It’s by no means an unpleasant dream.
A few weeks later, I’m holed up in my Washington cabin, trying to work out lyrics for a song that’s been haunting me for the last few months. It’s about Lucy—not sex with her, but about who she is. It’s good, but not quite right, and I find myself wishing she were here so I can soak up inspiration from her, so I can make it everything she deserves.
I make do with a phone call.
“Oh, hi Drew. I was just getting ready for a working lunch." Her voice has an uptick, like she's excited to hear from me. "What do you need?”
“You,” I say, keeping my voice low and husky, just the way I know makes her hot.
Her tone drops; I'm getting to her. “Well, you know I have a lot of work to do.”
“I know exactly the kind of work I need you to do,” I chuckle. My cock is already raging, I grab it and sink into the couch. "You sure you can’t make it down this weekend? I’d make it worth your while.”
“I wish. I really do."
"Guess what I'm doing right now?" I growl, rubbing myself harder. The short inhale she makes on the line tells me she's figured me out. "Can you picture it? Me jerking myself off, thinking of you?"
She whimpers; I hear her settling in her chair, fidgeting. “Another time, Drew, I promise, I just have a lot to do. I’m having some problems with a couple of the venues for the next leg. They don’t want to let us in as early as we need, and negotiating that has been a headache.”
I'm frustrated with how professional she keeps things, steering our conversations away from what we both know we want—each other.
“So if not this weekend, when are you coming to visit? You’re my manager. I need to be managed.”
“I’m not sure, Drew.” The soft way she breathes my name is addicting. “We just got settled in our new offices here and I have so much to do, I really wish I didn't. I think hanging out with you would be better, honestly.”
That comforts me, but it doesn't make my dick any less rock hard. "Next time I see you, I'm sticking those excuse making lips on my cock. Got it?"
She's speaking high and tight, excited. "Okay. Yeah. That's—dammit!"
I sit up straight. "What's wrong?"
"Call on the other line. I have to take this, I—I'm sorry! I'll see you soon, Drew!" The click of the line dying is heavy.
I can’t wait to see her again, to get things back to how they were. It had been great and I miss it. I miss her. Fuck.
Loneliness creeps up like a plague.
I can’t work on my music, need distraction. My erection isn't going away, so I slide my pants down and jerk myself off to the fantasy of Lucy bouncing up and down on my cock right here, right now.
The relief is brief and stale.
I ache for the real thing.
Chapter 8
Lucy
I am, in every possible sense of the word, completely and utterly fucked.
Of course, it’s not like I haven’t been fucked for a while now, not like it didn’t all start months ago when I'd gotten completely and utterly fucked by Drew Avery.
At the time, I couldn't have cared less about the condom breaking because just being with him seemed more important. After Drew cornered me a few nights later and dragged me back to his suite for round two, I figured I should probably start on the pill just in case. It really felt too good not to partake, and I’m an odds girl; the odds anything would come of one broken condom were pretty damn low.
It just kept happening, too. Drew would flirt and smirk and press close, and I was lost, so many times over I was lost.
Fortunately, the tour had been about to go on hiatus, so I just had to bide my time, and then, maybe then, I could regain my head. Sex with Drew was good, but we needed to stop, I knew that. I had let him cross the line, had begged him to cross it in the end. It was so bad that we had even fucked in a utility closet near the end of the West Coast leg of the tour.
It was during the encore break, short and dirty against the wall. The moment he came, just after me, he’d put me down, then tucked and zipped, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he strutted out of the closet to finish the show, leaving both of our juices dripping down my thighs. I couldn’t even clean it up, had to go do my damn job and oversee the rest of the show, and the stickiness between my legs was a reminder for the next hour of how far gone I was.
I had lost my head, lost my damn mind I was so wrapped up in him, and I knew it was a mistake even then, but he was like a drug and I couldn't stop. He cornered me every chance he got. I'm supposed to be his manager, but somehow, I'd become his favorite new toy, and the worst part was, I wanted to be.
After weeks of constant sex, the break finally came. The East Coast leg of the tour would kick off after a three-month hiatus, a gap built in to allow Drew time to work on new material, and I wouldn't really have to see him during that period.
I figured I could take the time to regain the professional distance that had been shoved aside for weeks. Weeks I wouldn’t trade, but still, it couldn’t last. Drew will get bored of me eventually, and good as it was with him, I need to reestablish boundaries if we’re going to be able to work together in the long term.
Then I realized I missed my period.
I'd thought maybe it was a side effect of going on birth control, but no such luck. A long overdue physical later, and my doctor congratulated me on impending motherhood.
“What?” I'd asked, incredulous.
“You're going to be a mother,” Dr. Abler had repeated. “As in you're pregnant.”
Drew Avery’s baby. Because it can only be his.
Apparently, I played the odds and . . . lost. Was this losing? Yes, I told myself firmly. A baby was not in my cards! But—well, here I was. Am. Fuck.
I'm tied to Drew for life now, like it or not. I'm his babymama, as they say. But I'm also his manager, and I'm trying to launch my own firm. This can only ruin my reputation, ruin my prospects of landing other clients, and hell, Drew will probably fire me to get me out of his sight, maybe thinking I was trying to trap him and milk him for all he’s worth. I’m sure he wants a baby about as much as he wants a hole in the head.
I know it’s not fair. I know it takes two to tango but it’s not my fault the damn condom broke. If he lets me go, no one will blame him, and I'll become the greedy, grasping whore who tried to trap beloved rock sensation Drew Avery.
Like I said, I'm completely and utterly fucked.
To myself, I can admit that as much as this frightens me, it thrills me, too. When I really allow myself to think about it, I want this. A baby. A baby with Drew. Yeah, it’s going to be hell on my career, yeah, the timing could be better, but I can’t think of the child I carry with anything but love. Our baby.
As stupid as it is, as worried as I am, I want this, I do. I only wish Drew wanted it, too, but I really can’t see it. Drew is too much of a party boy; he’s not ready to settle down and I have to face the likely possibility that Drew will want nothing to do with either of us.
The worst part is, months in, I still haven’t told him about the baby. Part of me wonders if I should ever tell him at all, but I don’t think this is something I can keep from him in the long term. Drew isn’t stupid. He’s going to be able to figure out, when I end up with a kid, that he’s very likely the father. But even if I could somehow conceal it, it wouldn’t be right. Maybe he won’t want anything to do with the baby, but he deserves the chance to get to know his daughter if he wants it.
It helps that I haven’t seen Drew since we parted, haven’t let him near me.
He’s tried, of course, asking me to come visit. I told him I’m busy, which wasn’t really a lie, and then when he insisted that he needed me in an official capacity two weeks ago, I had to get creative.
I’d claimed a family emergency would keep me in Ohio indefinitely, probably until the tour resumes next month. Strictly speaking, that also isn’t a lie. I do have a family emergency of sorts, and I am in Ohio with my pare
nts, but the whole truth is I couldn’t see him, that I’m not ready to see him. I need time to think.
Weeks later, I’m still thinking.
Drew had been so sweet, too, telling me that he could cut his sabbatical short and come to me if I needed him. God had it been hard to tell him no. I miss the closeness, hell, I even miss his scent. And a huge part of me wanted to say yes. I want to see him, to be with him again, but I’m afraid, so damn afraid, that the moment he realizes the truth it’ll all be over.
As long as he doesn’t know, there’s at least this sliver of hope that he’ll want both me and our baby. Stupid, stupid daydream, but I’ve been terrified of crushing that hope entirely.