The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(197)

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I answer as I keep my eyes on the laptop screen, clicking here and there, messing with stuff I’m not even really seeing.

“Mel.” His voice is firm and commanding. I automatically look up at him. His gaze tells me he’s not screwing around anymore, and I’m suddenly very nervous. “You’re avoiding me. You have been since L.A., and I want to know why.”

I start to protest and he cuts me off. “Don’t. Don’t insult both of us. You were in that pool with me. I know you felt it too. You can’t just walk away from something like that and act like it never happened. If you’ve got concerns—or questions or feelings or whatever—about that night, then at least give me the common courtesy of voicing them instead of acting like a fourteen-year-old who’s too awkward to discuss sexual chemistry that nearly blew the fucking roof off the hotel.”

I sit, mouth agape, staring at him for a good thirty seconds before I can answer. I can’t decide which part of that statement to react to first. But it’s getting a reaction out of me. Of that, there is no doubt.

“What?” I finally manage. Oh, good one, Mel.

“You heard me,” he says, sitting back in his chair like he’s discussing the weather.

I look around to see who’s in hearing range. The rest of the gang seems to be safely ensconced with headphones or have gone to bed. Maybe that’s why he’s chosen now to do this. Given that it’s Joss, I doubt this assault was unplanned.

“Look,” I say quietly. “I had a nice time in L.A., but I don’t think it’s something we should repeat. I mean, you’re Walsh’s best friend, and it upsets him and Tammy. We have to work together all summer. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He laughs, but it’s harsh and short. “You didn’t give a shit what Walsh and Tammy thought last week. In fact, you were complaining about them treating you like a child. Now you only want to please them? In spite of the fact that it means ignoring the most fucking amazing non-sex I’ve ever had in my life?”

“Non-sex?” I sputter. “What the hell is non-sex?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Mel.” He levels a glare at me.

And I do know. Kissing Joss was ten times more powerful than any orgasm I’ve ever had with another man. It was indescribable, indefinable, utterly so. And now, remembering it, I feel my face flush.

He leans across the table and folds my laptop flat. Before I can protest, he’s grabbed my hand and is stroking it with his thumb. His voice is low and gritty. “I repeat, why are you avoiding me, Mel?”

I sigh, as much from the glorious feel of his skin on mine as from the frustration I feel with this conversation.

“This won’t end well, Joss. I’m not what you want.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” he growls, his brow furrowed as he watches his thumb stroking my hand almost as if it isn’t under his control.

“Look, I appreciate it. I’m flattered. Really. More than you could imagine. But I’m not cut out for all of this. Tammy warned me, and I can see she was right. I’m not like those women—the ones at your parties—I’m not worldly or cynical or whatever. You’ll get bored with me and I’ll get hurt, Joss. It’s not a good idea.”

He sits back, releasing my hand, and looks at me hard. He’s pissed, but there’s also hurt there, a pain in his eyes that reminds me of the look he had when I first saw him in the recording studio back in Portland. I realize now that he hasn’t looked like that in days and I wonder if it’s the tour or me that made the difference.

“Don’t you think if I wanted one of those women that’s who I’d have?” he asks. I have no answer to that so I keep quiet. “I’m not sure where you got the idea I want someone worldly or cynical, but I can assure you I don’t. I’ve been down that road, and I’m not interested. You can tell that to Tammy, by the way,” he says almost as an afterthought. “You’ve pigeonholed me in this rock star box and you don’t want to admit it may not be who I am. You’re going to listen to everyone else’s stories about me instead of really looking at me.”

“Joss,” I say, anguish in my voice. “You’re wrong, but you’re also a celebrity. You live a fast life, on the road, with sophisticated women and millions of dollars at stake every day and night. Until a month ago, I was a college girl. I’m starting a brand-new career. I don’t even know where I’m living after this tour is over. I’m not at a place in my life where I can keep up with you. Surely you see that?”

He stands up then, and my heart beats harder because I sense something has changed suddenly. “No, you know what I see? I see I was wrong about you. I thought you were someone who’d finally recognized me for who I really am. You’re obviously not. Sorry I wasted your time.”



I don’t see Joss again before I go to my little cubby bunk. But before I shut down the computer for the night, I check my university email. I’ve been avoiding it, mostly because I’ve been engrossed in my job, but also because I’m worried about what I might find. With the experience from this gig, I probably don’t need the Eddie Adams award to get a job, but I still wish I could win it. It’s been this carrot dangling in front of me as I trudged through six years of school, and it’s become a symbol of how hard I’ve worked to get here. To have it yanked away because of one mistake, one naïve moment, seems so unfair. But life isn’t fair, and when I open my email, there is a message from the Dean’s office.

I hold my breath as it spreads across the screen, exhaling in relief when I find that it’s not about my case at all, just a note to all students about some server maintenance that will be taking place during the summer break. My fate is postponed for another day, and I’ve got more time to reflect on how dumb I was to allow someone like Professor Marin to con me. Someone who operates in a world with different values and customs than what I understand. His is the high-power world of academics, where you take chances on brief affairs with those who control your future so you can touch greatness.

It’s not unlike the world Joss lives in, and I have to always keep that in mind. When I got back to our suite the night after he and I kissed, I told Tammy the truth about what happened. I was surprised that she didn’t get angry with me, but she put her arms around me and she told me the truth too, that Joss does this. He picks women who seem unattainable and he pursues them, but he’s never had a relationship longer than a few weeks. Then she asked me if I would be okay in a relationship with Joss that only lasted a few weeks. It sounded so much like what had happened with Professor Marin, I knew the answer right away. Tim Marin had broken my spirit a little, but Joss Jamison would break my heart a lot, and I couldn’t let him do that.

Now, as I lie in my bunk listening to Colin snore like a freight train across the passageway from me, I have to keep reminding myself of the reasons why Joss and I will never work. Because the way I feel when he’s near is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and it’s killing me to say no to him. He’s a few feet away right now, alone in his bed, and more than anything in life, I want to go to him and lie next to him and simply listen to his heartbeat. It would be the most beautiful sound in the world. It would be enough for now.





Chapter Nineteen

Joss



The motion of the bus actually lulled me to sleep at a normal hour. As I start to wake, I can hear people walking around outside, so it must be pretty late because this is not an early morning bunch.

I go to roll onto my side and am surprised to find my arm pinned down. Under a person. Fuck. My first thought is that I brought someone on board with me and was too drunk to remember. That hasn’t happened in a long time, but it’s not impossible. Then I recall that we didn’t even have a show last night and the last thing I did before I went to bed was have it out with Mel—painfully stone-cold sober.

The next option is that some groupie snuck onto the bus and hid out until I went to bed. That too has happened once or twice. It nauseates me honestly, the idea of a stranger touching me while I’m unconscious. It’s kind of disgusting. Of course, if said stranger ends up having really great tits, it can lessen the blow somewhat.

I carefully twist toward the person and I’m met with a mouthful of dark red hair and the scent of lemon meringue pie. My heart swells. My head spins.

Mel.

She’s here, with me, in my bed. I’m not sure how or why, but I give thanks to the powers that be for this moment, and I fix it in my mind like a prized photo so I’ll never forget the feel of her, the scent of her, the warmth of her. She’s got her head on my shoulder and one leg slung across my thighs. She’s on top of the covers and I’m under them, so the contact is limited, but it doesn’t matter. I’d take this with her over a full-on naked press with most any other woman in the world.

I reach over with the arm she’s not lying on and stroke her soft hair. She starts to stir and then lifts her head, looking at me from underneath the curtain of fire that falls over her face.