MY FAVORITE BAND, page 109
A few post-it notes stick out the top, like pages have been marked.
I shouldn’t look, but my heart is pounding and I can’t seem to stop myself as I zero in on it. I flip to the first tab.
It’s a cake.
I flip to the second tab.
It’s a bridesmaid dress, and it’s red. Red? I wouldn’t have pegged Sierra for wanting a red bridesmaid dress.
I flip to the third tab.
It’s shoes for the bride.
She’s tabbing fucking shoes for our wedding. She’s got the whole thing planned and I don’t even want to get married.
My throat feels thick, like I can’t quite swallow, and my heart feels like it’s racing in my chest. I can’t look at more tabs in this magazine.
I can’t see more of a wedding she already has planned that I don’t even want to be a part of.
And I really can’t figure out why I don’t want to be a part of it.
Did my parents really fuck me up this much? Does this have something to do with them and their divorce?
Maybe.
Or maybe Sierra isn’t the right girl.
I nearly bolt out of there, but I don’t get the chance because I hear her garage door, and then a moment later she walks in.
She must’ve known I was here since she saw my car in her driveway, but the second she sees where I’m standing and what I’m looking at, her eyes widen.
“Oh no,” she whispers.
I raise a brow.
She shakes her head. “It’s not...it’s not what it looks like.” She drops her laptop and purse on the counter and rushes over to my side, grabbing the magazine and crushing it to her chest. “It’s not mine. It’s Kylie’s.”
My brows dip down even as relief courses through me.
“Kylie’s?” I ask.
She nods, and then she purses her lips. “But it’s good to know where you stand.”
I pause and think through my next words carefully. I don’t want to hurt her...or us, but I do need to be honest. “I wish it was that simple, babe, but it’s not. To be honest, I don’t even know where I stand. Are you ready to have that talk?”
Her gaze on me sears for a beat, and the look in her eyes tells me that no, she isn’t. She wants to set down her laptop, make dinner, maybe put a show on Netflix, and put her feet up for a few hours.
But this is too important. We are too important. “Yes.”
She slides into a chair at her kitchen table made for four even though there’s only two of us, and I opt for the chair beside her rather than across from her. Across feels like an interrogation. Beside feels like we’re in this together.
“Is what you just said true?” she asks, initiating the conversation.
“I don’t know which thing you’re talking about, but nothing I just said is a lie.”
“You don’t know where you stand? You don’t know what you want for our future together?” She sniffs, but she doesn’t back down. “You don’t want to marry me?”
I draw in a deep breath and exhale before I respond. “It has nothing to do with you. I just see everyone around me getting engaged because that’s the next logical step. But I don’t know if that’s my next logical step.”
“What if it’s mine?” she whispers.
“Then it’s not fair for me to drag you along with me when you have a clear vision of what you want and I don’t.”
A tear tips over her lid and splashes onto her cheek. She swipes it away, and I take her hand in mine and clutch it. I feel the fight in my chest. I need her to know how much I love her and want to be with her.
“So what are you saying?” she asks. “It’s over between us?”
“No,” I say, and to prove my point, I back up my chair, haul her up, and seat her on my lap. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear while her blue eyes continue to sparkle with tears, my gaze fixed on hers. “No. It’s not over. We’re young, Sierra. We have a lot of time, and right now, I’m just not ready for marriage and kids.”
“But do you think you will be someday?” she asks, her voice small.
“I honestly don’t know. I just know where I’m at right now, and holding you in my arms like this...it’s everything to me. I don’t want to let you go.”
She runs her fingers through my hair and touches the scruff at my jaw, little habits I don’t even notice anymore after seven years together.
Seven years. The last seven years of my life have been tangled in this woman. She has seen me go from a kid who liked playing local bars with my band to a bassist who has a shelf specifically for Grammy Awards in his living room. She’s been my rock—my anchor—through it all.
“Are we just wasting time, though?” she asks. “Pushing back the inevitable?”
“I love you, Sierra. And I want—no, I need us to find a way to meet in the middle. You’re worth it.” I tighten my hold on her.
“Is this because of your parents?” she asks.
I shrug, and I notice my hold on her slackens a little when she brings up my family. “I don’t know. Getting to witness their nasty divorce firsthand doesn’t exactly make me want to run to the altar. And having my brothers pawned off on me while they tried to pick up the pieces of their lives after the divorce doesn’t make me want to rush into having kids.”
I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve basically already raised two boys. They’re in their twenties now, but I know what a huge responsibility it is to make sure kids’ needs are met, and I’m not prepared to do it again. Not when MFB has become my baby. That’s what I need to nurture. That’s where I need to put my full attention. If Dax and Adam want to split their time and attention between wives, kids, and the band, fine.
But I’m not them, at least not at this stage in my life. I’m still young. I have plenty of time. And I’m logical...maybe too logical, much to my own detriment sometimes.
“Okay,” she says. She nods slowly. “We’ll find a way to meet in the middle.” Her lips find mine, effectively ending our conversation as clothes start flying off and she ends up lying naked on her kitchen table.
We’re happy for now...but I can’t help wondering whether she really wants to meet in the middle or if she’s going to keep trying to push me into something I’m not sure I’m ready for.
IT’S ONLY TEMPORARY
© 2020 Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 1
It’s only temporary.
I’ve heard that phrase no less than a hundred times in the last two months.
My band is taking a break, but it’s only temporary.
I joined another band to have something to do in the downtime, but it’s only temporary.
My girlfriend moved in with her mom and dad, but it’s only temporary.
Yeah, it’s only temporary because she wants to move in with me. Her lease was up and I’m pretty sure she dangled the I’ll just move in with my mom and dad carrot thinking I’d take the bait and ask her to move in with me.
I didn’t.
Though I’m not really sure why I didn’t. After nearly seven years with each other, we practically live together anyway.
She sees the white picket fence and the two-point-five kids and the shaggy dog running out the front door, across the wraparound porch of the huge Victorian home, and down the steps to lick her husband’s face when he emerges from his Mercedes in his business suit after a long day at the office.
You wanna know what I see?
Not that.
“Kane Keller, lost in thought once again. Look at my shocked face.” I glance up and see Ruby making a bored face. She rolls her eyes then collapses on the couch beside me. “Are you always this sulky or do you smile once in a while?”
I lift a shoulder. “Always this sulky.”
I shoot her a smile, and she laughs.
To be clear, I’m not always sulky, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I know how to have a good time. I’m a bassist in the height of my career, I have a girl who loves me, I have money in the bank, and I have my health, abs of steel, and ridiculously good looks.
Okay, so maybe not the last two, but Ruby seems to think I do.
And, to be clear once again, Ruby is not my girlfriend.
It looks like I have it all. I should be happy, right?
If I was, then I wouldn’t be telling this story.
“Hey, hey, Ruby Ray, what’s on the agenda today?” Rascal sings as he bounds into what’s supposed to be a living room but instead houses various instruments since it’s our practice room. He beelines for his guitar.
Rascal and I decided to temporarily rent a place in LA together while we play with Ruby, the powerhouse vocalist behind the upcoming artist known as Ruby Ray.
Another thing that’s only temporary.
She said the neighbors at her house in Long Beach, only a half hour away from LA, complain about the noise whenever she’s held practice at her place, so she spends a lot of time up here.
You know who doesn’t spend much time up here?
My girlfriend, Sierra.
She’s been putting in long hours at her job as a medical sales rep, a job her physician-father encouraged her to pursue. Her parents moved to San Diego from Chicago a couple years ago when she made it clear she wouldn’t be moving back to Illinois, where she grew up.
“Well, if we can get Kane’s attention, we might try to have a quick meeting before we practice,” Ruby says, breaking into my thoughts once again.
I narrow my eyes at her, and she laughs. “I’m paying attention,” I protest.
“Uh huh,” she mocks, nodding elaborately.
“He’s always like that,” Rascal says. “The more you get to know him, the less you like him.”
“Fuck you,” I retort. Real mature, I know. Rascal brings out the best in me.
She grabs a sheet of paper off the coffee table this fully furnished place came with when we rented it. “Okay, boys, that’s enough.” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, and I notice not for the first time how juicy that bottom lip of hers is. She chews on it a little as she studies her paper, and I almost berate her for doing it. Don’t hurt that juicy lip!
She glances up at me and catches me looking at her lips.
I blow out a breath and look away. I can’t pretend like I’m not attracted to her, not that it matters. I have a girlfriend who I love very much. I won’t even get into the fact that Ruby is focused on success, that music is her first and only love, because it just doesn’t matter.
And the fact that music is her first and only love is the reason why I’m temporarily playing bass for her, actually.
“Kane, have you had a chance to update my website with our upcoming schedule?” she asks.
I nod. My degree in computer science has served me well, and when she first showed me her shitty website, I volunteered to make it incredible for her.
I didn’t realize when I volunteered that I’d be forced into staring at photos of her half-dressed for hours on end, her dark eyes mysterious as she looked straight into the camera, her long, nearly black hair straight and silky, that juicy lip...and not to mention, studying her ink as it raised questions about the meaning and the depth behind the pretty girl with the extraordinary voice.
Sierra wasn’t too thrilled with that particular job. Can’t Ashmark handle her website? she’d asked me, naming my record label that hooked Rascal and me up with Ruby in the first place. And yeah, they could, but Ruby and I had already talked about her vision for her website and I had already told her I’d do it.
“I have a little thingie I wrote for the blog section, too. Can I email it to you?” she asks.
“Of course.” My downtime recently has consisted of battling Rascal in Call of Duty when his woman isn’t around (which is rare), making sure Sierra is happy even though we’re currently operating long-distance, and working as a web contractor for Ashmark—something that came when Mark Ashton, the CEO and the man who asked Rascal and me to step into Ruby’s band temporarily, saw my work on Ruby’s website.
In other words, I have plenty of time to post blogs for her.
“You’re the best,” she says, and then she winks at me. “Next on the agenda is our schedule. We’re taking next week off completely so Rascal and Kane can promote Rock on the Road.” She glances at each of us. “Don’t forget to mention Ruby Ray.”
We both laugh, but the truth is that our label has already coached us on making sure we interject her name.
“Between summer festivals and our regular gig at Babylon,” she continues, naming the night club where we play three times a week, “we’ve got a lot coming up. But in more pressing news, I spoke with Trevor at Ashmark last night. He said they’re putting together a short list of potential permanent bassists and guitarists. He wants to make sure they’re ready when Rascal and Kane’s contracts are up in six weeks. I’d like you all to sit in on the interviews as well as the performance reviews.” She glances up at me, and our eyes lock. “All your opinions matter.”
I’m surprised that I am the one she looks at when she says that.
I’d think she’d want the opinion of Austin, her drummer, over mine—especially after Austin stayed with her when the rest of the band split.
Apparently they didn’t like the fact that she was the face of their band...but she is this gorgeous woman with the voice of an angel. They didn’t like that Ashmark wanted her name as the band name...but when you’re born Ruby Ray, it kind of just makes sense. It’s memorable. Cryptic Tongues, their band name...yeah, that’s not memorable.
To top it off, her ex-guitarist and ex-best friend, Dakota, and her ex-bassist and ex-boyfriend, Colt, both hated those facts so much that they decided to start fucking behind her back.
Ashmark didn’t care about her guitarist and bassist. Those are, no offense to my own self, fairly run of the mill when it comes to supporting a voice like hers. She doesn’t need a permanent band backing her up.
Ashmark cared about Ruby Ray. They cared about her voice and keeping her on as a client because she’s going to be a huge shining star someday, and Ashmark is going to be the vehicle that drives her there.
And that’s the short version of how Rascal and I ended up here. Our band is taking a break while two of our guys start families and two plan weddings...and then there’s me.
The guy who’s been with his girl the longest.
The guy who should be planning a wedding.
The guy whose chest ached when someone who’s not his girlfriend brought up the fact that soon our time together will be over.
CHAPTER 2
“I still can’t believe you agreed to it,” Sierra hisses in the green room moments before we’re called out on stage for our interview.
My band, MFB, is doing press for Rock on the Road, our second season on a reality show premiering this Sunday. Sierra drove up to Los Angeles with some of the other wives and girlfriends to show their support.
But it doesn’t feel very supportive. It feels much more like an attack.
“I didn’t have a choice,” I hiss back.
We don’t usually fight, and I hate feeling like this.
She took the day off and she’s staying the night. I’m glad to see her, glad to have her back in my arms...but she’s mad and this isn’t how I want the weekend to go.
It’s the first weekend she’s spent here in LA since I moved up a few weeks ago. She’s met Ruby and Austin, but she hasn’t spent much time with them. I just want her to get to know Ruby and see what a great person she is.
And maybe a small part of me wants them in the same room together so Ruby knows I’m not on the market. I want her to see me with Sierra to drive home the fact that I’m in a relationship.
It’s all been innocent so far, but sometimes long looks or the brush of a hand or a murmured word feels a little less innocent.
Or maybe that’s just me projecting my own guilt for being attracted to her. It’s not like I’m going to act on it.
I love Sierra.
The woman who, by the way, is pissed that I agreed to be in a bachelor auction.
The wife of our record label’s CEO is putting together an auction for charity set to take place the night before our premiere of Rock on the Road. She pulled a member from all the biggest bands on their roster. Rascal and I were the only two guys in our band not engaged when she asked, and his woman was sitting practically on his lap when the question was posed, so I got stuck by default.
And Sierra is clear that she’s against the idea.
“Babe,” I say, trying to appease her while I also try to calm my nerves for this talk show I have to do, “you know I’m coming home to you.”
She sticks out her lip to pout a little. “But you’re not. Not really. You’re going home to your place in Los Angeles and I’m in San Diego.”
“My temporary place,” I remind her. “And besides, they’ll be ready to start interviewing permanent replacements soon.”
“Okay,” she mutters, relenting.
Some show runner comes to get us. Sierra squeezes my hand and kisses my mouth. “You’ve got this, babe,” she says softly. She knows I always get nervous for these things.
Somehow...she knows.
It’s not something we’ve ever discussed, really. I’m just a regular guy who likes to play the bass guitar, and I’ve been thrust into this spotlight with my band after we hit it big. I still think of myself as just a regular guy, though the tabloids tend to label me and the four other men in my band differently.
We’re ushered out to the side stage for Afternoon Delight, a nationally syndicated talk show with daily celebrity interviews hosted by actress Gina Gellar.
“Ladies and gentlemen, MFB!” she yells, and the five of us stride across the stage with all the swagger of a bunch of rock stars.
“Introduce yourselves for our television audience and tell us what you play,” she says after we’ve arranged ourselves on stools.
“Dax Hunter, vocals.” A loud cheer rises up from the crowd.
