I've got one hand in the notch of her waist, though alluring as she is right now, it might take an act of God for me to get hard again.
"To hear Brianna tell it, you and Larry are close, personal friends, and you're over at their house for dinner practically every night."
"I've been to his house once."
"Then she talks about that one time a whole lot," Marisol says, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"This is the problem with being incredibly famous, wealthy, and good looking," I say.
"Please, tell me your problems," she teases.
"Everyone's only interested in you until your star dims," I say. "And then they're onto the next hot young thing."
"I've already got the phone number of the lead singer from... that band that wore the matching suits to the awards," she says. "Monkey Avenue Riot or something?"
"I can tell you're a huge fan."
"The second your next album doesn't go palladium, I'm calling him."
I just grin at her.
"What?"
"Then you'd better call right now, given it's platinum," I tell her.
She rolls off of me and lays on her back, her head still on my arm.
"I started the new album," I hear myself say.
Then I shut my mouth in surprise. I'd decided not to tell anyone I was writing songs again, not until I'd gotten a few done I was happy with. I still believe in jinxes, after all.
"When?" Marisol asks.
I roll over toward her, the bed frame creaking, and put one hand on her belly, stroking the soft skin there. She puts a hand on top of mine.
"A week or two ago," I say. "I found a few demo tapes from the tour I'd recorded that I thought I'd lost, and they're a bit rubbish, but they got me going again at least."
That's not precisely the truth. I did find the tapes, and I have been writing again, but I don't think the tapes were what did it. It's not the only thing that happened a few weeks ago.
"Did you tell Darcy and Trent?"
"Well, not exactly," I say. "They both think I've been hard at work on the album this whole time."
Marisol gives me a very skeptical look.
"Or, rather, I've been telling them that and what they believe is up to them," I correct myself. "But I can't exactly go back now and say, hey, guess what I've got three tracks done already, I know I said I had more last week, would you like to hear them?"
She goes quiet for a long moment, tracing the outline of my hand on her belly with one fingertip. It's hypnotic and soothing, and even though it's not yet ten at night, I catch myself starting to drift off.
"I know I'm a pretty recent addition," she says, suddenly. "But I think they're so angry with you because they love you. You guys are practically family."
Practically, I think. Excepting Liam, the one who really is almost my brother. Him we just threw away like rubbish, and now he's living in my guest bedroom because he's got nowhere else.
"I'll tell them," I say. "I just need a little while to work on the songs on my own."
I don't say anything to Liam about her. I've not even told her that he's living with me, and though I almost bring it up now, instead I go quiet and let her trace my fingers until I'm nearly asleep.
I've failed. I've failed Liam by letting him spiral down again, and I've failed my own recovery plan by letting an addict stay with me. I don't know that he's shooting up again, but I'm neither blind nor stupid, and I can see the path he's on.
But I like this, lying peacefully in Marisol's bed, in her tiny flat, her research books on addiction next to us. I need her to know that I'm trying, because I am trying, and admitting that Liam's in my house right now feels like letting her down.
I'll boot him. I'll figure out something to help him, send him back to rehab or something, and then I'll boot him before she ever even asks.
"You're staying, right?" she says softly, and her voice filters through my nearly-asleep brain until I wake up.
"If I'm allowed," I say, murmuring into her hair.
She doesn't say anything but she turns her back to me and snuggles into my arms. I fall asleep feeling her breathe.
28
Marisol
I'm awake at six, the sun just starting to nose through my curtains. Gavin's still in my bed, still sound asleep, face down on his pillow with one arm thrown over me.
I stretch. He rolls over in his sleep and pulls me toward him, one arm under my head and one across my torso until I'm half-wrapped in his hard, warm body. Carefully, I kiss him on his shoulder, a black-and-gray rose tattoo beneath my lips. He doesn't move.
We stay like that for a while, and even though I know I need to get up, make coffee, have breakfast, read over my notes one last time and then get on the bus for my 8 a.m. class, I let myself drift in and out of sleep for a while.
At last, he makes a deep grumbling noise and rolls over onto his back.
His morning wood looks like a circus tent, and I get out of bed blushing furiously. I pee and make coffee, but my eyes keep coming back to it, because this is the first time I've really seen it in all its...
...Well, majesty. Let's use the correct word here. Not that I'm all that experienced - two sex partners plus oral, remember? - but I'm fairly certain that Gavin's dick is way at the upper end of the bell curve.
And right now, standing in the designated kitchen area of my little apartment, I'm getting kind of wet looking at it. That and remembering last night and how ridiculously good that thing felt.
He grunts again and rolls over, his erection under him now. It's 6:45, and I need to leave by seven at the latest, so I turn back to making coffee, then drink it while flipping through my reading notes from yesterday.
Though it's pretty hard to concentrate with Gavin in my bed, even asleep. I'd much rather spend the day there, with him, than a seminar about tort law and then proofreading articles for the Los Angeles Law Review, where I'm the managing editor.
Or reading the ten thousand emails and texts I have from Valerie and Nigel. I slide my phone into my bag, because I can read those on the bus.
At seven, I'm packed up and ready to leave, so I sit next to him on the bed, lean over, and kiss him on the forehead. His eyes open slowly, and he just blinks at me for a few seconds before lifting his head off the pillow and looking around.
"Hey," he finally says.
"I've gotta go to class," I say. "Can you lock the knob when you leave?"
He pushes one hand through his hair, then rubs my back lightly, frowning a little.
"Yeah," he says. "Where are you going?"
"Class."
"Right."
He looks at the clock, then closes his eyes, opens them again like he's trying to read hieroglyphs, and his hand settles on my lower back.
"Have you got to leave right now?" he asks, his lips curving into a smile, his voice still rough and dusky with sleep. "I've got a legal briefing you could study."
I've never been more tempted by something, possibly ever, but I take a deep breath. I cannot start missing classes or showing up late just because of a guy, not even this guy, so close to finals and graduation.
"I'll study it later," I promise, grinning.
"Why not study now and later?" he asks, his accent thick and rough as he takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
There's the circus tent again, and my whole body pulses with desire this time even though I'm trying to ignore it. I can't believe I'm turning into goo at the mere silhouette of a penis.
Even though it's a hell of a silhouette.
"I'll text you later," I say, and kiss him on the lips.
He winds his fingers into my hair and holds me down, against him, lazily curling his tongue into my mouth. My body thrills all the way to my toes, and I'm a hair's breadth from tossing my bag to the floor and climbing on top of him, because I can be late once right?
But Gavin ends the kiss.
"Better get going," he says. "I don't want to be responsible for you failing out of law school."
He kisses my hand one more time, and then I leave. I hold my breath as I walk through the hall of my apartment building and down the stairs, trying to slow my heartbeat and calm my nerves, because I've got a whole day of law stuff before I can even think about seeing him again and finally-
I open the exit of the staircase and stop in my tracks.
My building has a glass front door, and outside on the steps, there's five men with cameras, standing around and shooting the shit.
No. Six. Shit.
I duck back into the stairwell.
Maybe it's a coincidence and they're here to photograph someone else, I think. There's a ton of people living here, I can't be the only one...
Yeah, right.
I shake my head, then peek around the door again to see what they're doing. Still just standing around, talking to each other, not paying a ton of attention, so I cross my fingers and say a quick prayer to whichever saint is in charge of not getting stalked by paparazzi.
Then I exit the staircase and turn left, away from the front door. I don't look back, and I just pray they're not interested or haven't figured out who I am as I head through the laundry room and leave my building through an alley door.