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31
February 25th(Portland, ME)
Sky
I’m in the jacuzzi,indulging my love of bubbles, books and wine when Dylan wanders in. Shirtless. I swear he walks around like this to flaunt how goddamn sexy he is, in case I’ve forgotten in the few hours since I last saw him naked. As always, my gaze seems to wander across his chest, down his abs and then my imagination follows into his jeans. He sits on the edge of the bath and runs his fingers across my cheek.
“A definite no to coming tonight?”
How do I tell him I can’t sit through any more Blue Phoenix concerts? They have two opposing effects on me. Either I get turned on by watching this hot as hell man performing on stage or I’m tired from a day of sex with the hot as hell man. The intense physical connection we share isn’t waning; the need to be skin on skin with Dylan takes over my day sometimes. I’m locked in a cross between a holiday and a bizarre road trip. With nothing to worry about but travel sickness, the fantasy I live in with Dylan overtakes everything.
“I’m tired,” I tell him, placing a wet hand over his.
Dylan takes the book from me and leans in for a kiss. “If I didn’t need to leave, I’d be in there with you.”
“Who says I’d let you?”
In response, Dylan opens my book and begins reading with an eyebrow cocked. “You prefer spending time with Chase. What the hell kind of a name is that?”
I attempt to snatch the book from him, but he continues reading. “Do I have to worry you’ll trade me in for a billionaire? Rock stars not enough for you?” he teases.
“You’ll do for now,” I say and smirk at him.
“Is that right?”
I sit forward and wrap my arms around his neck, his warm, dry chest meeting mine. The moment my soapy breasts brush his skin, Dylan covers my mouth with a hard kiss, roughly parting my lips. Then as suddenly as he started, he stops. Pulling back, he circles my nipple with his finger and fixes a heated gaze on me.
“You don’t need fantasies, Sky. I’ll do whatever you want.” He pauses just long enough to hear my breathing quicken. “And I’ve noticed the guys in your books also do exactly whattheywant.”
We watch each other in challenge, but I refuse to succumb to him. “Save your energy for tonight’s performance.”
When the familiar Dylan sexy grin spreads, I realise what I’ve said. “Oh, I will. Once I’ve finished tonight’s gig.”
His lips leave the promise in his words on my face, breasts, and mouth before he disappears from the bathroom. Exhaling, I sink under the water, surging with love, desire, and happiness.
Once the water grows cold, I leave the bath and wind my robe around myself to prepare for an evening alone. Some nights, being able to lie in bed and watch old comedy shows on cable channels is all I want. I crave Dylan but without my own breathing space, I think things would be hard. I toy with the idea of writing or reading, but I’m sleepy after my hot bath. Curling up with a bag of crisps, I drag my laptop onto my knee and run through my emails.
Junk. Junk. Mum. Junk.Lily.I hover the mouse over. Since the third message from her, I don’t read them anymore and this is the sixth. They’re all the same, decrying my decision to stay with Dylan. I delete. Junk. Recruitment agency. I smile when I find one’s from Tara.
Today’s email almost stops my heart because the message isn’t from her. The email is from Tom, her boyfriend, informing me Tara was in a car accident and is badly injured. He doesn’t elaborate, but I freak out imagining all kinds of horrific scenarios. Within seconds, I’m on the phone to him, hysterically demanding answers. Tara, my best friend and the person playing the biggest part in my life since I was a kid, is in a coma in hospital. When Tom has little else to say, I know this is bad. Is he not saying anything because of how bad? Or because he’s in shock?
Dylan will be mid-performance so I can’t call him; instead, I immediately search flights. I need to get back to England as soon as possible. Hands shaking, I book a flight for tomorrow and attempt to calm myself. Please don’t let anything happen to Tara before I get home.
* * *
Dylan
I’m a selfish bastard still,losing that facet of my personality will take longer than I expected. Because as I sit in the VIP lounge at the airport with Sky, I’m pissed off she’s leaving me. The lounge is quiet, some older couples immaculately dressed sip champagne and a minor celebrity I vaguely recognise taps messages on her phone, looking out of place in her slouchy — although designer — travel clothes. The actress stares at me momentarily, I look back to Sky who’s slumped into the plush chair.
She’s distant, eyes vacant, and refusing to share the emotion that she’s bottling inside. For fuck’s sake, this is Sky’s best friend and I’m getting pissy about her visiting Tara in hospital? Sky isn’t leaving forever. But she’s my anchor to a new world, and when she leaves, I’m fully immersed in the Blue Phoenix world again.
I take Sky’s hand, rubbing the soft skin with my thumb. She’s cool beneath the air-conditioning, her face pale. I know Sky’s not herself because when I told her I’d upgraded her seat to first class she didn’t admonish me. Definitely not Sky. And here I am fighting with whining about her going.
“Have you heard anything else?” I ask softly.
Sky turns and looks at me as if she’s forgotten I’m there. “About Tara? I called but nothing’s changed.”
I don’t press her to say anymore; hoping my handholding, silent support is enough.
