Fifteen

HOLLYWOOD, CA

DYLAN

I leave Sky’s place in a different car than the one in which I arrived. Alyssa’s condo, either by happenstance or because Brody orchestrated it that way, isn’t far from my hotel. So, she feels obligated to offer me a ride, insisting she’s doing it for Sky’s sake and not Brody’s.

“Then I’ll gladly accept your favor on my bride-to-be’s behalf,” Brody quips.

Alyssa flips him the bird and we’re off. Of course, she still drives like a fucking bat out of hell, and I find myself grabbing the “oh shit” bar a few times as we wind around the mountain and eventually spill out onto the 101.

“Why am I not surprised this isn’t the leisurely nocturnal drive I  hoped it would be?” I say breaking the tense silence.

She slows imperceptibly, and glances at me. “Is my driving scaring you?” When she sees my reaction to her question, she grins. “You grew up driving in Chicago traffic. How can my driving possibly scare you?”

I huff. “We don’t have any fucking mountains in Chicago.” And what I don’t tell her is that when you almost die from cancer, you’re not very keen on dying in other ways.

“Oh, that’s right.” Traffic for LA is going at a leisurely pace since it’s a few hours south of rush hour, so Alyssa slows down a bit more. “Better?”

“Yeah, at least I can now unclench my ass, and relax my fucking balls,” I say.

“Oh, what’s a little fast driving between friends? This car is not to be driven like my grandmother drives her Buick,” she says.

Her little red California is a beauty, and I’d probably drive it the same way if I were on the freeways in Chicago, and not the hills and valleys of LA. “That may be true, but I want us both to get back to our respective destinations alive.”

“Baby—I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” I wish she were calling me baby like she used to when we were fucking like rabbits on just about every tour stop after Flushing. Just thinking of all the things we did with and to one another has my cock straining against my zipper.

“I’m holding you to that,” I say, “because if we die tonight I’m going to kill you.”

“Not unless I kill you first,” she teases, then speeds back up and within a few minutes, we’re exiting at my hotel, and she swings us into the entrance near the valet, who looks as if his night just got more interesting when he sees the little red number we pull up in. He walks toward us, but when I hop out and Alyssa doesn’t, he returns to his post.

“Can I catch a ride over with you in the morning?” I ask, because despite being scared shitless just now by her driving, I’d rather be with this girl than anywhere else in the world.

“Sure. I’ll scoop you up at nine,” she says, and zooms away. Besotted bastard that I am, I watch her until she’s out of sight before I enter the hotel.

I REMEMBER THAT ALYSSA is not a morning person, so I grab her one of those ‘coffee cocktails’ she loves and get me a straight cup o’ Joe from the hotel restaurant and I’m waiting outside for her when she screeches into the entrance. I hand her the drink, deposit mine in the cup holder and buckle myself in.

“You remembered the obligatory caffeine!” she declares. “Thanks, Dylan.”

“Yes, I kinda want you to talk to me and not bite my head off on the way to Sky’s place.”

“Well, this will get me started, but you know I’ll need a couple more of these before I’m decent enough to be in polite company.”

She still defaults to talking like her grandmother when she’s nervous. I found that utterly endearing when we were getting to know one another before. Her maternal grandmother spent a lot of time in LA caring for her daughter before Alyssa’s mother died, and Alyssa picked up on a lot of her vernacular. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it sometimes, but it’s so fucking cute.

“I’m sure Sky has a state of the art coffee machine,” I say.

“She does, and Della won’t let any of us touch it, because the kitchen is her domain, and she doesn’t mind reminding any errant soul who deigns to touch anything in there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, and just make us a couple of orders when we get there.”

She worries her lip, and I know she’s got something on her mind, which I’m almost certain she’ll share with me before we reach Sky’s home. In the interim, I enjoy the beautiful California morning, and being in her company, until she decides to share it with me. It doesn’t take long.

“Um, Brody hasn’t mentioned what you and the rest of the band were going to do since he’s out for the foreseeable future, and Stephen’s still in that mental health facility. Have you guys talked any more about reviving your band, maybe without Brody?”

This is a sore subject for all the guys except me, but I’m happy to answer the question. “Last we discussed, the guys aren’t interested in revamping The Savages unless Savage is a part of that. We did kick around coming up with a new name and hiring a new lead singer, but then I got... sick, and to be honest, I haven’t talked to them since you and I last spoke.”

She looks surprised. “Wow, you really weren’t...available to anyone.”

“No, I wasn’t. Except to my family. Who were amazing, by the way. You know my mom. And my dad, even my brothers were amazingly supportive.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of the Castles,” she says. “You know, if my album takes off, I might be in the market for a band, especially if I get my own tour.” She looks surprised, in spite of herself, at the sudden offer and goes silent.

“That is a generous offer, but do you really want your ex- whatever the hell I am, skulking around you all the time?”

“You are a lot of things, Dylan Castle, but you aren’t a skulker. If that’s even a real word.”

We laugh as much to clear the air as at the hilarity of the turn of the conversation.

“If you’re serious, I could run it by the guys when we’re in the Maldives and we could jam together and see what happens. You’ll have to bring your rock A-game if you want to convince Finn and George to buy in.”

“Oh, I can bring my rock A-game. My new album is a fusion, remember? I see it as the beginning of my music taking a whole new turn, bringing in new fans and melding the two genres I love.”

Alyssa’s confidence has always been sexy to me. Still is. And as we head up the mountain to Sky’s place, I adjust myself discreetly so I won’t scare the hell out of Della when I raid her kitchen for more coffee.

Our first order of business is a run through of the set list for the concert next Saturday. This already sold out performance is just a two-hour pre-wedding gift to the fans from Sky and Brody. All the money from the show is going to charity, and the perfectionist that those two are means that today’s practice isn’t a one-and-done. We go over each and every song, twice, until I have them down on the drums, and the sound is coherent, which will take us through lunch to wrap just before dinner again.

Good thing I brought my vitamin supplements and medication. Brody approached me before we took our break for lunch. His concern evident on his face. “You good man? Do we need to give you longer than an hour for break?”

“I promise you,” I’m good. “You sound like my Mom, dude. Chill.”

“Okay, I just don’t want to tire you out or anything.”

“Believe me, I’ve been working with a trainer and building up my stamina. I could go for six—seven more hours.”

“Oh, it won’t be that long. Sky’s gonna kick everybody out before dinner.”

“Cool. I’m just going to freshen up before lunch,” I say pulling my t-shirt, sticky with sweat, away from my torso.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Use the one in the room in the third door on the left at the top of the stairs.”

I grab my backpack and run up the stairs. As a rock drummer, if there is any possibility that I’ll be doing a gig, I carry a couple of extra shirts, because you expend more energy on that instrument than anyone else in the band, and you get as sweaty as fuck. In sessions like today, I’m the only one doing so, because of my movement around the kit. Everyone else is standing or sitting still and playing, so they are barely breaking a sweat.

I find the room Brody indicated and locate the door I believe is the bathroom. I’m about to turn the knob when the door opens and Alyssa barrels out in only her bra and jeans. Her t-shirt and a towel in her hand.

“Oh, my God! Dylan, you scared the hell out of me.” The hand on her heaving chest just draws my attention back to the lacy bra, covering her gorgeous breasts. My throat becomes parched, but my dick begins to swell just thinking about how I used to lick and suck her perfect C cups until she was so wet, there was little resistance when I entered her—.

“Dylan! Are you okay?” She reaches out and touches my forehead, as if fever is a symptom of depression. Although I feel bad not telling her the truth, I can’t until I know she’ll be willing to give me another chance. Right now, though, I just want to kiss her so badly, my whole body aches.

“Sorry,” I default to an apology, and hold my backpack up so she can see it. “Brody said I could use the bathroom in here to freshen up and change for lunch.”

When I look back into her eyes, I notice her eyes are on my lips. The air becomes charged with sexual tension that I know isn’t my imagination. I take two steps forward and she takes one back. She tries to move past me, and I block her egress moving unintentionally into her path. We dance like this for a few beats, and then we both step forward at the same time and she’s in my arms. I drop my backpack and she drops what she’s holding, and our bodies meld together, our lips fusing like old times.

Alyssa still wears the same pomegranate flavored gloss that I would eat off her lips every damned time we kissed. I commence doing exactly that, devouring her, kissing her so thoroughly, I can feel her squirming to get closer to me as I clasp her hips and grind myself into her. We kiss until we are both at a deficit for air and we have no choice, but to come up for it, both of us breathing as if we’ve just run a half marathon.

I look down into her eyes, and rather than love, or at the very least, lust, all I see is pain.

“Fuck!” I say under my breath.

“We shouldn’t have—.” She begins, but I cut off her denial.

“Alyssa, this is proof. We had something special.”

“You’re right. We never had any problem in the sex department.” She pushes away from me, and I have no choice but to let her go. “You said it yourself. The operative word is ‘had,’ and what we had was destroyed when you left me without a word. I can’t go back to the uncertainty that you won’t take off again.”

She grabs her things from the floor and darts out of the room.

“Fuck!” My vocabulary diminishes to a single expletive again.

I’m more disappointed in myself for kissing her before she was ready, than I am for her shutting me down. I pick my backpack up and enter the bathroom she just exited. I don’t blame her for doubting me. What I did inspires zero confidence in a repeat performance. The only chance I have of convincing her to give me another shot will be to make her believe the idea is hers alone. Pushing her by playing up our sexual attraction won’t do the job. Therefore, I’m going to have to resist the urges to hold her and kiss her unless she makes the first move.

Alyssa and I were able to build a friendship over several weeks before we hooked up before, and I’d like to think that we could do that again, particularly, if she wants The Savages to play for her. I have to prepare myself for the eventuality that it might take longer than last time to win her over.

Although my appetite for food has become non-existent, I know I need to eat, because missing meals won’t help my goal of getting back to my pre-cancer weight. I’ll just have to man up and face Alyssa at the lunch table and in the studio after this fiasco, regardless. But first, I think a quick cold shower is very much in order. Just freshening up is not going to cut it.