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“I know all of your secrets. It’s been almost twelve hours since we did this. Far too long.” We were insatiable. Our sex life had been pretty incredible for the past four months, but we both worked long hours. Now we’d taken two weeks here at the beach house, alone, with almost nothing else to do except this. And it turned out we liked doing this alot.Morning, then sometime in the afternoon before a nap, and then again at night. Frankly, I was proud of my own stamina.
Brit and I were still neighbors. It turned out that being neighbors with your girlfriend is a pretty fucking incredible setup. We were at each other’s houses all the time. Both of us looked out for Ellen. We cooked in one kitchen or the other, went on outings when our schedules lined up. Brit spent most of her nights at my place, except when she was mad at me, when she went back to her bedroom at Ellen’s.
We didn’t fight often, but I’d never had a girlfriend before, I’m bad at following rules, I can be forgetful, and I’m late for everything. There were times that Brit had to keep me in line.
I made it up to her, though.
I kissed my way up her body, my hand still working. She’d forgotten about the coffee. She grabbed my sweatpants and shoved them down. I was commando under there, because who the fuck wears underwear while on vacation with their girlfriend? I braced myself over her, kissing her a little wildly, and she hooked her legs around me in the way that I liked and then I sank inside her, right where I wanted to be. It was like I’d never left.
Brit’s sexual hangups had slowly disappeared. We were good at this now, really good. She’d stopped being self-conscious about her body with me. Brit was confident, smart, and hot. She was probably too good for me, but that was too bad, because she was mine now.
Her hands gripped my back, then my ass, pushing me deeper. I went slow, like I’d promised, teasing her, getting her good and sensitized. She said my name and dug her nails into me, and I liked the sting. I’d never felt like this with any woman, this close, this crazy for her, like I never wanted to stop. It was because I loved her. Of course I fucking loved her. All the way.
So I took my time, and I did all of the things she liked, and when she came, she took me with her.
We caught our breath for a minute. Brit’s skin had the flush of a very satisfied woman. “I’m never leaving this bed,” she said.
I pulled my sweatpants back up, got up, and fetched our breakfast. The coffee had cooled a little, but we didn’t care. Brit cleaned up and tied her robe again, and we sat cross-legged on the bed, devouring everything.
“I have a meeting with the debt counseling firm when I get back,” Brit said. “They’re thinking of donating counseling time.”
“That’s amazing,” I said.
Brit’s salon wasn’t for the rich and famous, like the last one had been. She was sick of those people. Her reputation had followed her from L.A., despite how her ex had tried to sabotage it, and she was in high demand. But instead of just cutting hair and making a living, she’d decided to do more.
Every client of hers was offered the chance to donate to her charity, Sunrise. With Sunrise, Brit spent several days per month giving free haircuts to women who were at a low point and starting over in life. It might seem frivolous to give out a cut and color, but to a woman who is looking for a job, or recovering from a health problem, or getting out from under addiction, divorce, or abuse, a cut that she couldn’t normally afford could be a boost.
It started as a simple way for her to give back, but then Sienna wrote an article about it, and Sunrise caught on. A couple of local clothing stores were willing to donate clothes for these women. A local daycare was willing to offer discounted spots for women who were getting back into the workforce. Brit used some of the charity’s cash to buy transit passes and give them out. Now a debt counseling firm might be able to offer appointments to the women who needed it as they started over.
Instead of giving haircuts to rich assholes, Brit was helping women who had hit rock bottom, like she had. She was making changes to turn things around.
“I’m getting scruffy,” I said, finishing my blueberry muffin and pointing to my hair.
Brit looked at me, assessing. She refused to let anyone else, man or woman, touch my hair. “I like it. It’s sexy. I’ll trim it up when we get home.”
“Everyone in the band needs a cut. If you do it, we’ll all donate.”
Brit’s eyes lit up. “I’ll get a photographer to the salon when we do it. We’ll make it a PR thing.”
“Ah, fuck.” I’d walked into that one. Still, we’d do it for Brit and her charity. “Fine. I’ll talk to the guys about it.”
“They’ll say yes. Because I still have that photo.”
“Please delete that photo and bleach it from your brain.”
“Never. It’s one of my favorites.” She smiled.
I shook my head, but I felt myself smiling back at her.
The Road Kings were in a place we’d never been in before: we saw each other all the time, but we weren’t on tour. We’d never spent much time at home without going our separate ways, and it was working, mostly because we were in a good place.
Raine had moved into Neal’s house, and they were happy together with their daughter.
Denver hadn’t convinced Callie to move in with him yet. They hadn’t been together long enough, and Callie was the cautious type. But Denver wasn’t concerned. Callie’s independence was one of the things he liked about her. “She’ll get there eventually,” he said. “If it takes a year, two years, it doesn’t matter to me.” Denver and Callie were different in a lot of ways, but they both hated being told what to do. At the same time, they were so inevitable together that it was hard to remember what Denver had been like before Callie came along.
And Stone—maybe he’d changed most of all.
It was nice to see my bandmates without being stuck on a bus, dragging ourselves through the mud of exhaustion. Our rehearsals were killer, and the nights we’d played local clubs, we’d had a blast. The album was going to be the best one we’d ever made. We were going to call itWest of Exile.
