Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (33 page)

              “I was going to grab us some cheese and crackers or something,” she said.

             
“Can I help?” I asked, feeling silly she’d found me standing alone in her kitchen.

             
“No, go relax with Mathew,” she said, pulling stuff from the fridge.

             
“Not sure about that one, Em,” I said.

“Nonsense
,” she said, shooing me out with a wave of her hand.

             
“Yeah, pretty much what it’s been, nonsense,” I said.

             
I un-did my hair and shook it out.

             
“Stop. He’s missed you,” she said.

             
I went back outside, thinking about him missing me; wondering if he was capable of such a thing or if my timing was just convenient. A slow time in the girl parade. Emily followed shortly after with a tray that had all sorts of goodies for us to snack on.

             
“Thanks, Emily, for the food,” Mathew said.

             
I nibbled on a cracker, but didn’t feel hungry. I liked the effect the wine was having on me. The crazy feelings that had been going on inside numbed.

             
“I think I’ll help myself to another if that’s okay?” I said, standing.

             
“Pour away,” Jack chuckled.

I went into the kitchen and poured another glass
finishing the bottle. I was sure they were talking about me. I left my glass on the counter and used the bathroom. I rinsed my face and then stared at my reflection in the mirror.
You should run, Morgan
. When I came down the back steps, they stopped talking. I looked at the three of them.

             
“Okay, guys, what’s going on?” I asked. “I feel so awkward already, and now you’re talking about me.”

             
Mathew stood up and he looked so good that it was almost like a physical stab to my senses.

“Don’t mean to be rude
, but I need to talk to this girl,” Mathew said, extending his hand to me.

             
I didn’t take it. I wanted to stay and smell the jasmine, watch the sprinkler, drink more wine, anything but be alone with him. Sadly I knew it wouldn’t take much for him to pull me in. Everyone’s eyes were on me.

             
“Go on,” Emily encouraged, “you need to go.”

             
She had always liked me, been kind to me, like Jack. I was outnumbered, so I followed Mathew, familiar with the path to his room. It didn’t look so stark anymore. His things filled the top of the dresser, and he had put pictures and posters on the wall. There were several pictures of Kingdom Come on stage. A couple of him jamming live on his guitar, hair flying, one leg raised. I knew exactly why the groupies wanted him. I circled the room, looking at things, aware of him watching me. I finally sat down on the bed. I knew he sensed my discomfort.

“Let me fill your glass
,” he said, taking my half-full wine glass from my hand.

             
“Can you play for me?” I asked, looking over at his line of guitars.

             
“What do you want to hear?” he asked.

             
“Whatever you feel like playing.”

“Let me get the wine first
,” he said.

“You’ll have to open the other bottle.”

He smiled. It took him awhile to get the wine. I figured he was talking to Emily. I picked up his old guitar, the one I had known from the start. I rubbed the wood, pictured his fingers on the neck, plucked a string, it made me sad. I remembered all the times in his room, at the beach, the ski trips; my memories were from the simple times, not the band times. The band world wasn’t a world I knew. I didn’t fit in that world. I wondered where he thought I fit in, why I was here.
Oh, Gayle
. He walked back into the room with my wine and shut the door slowly.

             
“Here you go,” he said, handing me my glass.

             
He picked up his acoustical guitar, the one I just put down, and sat on the bed next to me. His first song was Led Zeppelin’s “How I Wish You Were Here”
.
I listened and was sure he had chosen it specifically, knowing I would hear the words, the story.

             
“
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year. Oh, how I wish you were here
,” he sang.

Next he played
“Wild Horses”
.
He started on a song by Styx, which I recognized but couldn’t remember the name of. I got up and went to the bathroom as he played. I brushed my hair and touched up my makeup. I was definitely feeling the wine. I ached to touch him, lay with him, an effect he had on me by just being near. Near enough I could smell him, the lemon, vanilla, light musk smell all wrapped into one that made Mathew, Mathew. I took off my clothes, except my bra and panties.

“You’re drunk
, Morgan,” I whispered to myself in the mirror.

My girlfriends in San Diego
had turned me on to Victoria's Secret, and I only wore cute lingerie anymore. I had on a matching set that was pale pink with some black satin trim. The bra was a push-up, cut low, and it made my breasts look full. He would like it. He was still playing, but looked up from his guitar when I came back into the room. He stopped. I could see his pupils get large.

“Had you planned on a hot date or what
? 'Cause you certainly weren’t counting on me,” he said, setting the guitar to one side.

I smiled
as the butterflies soared into my chest.

“I’ve gotten into nice lingerie
. And no, I wasn’t counting on you.”

“I like it
,” he said undressing me with his eyes.

             
He smiled up seductively at me before he reached out and lightly ran his hands over my bra, down my sides, moving to my rear, and then down my legs. His hands were warm and sensual and I shivered. He gazed into my eyes as he pulled me to him and then kissed my stomach. He could play my body like he did his guitar; he knew just how to touch me. Just how to ignite the fire within me.

             
“I’ve missed you,” he said.

             
“So I’ve been told…”

             
“Can I kiss you?” he pleaded. “You haven’t even let me kiss you, Morgan.”

             
I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He’d erased time.

             
“I haven’t decided if I’m finished being pissed off at you yet,” I said.

I knelt down between his knees and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft and he put his hand on the back of my head cradling it. I wanted to ravage him, feel him inside
me, feel his skin next to mine, but I could tell by his touch he wanted to relish it. He pushed his tongue into my mouth, circling, seeking my tongue, slowly giving me
that kiss
, over and over, the one that was able to send me to the moon with desire. He ran a hand around my back reaching for my bra clasp, opening it easily singlehandedly. As it fell forward from my body I could feel my nipples get hard and I moaned.

He leaned away from me slowly removing the bra down my arms. Seeing my hard nipples he leaned in to suck on them
leisurely, one at a time, he cupped my breasts in his hands and squeezed tenderly. I dug my fingers into his hair. When he pushed at me to stand I did so and he unhurriedly took my panties down my legs. Then he rolled back on his elbows and gazed at me with lustful eyes. I inhaled deeply.

“Take off your clothes,” I ordered.

We made love
with the passion of old, one that never seemed to die. He took me on a roller coaster ride, sending me off the track with a small vulnerable whimper.

As I curled into him I reminded him of the summer he’d told me to lose Ben. It by far had been the best summer. We
talked, and laughed, catching up. We touched briefly on his behavior last summer.

             
“Do you ever get hurt, or are you always the hurter? All the girls you’ve dated?” I asked as I played with the hair on his stomach, the happy trail.

             
“I don’t know if I hurt them. It doesn’t work out for one reason or another.”

             
“Maybe because there’s another girl right behind them, or right beside them, depending on your mood. We’re kind of funny that way, girls, I mean; we’re not big fans of cheating,” I said digging my chin into his chest.

             
He went on, ignoring me.

“I don’t think I
’ve ever given my whole heart.”

             
“Your whole heart? What does that mean?” I asked, the wine making me bold.

             
“Promise you won’t get crazy?”

             
I lifted my head and looked into his eyes.

             
“No,” I said, “it’s a chance you'll have to take.”

             
He smiled and pushed my head back onto his chest.

             
“I think a chick’s hot, and that I want to be with her. Then I am for a while, and I realize
no
,” he said.

             
“Hmm. Not-so-hot or not-so feelings?”

             
“Not-so feelings.”

             
I couldn’t help but wonder what was
not-so
about us, and if it was why had he missed me.

             
“Damaged goods,” I said.

             
“What?” he asked, confused.

             
“Nothing.”

             
I nuzzled into him. It felt natural and right. All the anxiety he’d caused by showing up at the airport had faded away.
Oh, Gayle, you’re going to hate me.

             
“You ever felt like he was
it
about a guy?”

“No
,” I lied.

             
“You seeing anyone at home?”

             
He was curling a strand of my curls around his finger, around and around, and then let it go. It made me think about another time in Tahoe.

             
“No,” I answered.

             
“Would you tell me if you were?” he asked.

             
“No,” I replied.

             
“That hurts.”

             
He squeezed me to him.

             
“I’m not,” I chuckled. “I swear. The bigger question: are you, or maybe how many?”

             
“Nope, zero. I’m all yours if you want me,” he teased.

             
Moonlight was streaming though his window. I could see his face in the dark. I thought about last summer as I lay my head on his shoulder. He’d hurt me, he knew he’d hurt me, and yet here I was in his arms. I hoped his promise of there being no one else would last past the night.

             
“Look at the moon,” I said.

             
He pushed my hair back as I wrestled with what I wanted to say, how it should sound. I didn’t want to come off as whinny or demanding, and least of all hurt.

             
“I’m here for ten days. I hadn’t planned on seeing you,” I said.

I was tryin
g to choose my words carefully, not to relay too much of my true feelings. Not to let him know he’d already sucked me back.

             
“I figured you wouldn’t even know I was in town. I planned to avoid you at all costs. Now you and Gayle have blown that all to hell on day one.”

             
He sighed. I reached up and put my hand around his chin.

“I will only put up with one Mathew
. The one that is here right now. Don’t expect me to put up with the other one. I won’t, not for a minute,” I said.

He pulled me tight to him
, wrapping his arms around me.

Chapter
38

I called Gayle the next morning as he showered
. I figured she would be over-the-top-anxious to hear from me, wondering, and worrying, about what had gone down. I realized she expected me to run; she had bet on it and lost. Jane answered the phone.

             
“Hey, Jane, it's Morgan.”

             
“Hi there, Gayle’s been waiting for your call. Gayle,” she called out into the house.

             
“I’m surprised she didn’t answer it, she’s been sitting on it like a hen. Here she comes, Morgan.”

             
I could hear the phone being shuffled, and Gayle came on. I could hear her breathing; she had probably run down the hall when her mom called.

             
“Well?” she asked, a hint of anger lacing her question.

             
“Well? Nice secret the two of you cooked up. Since when did you, of all people, become a Mathew ally?”

             
“I haven’t become a Mathew ally. He can be very persistent when he wants something.”

             
“Really?” I said sarcastically. “Explain.”

             
I pulled the phone cord and sat down at Emily’s kitchen table.

             
“He wanted to know if you were coming: when, where, all the details. I resisted at first, knowing how last summer ended. In fact I was rude to him. I told him what an asshole he was. He asked if you were seeing anyone. I told him I thought you definitely were.”

             
“Gayle,” I scolded.

             
She’d given him exactly what I’d hoped for.

             
“Couldn’t help myself, I wanted to hurt him, if that’s even possible. He said he really wanted to see you. He felt bad about last summer. I told him I didn’t think that would be happening.”

             
I laughed.

             
“You’re so funny. I can just hear you,” I said.

             
“I was serious. I saw what he did to you last summer. Miss ‘I can’t get hurt by Mathew’, got her heart ripped out of her chest more than once. I thought with the first phone call, the discussion was over, but he wouldn’t let up. He kept calling, asking the same fucking questions. He finally convinced me to let him at least pick you up. The deal was, if it didn’t go well, he would leave you alone. No asking, no harassing, done.”

             
I could picture her sitting on the wooden built in desk in the kitchen. She always sat on top of it, never in the chair.

“I wanted to run initially
. Get far, far away. I was pissed you let him come,” I said.

She sighed.

“I expected a call from the airport.” she paused. “Why didn’t you run, Morgan, why?”

I’d thought about this, over and over, knowing she would ask and I just didn’t have a very good reason, except maybe she’d been right, I’d loved him forever.
Maybe I didn’t know how to stop.

“He wouldn’t let me
,” I said quietly. “He pushed softly as only Mathew can do. He took me to Jack’s. We had drinks in the yard. It was hot outside. I kept thinking I needed to go, but I didn’t. I even picked up the phone to call you and then hung it back up. I drank wine instead, and then he played his guitar for me, like he used to.”

             
“Morgan, that’s like foreplay to you,” Gayle said.

             
“It is not.” I protested. “You think?”

             
“He has your number, girl. I was so sure, so sure.” she said emphasizing sure. “He proved me wrong again.”

             
“Oh, Gayle, the crazy thing is, and we’ve talked about it. It really is me. I wean myself off him, and then he pulls me back in. It was so nice last night. I was in shock when I heard his voice at the airport. I kept saying ‘I can’t believe Gayle agreed to this’, while at the same time I was excited to see him. I was super confused on what to do. He asked me where, and I said ‘Gayle’
s’
. And he drove me to Jack’s. He told me that he told you not to wait up.”

             
“He did tell me that,” she said. “I figured if you would go with him at all, it wouldn’t matter after that. I was waiting for a perturbed phone call from you. Hoping really.”

             
I could hear Mathew downstairs in his bedroom humming and I knew he was out of the shower.

             
“We spent a really calm afternoon with Jack and Emily in the backyard talking, none of the craziness that can surround him. Then we went to his room. He played most of my favorite songs. We talked about things we usually don’t. It was really nice. Playing nice.”

             
“And the sex?”

             
“Do you even have to ask, Gayle?”

             
She groaned.

             
“Holy shit, what have I done? Here we go again,” she said.

             
Where I deemed our previous summer, the one of wars; I deemed this one, the one of peace. I spent more time with Mathew than Gayle. Something had changed with Gayle since we’d talked about me visiting. Where I tried to make plans with her, she was happy to let Mathew take me. I knew she was seeing someone, so I let it go. I hadn’t met the guy yet, but she talked about how well it was going.

             
“Come get me. Let’s go to lunch,” I suggested over the phone.

“What’s Mathew doing?” s
he asked.

             
“He’s busy today, Gayle, and I haven’t seen but minutes of you. Remember… Mathew was not supposed to be a part of this equation.”

“I know
, but he is.”

She took me to Los Gatos to a quaint Mexican place
where we sat in a courtyard with a fountain that splashed while Mexican music played softly in the background. The tables were cement with colorful tiles embedded in them, the walls painted to look like old adobe, and decorative wrought iron over the windows. When the waiter came, we both ordered a margarita. He asked for our IDs, which we both had. Gayle and I’d gotten fake IDs when we were sixteen. Keri had a friend that put them together for a small fee. We thought it was worth it. They had come in handy in getting us into clubs and bars. Gayle seemed a bit fidgety or nervous. I thought maybe it was anger seething beneath the surface at me.

             
“How’s Mathew?” she asked. “No fighting or biting?”

             
The waiter came back with our drinks.

             
“No fighting or biting. A lot of the other stuff, though,” I smiled. “All good. You know if I’m stupid enough to keep coming back to him, us, then it’s my own fault if he hurts me.”

             
“Ha, famous last words,” she said cynically.

“Enough about Mathew
. I want to know what is going on with this new guy you are being so secretive about?”

             
Gayle took a sip of her drink.

             
“It’s almost like you're pushing me on Mathew, so I won’t meet him,” I said.

             
She fiddled with the salt on the rim of her glass and I thought about the salty sweet I’d tasted on Mathew.

             
“Gayle. Spill it. You have never been afraid to tell me anything. What is the deal?” I asked, getting worried.

The waiter came back to take our order
, and I asked for another round of drinks. I took the last few sips of my margarita as I waited for her answer.

             
“What is it, Gayle? Is he married? Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

             
“I’m not sure you can,” she said, looking down at the napkin she was twisting in her hands.

             
“That makes no sense,” I said, confused. “You can put up with my Mathew bullshit and I’m going to judge you?”

             
She hesitated. The second round of margaritas arrived with lunch. I sensed a fear that I couldn’t grasp. I stared at her, encouraging with my eyes for her to talk to me.

             
“What? Tell me, it will be okay,” I coaxed.

             
She dropped her head.

             
“It’s a married woman,” she finally said very softly.

It took me a minut
e to realize what she had said.

             
“A married woman? You mean the guy is a girl? That’s who you're dating?” I asked, astounded.

             
She confirmed with a nod and looked up for my reaction. I sank back in my chair.

             
“Morgan, you don’t know how hard it is for me to tell you. I’ve thought about it for months and didn’t know how you would react. I have been so afraid that I would lose you as a friend,” she said as tears welled in her eyes.

             
“Gayle, we have been friends so long… Do you think something like this would change that?”

             
I got out of my chair and hugged her; happy to know this was all that it was. Then her tears did come, fast and furious.

             
“It’s okay,” I said patting her back. “Now you have to tell me all about it.”

             
Gayle had met Bridgett at the gym, just prior to the school year ending. She’d been her instructor in Jazzercise. They'd had coffee and discussed fitness and healthy eating. Coffee-morning meetings developed into lunches and dinners. A relationship she hadn’t expected started to develop. Gayle felt Bridgett understood her, and she enjoyed being with her. Gayle had repressed her feelings, thinking them odd, seeing that Bridgett was female and married. Bridgett wanted to spend time with her though, even had Gayle to her house for dinner with her husband.

When Bridgett had first taken
Gayle’s hand, she hadn’t thought anything about it, but she’d held it like one would a date. When Bridgett had looked in her eyes and then kissed her Gayle knew she had the same feelings. Bridgett had since left her husband for Gayle, and they had been together for months.

“Quite the story
, Gayle,” I laughed. “It sounds like something that could be written into a soap opera.”

“Will you meet her?” s
he asked.

             
“Of course,” I answered, feeling overwhelmed.

             
Gayle being gay had never entered my mind. She’d been with Mathew the one time and claimed she’d had a good time. There had been other dates and boys that she had slept with that I knew of.

             
“She’s house sitting here in Los Gatos. She said if you didn’t run screaming from the room, we could come hang out by the pool with her tomorrow.”

             
I could tell by her expression that she wanted me to be okay with it, accepting of her relationship with Bridgett.

             
“Was this planned to be the shock-the-shit-out-of-Morgan week?” I asked, throwing my hands up. “Between Mathew picking me up and now Bridgett, just wondering.”

             
“I didn’t necessarily plan it that way,” she smiled.

              We spent the remainder of the day and early evening in Gayle’s backyard talking. Her relief at my not running screaming from the room was evident. Mathew was due to pick me up at any moment. We were going to his parents for dinner. I was excited to see the O’Conner’s; it had been too long. I didn't know what Ann and Brad knew or didn’t know about us. When Ann had asked Mathew to come, he’d told her I was in town, and she asked him to bring me. I wasn’t sure how he was going to treat me around them. I resolved to be perfectly fine with whatever he decided.

“Hey
, girls,” Mathew said, coming out the slider.

He looked good in his white OP shorts and a purple
button down shirt. He strolled out onto the patio and gave me his lazy sexy grin.

             
“Hi,” I said, as my heart did a little flip flop.

             
I looked nervously over at Gayle, not sure of what she would say or do.

             
“Mathew,” she said, standing to hug him, her arms out. “The man who can always prove me wrong.”

Mathew smiled at her and stepped forward to embrace her. Gayle gave him a quick
hug, and when she stepped back, she looked at him and chuckled.

“You continue to defy the odds.”

              “Okay, you two. No sparring at my expense,” I said lightly.

             
“I won,” he teased Gayle.

“Only because I let you
,” she retorted. “Against my better judgment. I just bet on Morgan being a little smarter than she is, and then you do play a mean guitar.”