10/8/11

Louisville

I woke to a bird song outside the window, a ray of pale light slanting through the blinds, and a luxurious mattress under me in a room I had never seen before.

I rolled over onto my back to stare at the ceiling, propped myself up on my elbows to survey the room, and the mattress gave beneath me, cradling me. A soft white down comforter was tucked around me. My purse was sitting on a dark, knotty pine dresser that matched the bed in which I was lying. I was fully clothed except for my boots, discarded beside the bed. The mirror at the end of the bed showed a wild rat’s nest of curly brown hair and faint twin rings of mascara under my eyes.

And beside me, naked back to me, was the criminally gorgeous, incredibly sweet man to whom this bed belonged, whom I had come here to see, my Brian. My Brian. Who would have thought?

I leaned back into the pillows and smiled to myself as I studied him, memorized the way his skin traced his muscles. He was mine, mine to ogle, mine to touch, whenever I wanted, a thought I still found crazy, and after a month of phone calls and FaceTime and silly texts and missing him until I hardly knew what was real, lying next to him seemed like little more than a lucid dream. I reached out and brushed my fingertips down his spine, grounding myself in him. Warm with sleep, soft skin over hard muscle. Not a dream, I hoped. My body was already humming to life at the nearness of him.

He stirred and rolled over toward me, cracked open a blue, blue eye. Smiled lazily.

“Hi,” he whispered. His hand settled at the curve of my waist.

“Hi.” I stroked his arm, tracing muscles again.

“You’re not a dream, are you?”

“I don’t think so.” Unable to help myself, I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Want me to prove it?”

His sleepy smile broadened, his eyes darkening. “Yeah. C’mere.”

He tugged me closer, fingers in my belt loops, his other arm sliding around me as our lips met. The kiss deepened, our mouths melting together, weeks of longing bubbling to the surface, and he rolled on top of me, hands working their way under my shirt. I moved my hands from his back to the button on my jeans, desperate to get rid of the rough fabric separating our reacting bodies. He was wearing only his boxers, and he was already pressing against me, and I’d spent too many hours in mildly uncomfortable lingerie for him to miss it.

His mouth left mine and trailed back to my ear. “What does Meg want?” He eased my arms over my head and my shirt up, hands roaming over hot skin. “Did she miss me?”

“Wh..what makes you say that?” I gasped and squirmed against him as his teeth grazed my earlobe.

He didn’t say anything for a moment as he pulled my shirt over my head, then helped me out of my jeans, tossing my clothes to the floor. On his knees, he surveyed me, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“I really missed you,” he whispered as he leaned forward and tangled his fingers in my hair and his lips crashed into mine again and we passed the point of no return.

Later, as we lay entwined and sweaty in the unfamiliar bed, Brian pressed his lips to my forehead.

“Yep,” he whispered. “Youuuu missed me.”

I pinched his stomach, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I’d been dreaming for weeks of this moment and the passionate minutes that had preceded it, at times so vividly that I’d woke up aching.

He tilted my chin up and kissed me, a kiss that stretched on for what could have been hours as he pulled me on top of him. He ran his hands over my hips, moving higher, and I caught them and pinned them over his head.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered against my lips. “I planned out this whole day.”

I pulled back and smiled down at him, batting my eyelashes. “So did I, and I’m looking at it.”

He grinned back up at me. “Well, you know what I’m looking at? Besides a gorgeous woman in my bed?” He closed his eyes. “Right now, all I can see is…bacon.”

I let go of his hands and rolled off him. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“You love it.” He kissed my shoulder. “Let’s go make some breakfast.”

It was a long road to the kitchen after he walked out of the room. I snatched my panties and his T-shirt off the floor, wandered down to the expansive bathroom to brush my teeth, got distracted by fantasizing about his massive whirlpool tub. My hair was hopeless, and the stubble that had rubbed so tantalizingly against my neck as he nuzzled me had left red patches here and there, but there was no keeping the thoroughly satisfied smirk off my face, not even as I shoved a toothbrush into my mouth.

“Michaels, you sly dog,” I said to my smirking, bright-eyed reflection through a mouthful of toothpaste. I spat pale blue into the sink and grinned into the mirror again. “You minx, you.”

In the kitchen, Brian stood in front of the stove, still shirtless, his back to me. I was sure I had wandered into a romance novel. I leaned against the huge pine table and arched my back in a stretch as I glanced around, admiring the granite countertops, the exposed brick wall, the sunlight pouring in. Some bachelor pad.

“You sure you should be frying bacon naked?” I said to his back.

“I wouldn’t be the first in the band to try it.” He glanced over his shoulder. A sinful smile split his face. “Damn, Miz Michaels. That’s dangerous, walking around like that. I might not let you out of the house after all.”

“Make up your mind, Littrell.” I joined him at the stove and took over the bacon, letting him focus on the pancakes bubbling up on a griddle nearby.

He reached over and pinched my ass. His voice was low. “You’re a sexy, sexy girl.”

Well. Maybe it wasn’t bacon he was hungry for after all. I insinuated myself between him and the stove, running my hands over his chest. “You’re a hot mess,” I whispered seductively, planting a kiss on his chin. “But definitely hot.”

His voice deepened even more, and he wiggled his hips against mine. “You’re too sexy for your shirt, so sexy it hurts,” he sang.

Moment over. I pushed him away, gently. “Obviously. That’s why I took yours. So, what are we doing today that you wanted to get out of bed at all?” I turned back to the bacon and gave it a flip, releasing a loud, satisfying sizzle that almost drowned out the new growling of my stomach.

“Nothing. I was just hungry.” He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. “No, I thought we’d go down to the Highlands. It seems like your kind of place. Lots of record stores and…indie stuff. Hipsters. The song of your people.”

I smiled. “Is that what you really want to do today? That’s thoughtful.”

He leaned back just enough to very unsubtly eye my ass, the wolfish grin back on his face. “Course it’s not.”

It took us another two hours to get out of the house, half an hour of which was spent fooling around in the shower. By then, the shadows had already grown short beneath us. It was a chilly day, and the air felt crisper than it usually did in New York. I inhaled deeply and pulled my snuggly cardigan closer around me, fluffing up like a bird.

“I know. Fresh air, right?” Brian smiled at me as he opened the front passenger door of his blue Jeep for me. “Why do you think I left L.A.?”

We rolled down side streets lined with mature trees and big, unpretentious houses like Brian’s rambling brick ranch house. They looked like the homes of doctors and lawyers, maybe a professional athlete with nothing to prove – not a world-famous musician.

“Did you always live over here?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I just bought this house last year. Used to be up on the bluffs by the country club.” He smirked, but there was no mirth in it. “That front yard wouldn’t’ve fit in my new house. Real people don’t need that kind of space.”

I knew what I was about to say might be mean, but I didn’t stop myself. I didn’t look at him, either, though. I didn’t want to see the look on his face. “Are you a real person?”

There was silence from the other side of the car, but only for a moment. ”I am here,” he said finally, warmly. “No bodyguards. No fans. No TMZ.”

We parked on a busy street, full of quaint storefronts and fancy sidewalks. He pulled an old UK cap low over his eyes and hopped out to open my door. We were in front of a little coffeeshop and a tattoo parlor. Across the street was ahuge record store. My eyes widened, and my feet threatened to carry me across the road on autopilot, but Brian grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the café.

“Papa needs caffeine,” he said.

I looked longingly over my shoulder at the record store as we walked into the café. “You act like you don’t have a coffeemaker,” I grumbled.

Inside the coffeeshop, the air was thick with java beans, and a peppy old Mescaleros song was on the PA. Half a dozen people sat at tables and on sofas, staring at laptops. A couple of 20something women in leggings nursed steaming white mugs. A black guy with a shaved head and stretched earlobes, assuredly still in college, was the only person to look up when we walked in.

“How’s it going?” he greeted Brian. “Caramel latte, right?”

Brian pointed a little shooter finger at him, pulling out his wallet with the other hand. “You got it. To go. And for the lady…” He looked expectantly down at me.

“Um, just a chai,” I said. The smell of coffee was overwhelming, so that I could hardly breathe, but it seemed tacky to order a Diet Coke here.

The barista smiled at us. “You the girlfriend?”

“My reputation precedes me.” I looked up at Brian, who smiled and touched the small of my back.

“I’ve been coming here a lot to write,” he said. “Lotta musicians around here. David’s been taking care of me.” He nodded at the barista, who beamed as the espresso machine whirred.

“He’s gonna listen to my demo. Right, bruh?” David’s dark eyes were wide and eager.

Brian shrugged. “Anytime. Just let me know when it’s done.”

I glanced around the café. I felt like a searchlight was shining directly on Brian, like neon arrows were pointing to us. Even on his climactic visit to New York last month, a city of millions of souls, a few fans had stopped him in the course of our one day out. But here? Here he was just another guy. Maybe the hipsters of the Highlands could have cared less about him, but weren’t there a few ironic ‘90s fans here who recognized him from old posters?

“How do the other guys stand it?” I asked Brian as we stepped back out into the sunshine, cups in hand. I nestled my hand in the crook of his arm. “My God, you get to live.”

He blew at the opening in his cup and took a long drink, wincing at the heat. “They like the pace a little better. I’m pretty much an old geezer.”

“Don’t tell Howie that.” I popped my sunglasses back on and eyed the record store. “Please say we’re going across the street now.”

He kissed my hair, and I heard the smile in his voice. “As you wish.”

The Princess Bride reference wasn’t lost on me. I pulled back and smiled up at him. “I’m a very lucky lady.”

He studied me for a moment, then scrunched his nose and just shook his head a little, that private smile on his face, the one that had won me over all those weeks ago.

The record store was two whole stories, long aisles crammed with CDs and records, and I quickly lost myself in the vinyl. They had Blonde on Blonde dirt-cheap, and I snapped it up; I hadn’t listened to it in years. They had Band of Horses’ first album, too, and I’d never seen it on vinyl; I grabbed that one, too. And that was only in the first few letters of the alphabet.

“When do I get to sit outside a fitting room while you model sexy clothes?” Brian was standing opposite me in the next aisle, flipping through records with considerably less focus.

“In your wildest dreams,” I said. I took a drink of my chai, which was getting cold, and ran my fingers over the little ridges the stack of records formed. “You knew what you were getting into with me. Did you know I used to work at one of these?” I looked back up at him with an unabashedly geeky smile.

He returned my smile. “You mentioned it once or twice. Your stepdad’s friend. I pay attention.” He glanced back down at the records, pulled out something at random and held it up. “You want some Men at Work?”

I squinted at the cover art – Australian edition, very nice – and plucked it from his hand. “Don’t hate. ‘Who Can It Be Now?’ is my fucking jam.”

“You sure have a lot of jams.” Brian was shaking his head as I shoved this third record under my arm.

“You and I are music people.” I smiled at him. “Not the same kind of music people, but don’t you listen to everything you can get your hands on?”

He pointed at his find, laughing. “Not that. I don’t even know what chundering is.”

“You don’t make fun of my New Wave phase, and I won’t make fun of yours.”

Brian made a dismissive sound. “I bet you were an infant when that record dropped.”

“And I bet you were already old enough to be attractive,” I teased.

Brian narrowed his eyes at me. “I bet you were already old enough…” he mimicked me under his breath.

“What’s that?” I went back to rifling through records.

“Shut up, Richard,” he muttered in the same voice.

Two hours later, the sun was a little lower in the sky, and I had five records. Even Brian had one. No one had bothered us.

“So, now what?” I asked Brian as we drove away.

“Wanna go see how baseball bats are made?”

I gave him my most polite smile. “If that’s what you want to do.”

He grinned. “I don’t. Wanna go day-drink bourbon?”

Ten minutes later, we bellied up to a bar in an old firehouse. The place was deserted. There was a Merle Haggard record on the PA. The bartender looked like a sorority girl, but drawled and cracked gum like a tough old broad in a diner. I ordered something with lemon and honey, Brian a Knob Creek, and she poured them with an acrobatic wrist and slid them nonchalantly across the bar.

Brian clinked glasses with me. His eyes crinkled as they met mine over the glass. “This is how I knew, you know.”

I took a drink, which left a delicious line of heat through my chest, and looked around. “I don’t remember that, uh, fateful honky-tonk trip being quite this laid-back.”

“Nah, not this part.” He took a long sip of his whiskey. “The second time I drank with you. On the bus. That was how I knew, you know, this wasn’t just going to be a little flirting.”

“Which, really, you’re just about paid to flirt,” I pointed out, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “That stings. I’m trying to be romantic.”

“Well. You know.” I studied the way the light filtered through my drink. “I’m not so good at that.”

He nudged me, and when I looked up, he winked at me. “You’re good at being you. Keep doing that. No, you were all silvery in the moonlight, with your hair all wild and free, and you touched my hand and…” He smiled and covered my hand with his, an echo of that night. The world narrowed to his blue, blue eyes. “It was like being electrocuted. In a good way. That was the first time I thought about kissing you.”

A sigh came from neither of us. We both looked at the bartender, who was a few feet away, her elbows on the bar, listening to us with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Really?” I said to her, and she scurried away to help a nonexistent customer.

I turned my attention back to Brian. “I’m awfully glad you waited. I’ll never think of a hotel hallway the same way again,” I said lightly.

He played with my fingers. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, more seriously.

I laced my fingers through his. “I’m glad I’m here, too. I miss you, sweetie.” The word “sweetie” felt foreign on my tongue as I said it, but what did it hurt to try it on for size?

He took another drink of whiskey. “So how do you like my old Kentucky home?”

I studied the bricks above the bar, arranged into a diamond pattern. “How can I say? It’s only been a few hours. I…like that the air isn’t full of smog. I like that it doesn’t take an hour to get everywhere. I like that you’re a regular person here.” I smiled at him. “Mostly, I like that you’re here.”

The bartender was back. She harrumphed. “God, you two.”

“We’ll take the check.” I scowled back at her. “Hater.”

In the car, our drinks a memory, Brian said, “So. The next place we’re going. You brought something nice, right?”

I ran through my suitcase in my head as the trees and storefronts and old houses passed us by. “Define ‘nice.’”

“They won’t let me in without a jacket.”

I was pretty sure there was a dress in my suitcase. That purple sheath dress I’d bought for someone’s wedding, sometime, somewhere. I’d packed in a hurry before work yesterday. God, yesterday. It seemed like a million miles away from this friendly place, with its whiskey and crisp air.

“We’ll make it work,” I said to him.

“Good. It’s a 7:30 reservation.” He reached over and squeezed my thigh with a purpose that surprised me. When I looked at him, he waggled his eyebrows at me. “I was thinking since we have to take off our clothes anyway…”

Piano keys tinkled throughout the car. Nick’s name appeared on the radio display. Brian made a face at me and pressed a button on the steering wheel. “What up, dawg.”

Nick’s voice filled the car. “Wow, you answered. Why aren’t you having sex?”

I shushed Brian silently. “Funny you should ask that,” I said out loud to Nick.

“MEG!” Nick practically shouted. “What the fuck is up, lady?”

I snickered. “Not Brian’s dick, since you picked now to call.”

Nick roared with laughter. Brian’s ears went from zero to beet-red in about half a second, but he, too, started laughing hysterically. The Jeep wobbled a little.

“Hey, now. My voice turns all kinds of people on.” Nick’s voice got low and seductive. “I got those panties dropping all the way to Argentina.”

“Not these panties,” I said. I winked at Brian, and we shared a filthy grin. “That’s your boy’s job.”

“Yeah, yeah. So whatch’all doin’?”

“Driving back to the house from doing awesome, non-sexual things,” I said.

Nick sounded disappointed. “How awesome could they be? Damn it, Rok, you failed me.”

Brian was still chortling a little. He wiped his eyes. “You calling for a reason, broseph?”

“Yeah. Did you see that bullshit email from Lori?”

Brian frowned. “No. I haven’t really looked at my phone much today. What’s it about?”

“Ahhh, something about Prague. You probably oughta weigh in.”

“All right, I’ll get online when I get home,” Brian said. “Sorry,” he mouthed to me.

When we got back to the house, Brian kissed my cheek and made a beeline down the hallway. I set down my bag of records on a fat leather couch in the living room. I’d never noticed how cozy this place looked in the daylight, with its leather and its fireplace and its painting of a bluegrass field. There was a TV tucked away in the corner, unobtrusive. I plopped down on the couch and instantly regretted it – not because it was uncomfortable, but because I knew I’d never get up.

A duck quacked in my purse. I fished out my phone and found a text from Alicia: “Having a good time? (And by a good time, I mean a lot of sex)”

My ears were warm this time. “Why does everyone keep asking me that last part?” I typed back.

Her next text popped up quickly: “Long distance relationship with guy I would go straight for (nothing personal)? Of course I’m asking.”

I grinned, no, probably leered. “Yes and yes. Kentucky is nice. Brian is nice. Not walking like John Wayne yet, probably by tomorrow…”

Alicia’s next text took a few minutes to come through: “Peggy Jo you sly dog ;) I’ll let you get back to it”

I put my phone away and glanced around. It was anyone’s guess how long Brian’s business was going to take. I hauled myself out of the cushions, with some difficulty, and wandered into the kitchen. Brian had told me we were having a big dinner, but my stomach was growling something fierce. I opened the fridge and found a forlorn-looking cup of strawberry yogurt in the door. I tried not to look at the expiration date. Probably what was left of an abortive attempt to eat like an adult, not that I’d ever made such an attempt. I opened drawers in search of a spoon.

“You snoopin’ on me?” came a Southern-fried voice from the doorway. I looked up, and Brian was walking toward me.

I smiled at him. “You get your business squared away?”

“Yeah.” He came over to stand next to me as I finally located a spoon. I felt something against my hair, heard him inhale slowly and smiled a little to myself. “My job’s not that unique. We have bullshit emails and meetings, too.” He ran his hand over the countertop. “You gonna eat?”

I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t. Everyone already assumed it was all we were doing.

“Not this,” I said mischievously, and took off down the hall.

I got about halfway down the hallway before strong arms circled my waist and lifted me off the floor. I kicked and squealed the entire rest of the way to the bedroom, even as warmth spread through my body.

Brian tossed me onto the bed and started tickling me like crazy. I tried to tickle him back, but he grabbed my hands and pinned them over my head.

“You can’t tickle me if you don’t have hands,” I gasped. He tried moving one of my hands to his other hand, but I yanked my hand free and started tickling his stomach. “Foiled!”

“Stop! STAHP!” He leaned forward and blew a raspberry on my neck.

“Aw, gross!” I wiggled out from under him and across the bed, grabbing for a pillow.

Neither of us moved. Both our laughter died down. He reached out for me. “C’mere. I’m not gonna get into your pants right now.”

I snuggled into his arms. “Should I feel insulted?”

He kissed my forehead, playing with my hair. “Let me hold you. This is the best.”

“This is the best.” I inhaled his scent. “I miss you.”

“Don’t miss me yet.” I looked up at him, and he kissed me softly. “Miss me Monday. Enjoy us now.”

We almost didn’t make our 7:30 dinner reservation – not because of sex, but because we fell asleep cuddling. Somewhere, Nick and Alicia were probably both chastising us for being lame. At any rate, the sun was down when we got back in the car.

We drove for a long time and finally parked on the outlot of a hospital. The restaurant seemed totally out of place, an old plantation house surrounded by strip malls, a Whole Foods sign glowing green across the street.

Brian cut the engine. “Corbett’s. The ambiance isn’t much from the outside, but this is the best restaurant in Louisville. Probably in Kentucky.”

I smiled at him. “You spoil me.”

“How else am I gonna impress a girl who lives in New York?”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Please, you act like I actually eat at these high-class places. I’d have been just as impressed with a really great slice of pizza.”

“Oh, well, in THAT case.” Brian made a show of moving his hand back to the keys. Instead, he leaned across the car and kissed me softly. “You should be spoiled, girl,” he said more seriously. “It’s my pleasure.”

I smiled into his eyes, so close to mine. I would never deserve this man. “Be careful what you wish for,” I said, and kissed him again, briefly. “Are you always gonna be this nice to me?”

He nuzzled his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss. His grin turned shitty. “Probably not. But I’ll damn well try.”

There was something different about Brian as we walked into the restaurant. Maybe it was just that I’d never seen him wear a suit offstage, or that he gave the hostess a different name when she pulled up our reservation, or that everything felt a little sexier inside the upscale old house. It was the sort of place where you sit up a little straighter, keep your voice a little lower and try not to slurp your drink. Much. I smoothed the skirt of my purple sheath dress over my legs and tried to keep my knees together.

It wasn’t until the salads were cleared away that I realized exactly what was different about him. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it sooner.

“You took your contacts out,” I said.

He glanced at me over the tops of wire-rimmed glasses. “I had a headache,” he said, a little defensively. I kept staring at him until he sighed. “I wanted to make double-sure we didn’t get recognized. This place is too special.”

Of course. A date would never be just a date. He couldn’t wear a hat here, so of course he needed a disguise. It wasn’t quite a bucket of cold water – more like a dripping faucet, a constant little annoyance I would have to learn to ignore. A hat. Glasses. I supposed I should be thankful he wasn’t wearing a Groucho Marx mustache. I pushed it all from my mind.

“It’s beautiful.” I glanced around: candlelight, fresh flowers, windows framed in white wood, music so soft you could barely hear it. The servers seemed to materialize out of the walls when our glasses or plates were empty. “And the food is out of this world. I don’t know where I’ll put it all. I should have brought a looser dress.”

“You’re beautiful. And you find a place here even if it makes your stomach hurt.” He grinned. “The prix fixe is the only way to go. The menu’s a little overwhelming otherwise. I told you. It’s the best.”

I swirled my wine around in my glass. The best restaurant in Kentucky, hiding in plain sight next to a hospital. The disguise. I couldn’t ignore it, now that I’d noticed it. It all felt a bit like a hiding place.

“Why here, Brian?” I knew it was abrupt, but I plunged on. “I mean, really, why Louisville? I’m not complaining, but everything about this day has felt so random.”

He stared out the window, into a little garden patterned with moonlight. “Well, I mean, I knew we were going to end up back in Kentucky if we left L.A.,” he said. “I wanted to be in a city. It just made more sense. It’s close enough to my family. Mom and Dad are still in Lexington. My brother and his family are 40 minutes out. It’s…home. It’s my own version of home.”

He smiled a little. “There was no way I was moving back to Lexington. It’s like science fiction going back there.”

“Do you do it much?”

“I try, whenever I have Baylee. I’ll be there for Thanksgiving.” He didn’t quite meet my eyes as he took a drink of wine. “You could be too,” he said in a rush.

I bent my head, trying to catch his eyes. I bit my lip with pleasure. “What’s that, Littrell?”

He set down his glass, cleared his throat and looked me in the eye. “Will you, Meg, spend Thanksgiving with me? There, I got it out there.”

It was this or White Plains with Alicia’s family. I didn’t hesitate. Hell, it was only money. “God, yes. Will your family mind?”

Brian reached for my hand. “My mother will kill me if you don’t.”

I didn’t pull my hand away, letting his warm touch linger. His eyes sparkled in the candlelight. I forgot the disguise in the face of that warm smile. Was this how it would always be? Fits and starts? Weeks of nothing but talking and longing, broken up by weekends of deep bonding and forward motion? Losing time and making up for it?

I turned my hand over and squeezed his. “Does this weekend feel like…I don’t know…progress…to you?”

He ran his thumb over the palm of my hand. “It always will,” he said softly. “I think that’s just how this goes. We steal these weekends and make them count.”

Words were bubbling to the surface, fighting to find their way out of my mouth. I could see them in his eyes, too. Why else would he have asked why I liked it here?

“It won’t always be just weekends.” My eyes dropped to our hands. “Will it?”

“That’s not really for us to say yet, is it?” His other hand joined ours. “So let’s just focus on dinner. And dessert. And second dessert.” I met his eyes, and he winked at me. “And one thing at a time.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the server approaching. I withdrew my hands, but I nodded at him and smiled. One thing at a time. Tomorrow would come when it came. And the next day, and the day after that. There was nothing more we could do. There was nothing I’d rather do.