I start to move my hips in slow measured strokes like I’ve seen in porn, and with every pump of my hips, I bring myself closer and closer to losing it. Her walls ripple around me, and I know, in this moment, my fist is never going to cut it again. I feel a zap of electricity run down my spine, and my balls start to draw up tight against my body. My eyes flutter closed as wave after wave of euphoria washes through me.
“Fuck.” I moan, and as my eyes open, my hips meet Bristol’s as I empty myself into the condom. I hold her eyes as the last of my orgasm washes through me.
“Are you okay?” I pant, using both hands on either side of her head to brace myself from collapsing on top of her.
“Yeah.” says breathlessly, her hands coming to rest upon my shoulders. She pulls my face towards hers, her lips meeting mine halfway. Her tongue dances against mine slowly, this isn’t a friendly kiss, this is a forever kind of kiss. Both of us realizing quickly that this will be a memory we hold onto for the rest of our lives.
Chapter 18 Bristol PRESENT
The table in front of me is filled with every magazine and newspaper article I could find from the year we were on tour. Every single photo of Rhyit with other women has Alex in the background.
“Son of a bitch.” I yell into the empty space. It’s Sunday, my family has gone to my aunts for the day, and I’ve finished an entire bottle of wine to myself before noon. Rhyit was right, none of the women in the photos are close to him, they’re close to Alex, but the camera angles and the headlines make it look like he’s stepping out on me.Plight Frontman Cheating? Mystery Woman Spotted with Rhyit Denson. Where’s Pistol, Rhyit?I push all the magazines off the table, tired of seeing his stupid handsome face staring at me.
I throw myself back against the couch and stare at the TV with no sound on. I hate that I assumed he would do that to me, and I hate that he never told me he was helping Alex. The pieces of the puzzle slide into place as I remember the conversations we had about other women, the fights, him telling me not to believe everything I read. I was so frazzled by the outpouring of “evidence” that I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying or why he was lying. Our other issue on top of the “cheating” pushed me past the point of no return.
The doorbell rings as I wallow in my own stupidity and mistrust…and hurt. I almost don’t answer it, I don’t want to see anyone right now. I wait for as long as possible, praying they’ll walk away, but the second ding-dong of the doorbell proves the person on the other side is going to be incessant. I groan as I pull myself out of the couch. My blonde hair is wrapped in a nest on top of my head, the half-shower I took last night causing my normally wavy hair to take on a life of its own, a la Medusa.
I say a silent prayer when my hand hits the doorknob that it’s Girl Scouts, and I can drain my bank account on thin mints. I’m sorely mistaken when I open the door. Two sets of black hair meet me, one belonging to the guy I rode last night, and the other belonging to the man who’s ridden my ass for years.
“Gentleman,” I snarl, opening the door, “I’ve already found our lord and savior, I don’t need any insurance, and I’m completely up to date on long distance calling, so unless you’re hoarding thin mints, please leave.”
Larkin’s head falls back as he laughs out loud. “I forgot how much of a firecracker you are. It’s good to see you, Bristol.” He says, extending his palm for me to shake. I don’t want to shake his hand, but it would be rude as shit to leave him hanging, so I succumb and place my palm in his. My eyes fall to Andrew after our palms have disconnected.
“Andrew.” I say, nodding my head in greeting like I didn’t ride his dick like it was my own personal sex toy just hours ago.
“Bristol.” He nods back, his eyes hold mine, and the current there feels like a live electricity wire. Why is it always like that with him? Dammit.
“What can I help you guys with?” I ask, my hand braced against the door frame. Andrew’s gaze falls from my eyes to the T-shirt and sweatpants I’m wearing. Yes, I’m wearing a Plight tour T-shirt. Yes, his dumb face is sitting over my tits. Dammit again.
“Can we come in?” Steve asks, his slimy eyes falling down my body too. Gross.
“I guess.” I say, pushing the door further open to allow them passage. I don’t want them here, I don’t want them in my space, I have another bottle of wine to drink and more magazines with Andrew’s face to siphon through. Oh my god, the magazines, the articles, they’re all over the floor in the living room. Fuck me. It looks like 1981 threw up everything Plight related. And I’m wearing this stupid fucking shirt. I look like a fan girl.
“Let’s use the dining room.” I say, panicked, steering them towards the table off of the kitchen. The living room is still in sight, but it doesn’t look directly at the Rhyit shrine that is currently sitting on my floor. The boys take a seat at the table, their backs towards the pile. Thank god for small victories. I clear my throat as their eyes wander around the room. I want to snap my fingers before they turn around. Panic rises up my body, and I can feel my neck start to sweat.
“What can I do for you?” I ask, attempting to push my hair to one side and failing miserably. The hair wraps around my fingers, creating a large knot. When my hand doesn’t move from the nest, I panic and yank, pulling the hair directly from the scalp. Strands coat my fingers, and I wipe them off on my sweats with a grimace.
“Are you okay?” Andrew asks, his eyes widening at me. I assume he’s stunned at the fact that I just ripped a chunk of hair out of my head.
“Yup. Perfectly fine.” As long as you don’t turn around. “What’s up?”
Larkin’s eyes bounce from me to Andrew and then back to me. “We’d like you to go out on tour with The Plight this summer.” My jaw drops, and I immediately want to say no. Every bone and cell in my body is screaming at me to say no.
“Why?” Is the only answer that leaves my mouth. My eyes dart to Andrew, but he’s looking down at the table, his eyes never meeting mine as I wait for the reasoning behind this invitation.
“The pictures from the funeral are all over the press. Our album sales have skyrocketed, and the world wants the Plight back together.” Larkin replies, his voice sounds far away as I wait for Andrew to look up, to hold my eyes and tell me he wants this too. After a few moments, the reasoning hits me like a ton of bricks.
“You want to capitalize off of Alex’s death?” I ask, my eyes narrowing as I pull my attention away from Andrew back to Larkin.
“Losing Alex is a tragedy, the fans want to mourn with you, all of you.” He replies, his used car salesman tactics don’t work on me.
“And the label wants to make a fortune off of the mourning fans?” I add, letting him know I know his scheme.
“It will be lucrative, yes.” He nods, his hand leaving his lap to scratch his chin.
“You do realize how wrong that is, right?” I ask, my eyes ping pong between the two men.
“How is it wrong?” Larkin asks, “It’s a reunion of sorts.” His eyes hold mine, the blackness there reminding me this man is a snake and will do shady things to make a buck.