutes, and I can’t tell what’s going on behind those deep eyes of his.

“What are you thinking?” I finally ask.

He gives me a puzzled look as if it’s an odd question, or maybe one he’s never heard before.  His mouth opens and closes a few times, but he doesn’t say anything.

I shift forward in my seat.  “You know what, it’s pretty late.  I think I’m going to head back now. I’ve done enough damage here for one day.”  My attempt at a lame joke falls completely flat.

In silence, he watches me get up and walk to the door.  I put my hand on the knob, but before turning it, I give him a concerned look. 

“Are you gonna be okay tonight—do you need anything?  I mean, you’re not in shock, right?”

He shakes his head.  “I was wondering if…you liked it.”  The words are so quiet, hesitant.

“I’m sorry—liked what?” 

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.  “You asked me what I was thinking about,” he says in a stronger voice.  “I had been wondering if you liked the song you overheard.  So…did you?”

My hand falls off the door knob as I shift my body to face him.  “Em, it’s absolutely beautiful.  Perfectly, achingly beautiful.  I don’t just like it, I love it…because that’s exactly what it captures and projects.  The feeling of love.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“I don’t suppose…uh, could you play it for me?”  I can’t understand why I’m suddenly struck by a bout of shyness.  That doesn’t usually happen.  Maybe it’s because I realize how much I’m asking of him.  I hold my breath in anticipation.

At his solemn nod, I sigh happily.  He rises from the couch and moves to sit cross-legged on his mattress, picking up his guitar in the process.

“Do you mind if I…?”  I gesture to the couch. 

He nods again and strums a chord.

“I’m still working on it, but this is what I have so far.” 

I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, close my eyes, and drown in his music.  It affects me even more as I hear the complex subtlety that had been muted earlier by the acoustic foam and the walls of the trailer.  When he transitions into the bridge, I tighten a fist over my heart.  Damn, it’s so good that my chest feels tight.

He repeats the chorus a few times and fades out.  Savoring the reverberation in my body, I don’t move a muscle for several moments after the last note disappears from the air.  When I finally do open my eyes, Em is staring at me.  There’s a nervous look on his face as if he’s worried that I might change my opinion about the song. 

I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of the idea.  How can he doubt the greatness of his music—his own genius?  The millions of albums sold attest to that.

I smile at him.  “It’s everything I said before and then some.  I’m sure it’ll debut at number one as a single.  Do you have lyrics yet?  I’d love to read them…or hear them.”

“I have the first verse and the chorus, the rest isn’t written yet.  Doesn’t matter, though.  This song won’t be released to the public.”

“Oh.”  My initial reaction is mixed.  It’s almost a tragedy that others won’t experience this incredible piece of music, but part of me—the selfish part—feels honored that I’ve been granted the privilege.  “Does it have a title?”

“Yes.”

I wait expectantly, but he doesn’t continue.

“And the title is…?”

“Personal—not for anyone to know but me.”  His expression is apologetic.

“Oh,” I say again, at a loss for a reply.  There’s an awkward silence, and I wonder if I should go.  I don’t want to.

“Do you want something to drink?” Em asks suddenly. 

An excuse to linger—perfect.  I don’t ask myself why I want to.

“Sure.  What do you have?”

He goes to the end wall of the room and passed through the door that’s hidden in the foam.  I hear a refrigerator being opened and the sound of items being moved around.

“Water, milk, iced tea, and beer,” he calls back to me.

“Whatever beer you’ve got is fine.”

He brings out two bottles of Yuengling lager and sits down beside me on the couch.

“I never pictured you as a beer drinker,” I comment.

He shrugs self-deprecatingly and twists off the two tops before handing me a bottle.  “I like the taste.  It, um, loosens me up.”

I chuckle at the idea.  “I’d pay to see that.  Have you ever been drunk?”

The grimace on his face makes me laugh harder. 

“More often than I’d like to admit.  It’s not easy having a social anxiety disorder, you know.”

Did he just make fun of himself?  I’m afraid to call it wrong, but then the corners of his lips turn up in a smile.  He seems more open than usual, so I take a chance. 

“I don’t want to ruin the mood, but I’ve got so many questions.  Do you mind if I ask some?  I won’t be offended if you say no.”

He takes a large gulp of his beer. “I can’t promise that I’ll answer them all, but I’ll try.” 

“That’s more than enough for me.  So to start, does the rest of the band know that you write the songs?”

“Jasper, Jake, and Seth know.  After Anthony, Jasper and Alice are the ones I feel most comfortable with.  Jake is the unofficial leader of the band, and I thought it was important he know the truth.  He’s a loyal person and would never betray someone’s confidence.  Seth figured it out almost immediately after he met Anthony at the audition for a new keyboardist.”

“Why not Tyler and Laurent?”

“I don’t trust them to keep the secret.  Tyler wouldn’t let it slip on purpose, but he’s not known for his discretion, especially when he drinks or smokes up.  Laurent would sell the story to the highest bidder at the first opportunity.”

“Irina?”

He nods.  “She knows.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that Anthony gets all the credit?”

“No.  In fact, he refused at first.  Back when he, Jasper, and Jake just had a garage band, I had to beg him to play my songs so I could hear what they sounded like.  That was before all of this, of course.”  He gestures to equipment around him. 

“Anthony started using the songs during gigs, and at first, he wouldn’t reveal the writer’s name.  But when the band gained popularity, venues requested the information.  Again, he wanted to have me named as the songwriter.  It took a lot of pleading on my part, but he eventually agreed to let people assume that he was the E. Cullen listed on the track.” 

“Wow.”  I shake my head at the massive deception.  “I’ll be honest.  It’s hard to imagine him fighting against it like you described when he seems so…so…”

“Cocky?  Smooth?  Desirous of the limelight?”  Em chuckles.  “He’s all those things, but he’s also a very good actor.  He knows how to play people.”

“I see.”  There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Not that he’s doing that to you,” Em’s quick to point out when he notices my worried expression.  “He really does…like you a lot.  I can tell.”

I’m only partially listening to him at this point.  The shock of Em’s big secret had all but driven away my earlier conundrum regarding Anthony.  Now it’s front and center in my head again.

“What am I going to do about him…about us?  I have no idea how this is supposed to work.” I murmur to myself before finishing off my beer in one long pull.  “Got any more of these?”

Em takes my empty bottle and returns with two new ones.  When he hands mine over, I clink it against his. 

“Cheers,” I mutter despondently.

We drink in silence for a while, lost in our own thoughts.  I reach the bottom of my bottle, and almost instantly, there’s another in my hand.  Enjoying the beginnings of a pleasant buzz, I’m grateful for Em’s attentiveness, but I’m also me and therefore required to give him a little crap.

“Why, sir, do you have some sort of devious plan to get me drunk?” I ask with wide, innocent eyes.

As expected, he appears both stunned and embarrassed.  “No, of course not!”  But then he gives me a coy sideways glance.  “Why?  Is it working?”

“Em!” I gasp in tickled astonishment.  “You’re just full of surprises tonight.  Who would have thought you were such a cad?” I smirk.  “And yes, I’d say it’s working very well.”

Turns out he’s quite the chatterbox when he gets four or five beers in him.  We hit on a variety of topics ranging from personal background information to favorite books to the most overrated jazz musician of his or her time.  He shares his anguish over the death of his parents, and I tell him how glad I am to not have heard from my dad since he left mom and me.  We laugh about the pranks Anthony pulled in high school, and Em puts a comforting hand on my arm when I admit my difficulty in trusting people, especially men.

I get so surprised any time he initiates contact, and my startled reaction on this occasion makes him pull away quickly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“No, don’t be.  It was just a little unexpected.  From you, that is.  But in a good way.  I like it when you touch me.” 

What sort of craziness is coming out of my mouth?  I inhale quickly and try again. 

“What I mean is that I’m used to you avoiding things like physical touch and eye contact with anyone.  It’s nice to see you more relaxed.”  I tap my elbow into his side.  “Maybe I should get you liquored up and take you out one night.”

“I think the amount of alcohol required for that would put me in a coma,” he jokes.

“You seem to be doing fine with me.”

“You’re not the same as most other people I meet.  They either tend to ignore me, or act as if I’m mentally challenged, or try to mother me like a child.  But you…somehow, you always know what I need.”

There’s a measure of passion behind his words, but I attribute it to the beer and the late hour.  Or would it be considered early?  What time is it anyway?  There are no windows in the trailer to judge the darkness outside.

“Oh my god!  It’s almost four!” I exclaim after checking my phone.  No missed texts.  “I wonder if Anthony’s back yet.”

“Yeah, I should probably get some sleep before set list rehearsal,” he says, staring at the empty bottle in his hand.  “Though you could skip it if you wanted.”

“No way.  They’re almost better than the actual concert.  Everyone jokes around, and the atmosphere is so light and easy.  Plus, I get to hear what goes on behind the scenes.  Wait a minute…”  I look at Em and see him in a whole new light.  “Would you mind if I sat with you today?  Maybe hear about the songs from your perspective?

I’m almost bouncing up and down in excitement.  It now makes sense why Anthony was reluctant to give me insight into the songwriter’s mind—he wasn’t able to speak for that person. But now I know who can.

“Well, I guess…”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I squeal, throwing my arms around him and squeezing tightly before I realize what I’m doing.  I’m about to jerk away when I feel his chest rumble from laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, my chin over his shoulder.

He pats me awkwardly on the back.  “Nothing important.” 

I can hear the smile in his voice.  I sit back to give him a pout.

“Come on, Em.  You can’t just laugh at me and not fess up what it’s about.”

He just shakes his head, his lips curved upward in an enigmatic fashion.  “Don’t be so conceited.  Maybe I wasn’t laughing you.”

“You ass-tard!” I giggle as I swat him on the arm.

“Yup, but don’t worry.  After I sleep off my alcohol-induced ass-tardedness, I’ll be back to my uninteresting self.”

“Whatever,” I protest.  “Anyone who can write music like you do will never be uninteresting.”

If his face wasn’t already flushed from the alcohol, I’m pretty sure he’d be blushing. 

“Okay, well…you should probably get some rest if you plan to pay attention to my exclusive commentary.”

I nod and struggle to my feet, finally noticing how I tired I am.  Em and I clean up our mess—we had raided his snack stash a few times—and he walks me the short distance to Anthony’s trailer.  I fish for the door key in my clutch and then give him a quick hug goodbye. 

Sleep is beginning to drag me under when I feel the mattress dip beside me.  Familiar arms pull me into their embrace and a bare leg tangles with mine.  My last conscious thought is that, with the discovery of the band’s true songwriter, I know Anthony even less than I previously believed.

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