Even Lovers Drown

Pink crept up Blake's neck, enflaming her tan skin. Her lips spread in a broad smile, forcing a crinkle to the bridge of her nose. Excitement radiated from her vibrant blue eyes. Seemingly unsure of what to do, she fidgeted on her feet, looked down, and, in an awkward fashion, mumbled an "Oh." It wasn't the response Saylor expected, Blake capable of turning on charm in a heartbeat, but this was the real Blake. The adorable awkward, unsure behavior shined in the midst of out-of-the-ordinary situations. Saylor liked it, found no threat in the way Blake behaved

For a split second, she wondered how Blake's exes felt about the other sides to Blake, wondered if they had been allowed close enough to witness her uncertainty, but squelched the thought. Blake's exes were unimportant. What mattered was what Saylor thought of Blake, what she saw and felt.

Saylor placed a finger under Blake's chin and tipped her head up, forcing her pretty blue eyes into view again. "Let's go eat."

Meeting Saylor's green eyes knocked Blake out of the goofy happiness that struck her. The adoring comment made in sultry voice caught her off-guard, was a surprise attack on her emotions. She had no time to hold back the stupid reaction. She hadn't been prepared and she had embarrassed herself.

"Right, we should go eat." Blake slid her arms from Saylor's waist and shoved them in her pockets, an action stemming from her mortification. "Um, where are we eating?"

"I heard there's a café," Saylor said, grabbing Blake's wrist and tugging one hand from it's hiding spot. "We should go there." And she grasped Blake's unhidden hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.

Blake looked at their clasped hands, almost doubting it, blaming her mind for making figments of her imagination realistic. But she wasn't imagining the hold. Saylor wasn't thrown off or repelled by her awkward response. She still wanted to be near her, to go eat with her.

She met Saylor's soft expression, corners of her lips tugging upward. Far more sedated external signs of excitement in comparison to her pervious actions, but she was just as excited, if not more. Her heart beat against her ribcage, audible tempo to her ears. Her stomach squirmed and flipped. And she hid it under a small smile.

"I'm down."

***

"You know what you should do?" Blake asked from her perch on the front merch table. "Put up the most expensive item and claim it's all we're selling."

Saylor stared up at her, the box of sweatshirts she chose as a seat putting her at a height disadvantage. Tapping her head, insinuating Saylor think about her "ingenious" idea, Blake sipped from her water bottle. In attempt to get out of unloading more boxes than she felt necessary, she had been creating plans to alleviate their work load since breakfast, inserting her ideas into the middle of their conversation, sending her texts on the way to the venue, spouting fragments of plans in-between grunts while they carried boxes to the table. None of her plans were plausible.

Sarah and Jenny insisted she tell Blake otherwise every time she received a new text and add ridiculously sexual offers as reward for Blake's critical thinking.

But they were done unloading boxes and were waiting for Davy to show up for the sake of setup. Attempting any of Blake’s plans at that point would mean reloading boxes, extra work.

"I can't do that," Saylor said.

"How about putting up the least expensive item?"

"That's a button."

The button in mind was awfully expensive for such a simplistic pattern. On a black background, the words "Say Goodbye," the band's name, stretched in light blue script and nothing more. She supposed, to a fan, the price meant little. In fact, many fans bought the particular button. Saylor wasn't a music fan, though, didn't obsess over bands to the extent she would want such a button. Judgment couldn't be passed on the rabid fans.

"With my face on it?" Blake asked. "You could sell all the buttons in one night."

"Except your pretty face isn't on it."

"Pretty" didn't do Blake's features justice, but no word could suffice. Saylor didn't think any single word could capture the beauty she saw in her, physically and emotionally. Blake was everything she needed, everything she wanted, and one word couldn't project how she felt when she looked at her and thought of any future with her.

"My face is pretty, isn't it?" Blake asked.

Her voice was laden in mock-cocky tone, the statement one of joking nature. It was better than acting on her body's natural reaction, to fidget on the table with a goofy smile on her face while obnoxious warmth coursed through her veins. Each of Saylor's compliments, even when said casually in conversation, made her feel the same. They weren't things she hadn't heard before from fans, interviewers, and magazines, but they meant more coming from Saylor.

"The prettiest," Saylor responded.

"Guess what I think."

"What?"

Blake slid from the table, leaving her seat to stand in front of Saylor in the tight space. Bending at the waist, she brought her face close and destroyed the height difference their positions had created. Her hands rested on the box, taking spots on either side of Saylor's legs. Green eyes stared into hers, breath tickled her lips, and she couldn't help herself. She closed the distance between their lips, the comment she meant to make unimportant. Soft lips responded to hers without hesitation. The gentle rhythm, what had become their natural tempo over the course of unloading, sent sparks to Blake's center.

She could never get enough of this, of being able to kiss someone who meant something to her, of the feelings she got from something so simple. It was just a kiss, but no one had made her feel the same way doing more. And she didn't want what they had already to end, just to flourish.

Breaking the kiss but keeping close, Blake mumbled, "Your face is gorgeous."

The corners of Saylor's eyes crinkled, her smile evident though Blake couldn't see her lips. Those smiling lips met hers in a short, sweet kiss, sending another spark through her.

"Thank you," Saylor mumbled when she pulled away.

Her voice was soft, delicate, as if she would start crying. As if telling her something as silly as her face looked gorgeous warranted tears. "Katie," the name Saylor desperately said in her sleep, wormed her way into Blake's mind. She had done this. Blake knew she had. Saylor's emotional state was still fragile, still in need of strengthening. Blake stifled anger at the unknown woman, choosing to enjoy being near Saylor instead. Being angry at someone she didn't know wouldn't help.

"Maybe we should put your face on a button," Blake continued, hoping to lighten the situation. "We could sell so many."

Saylor laughed and nudged her shoulder with a gentle hand. "Shut up."

Laughing, Blake straightened and stretched her back before sitting on one of the boxes next to Saylor. She took Saylor's hand in hers, resting both in her lap.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Blake asked.

It was an important day, probably the most exciting for the whole crew.

"A day off, sleep in a hotel, and a warm shower? Definitely."

A free day. A day to do whatever they wanted without structure, without a performance looming overhead, without responsibilities. Being given the time off was better than getting a present on Christmas day. They were necessities, sometimes a break point between venues separated by long distance, sometimes for the sake of giving the crew much needed time to breathe. Whatever the reason for the upcoming day, it was happening and tour workers were already making plans for their time off.

"I hope it's not a sleazy motel," Blake said.

"As long as it has a shower, I don't care what cockroaches I have to share with."

"That's kind of gross."

"It is."

Saylor shivered, and Blake chuckled, squeezing her hand in reassurance. She understood her desperate need for a shower. Her first tour in the stalker van had the same results on her feelings towards small things like showers and beds. Lucky for Saylor, they had the money to stop at a couple decent hotels during their breaks. She hadn't had the same luxury when they first toured.

"I figured we could go on another date tomorrow," Blake said, "I mean, after you hangout with Davy, and I check out some music stores with the band."

"I'd love to."

"Okay, awesome. We could go out to eat or go see a movie or, uh," Blake paused, searching her mind for more date ideas. Coming up blank, she asked, "What else do people do on dates?"

She wanted to retract the words the moment she said them. Saylor didn't know about her crippling school experience, the teasing that left her insecure enough to give someone who never wanted her everything she could, the denied date invitation that shaped the rock star persona she grew into, the extent she was harassed after. Blake didn't want to talk about that, just as Saylor didn't want to talk about the pain she suffered.

But Saylor needed to know she hadn't experienced a real date, hadn't held a real romantic relationship, in her life. That she remained single for twenty-five years because of one terrible experience.

She didn't need to know the details of the terrible experience yet.

"Where do you usually take women to impress them on a date?" Saylor asked.

A backroom, her bedroom, her living room, her kitchen, the band's dressing room, sometimes a closet. Those weren't dates, though.

"I've never been on a date before," Blake said, "aside from the one we had."

Saylor's smile dropped, her eyebrows drew in confusion, but she didn't laugh or pull her hand away. The subconscious expected reaction, a negative one leaving Blake alone, didn't happen.

"Are you serious?" Saylor asked.

"Yeah."

"Haven't you ever taken your ex-girlfriends on dates?"

"I don't have any exes either."

"You've never had a girlfriend?"

"Never."

Silence waved over them. Blake held her breath, waiting for Saylor's response, but it didn't come. The soft lips she loved to kiss were parted, no response flowing from them in Saylor's shock. Thoughts pooled in Saylor's green eyes, and Blake couldn’t read a single one. Nothing Blake could gauge, nothing that could put her at ease.

Saylor looked into her lap, expressive eyes pulled from Blake's view. Her hand slid from Blake's and she stood from her box, walking to another. Saylor kneeled in front of it and began shifting through its contents, not once looking at her. Blake's heart plummeted, a sickening familiar feeling. Rejection. She tore her eyes away from Saylor, staring at the wall across from the table, her shoulders slouching.

She shouldn't have told her. Such a stupid fact, something she thought wouldn't matter, spoke volumes about her in Saylor's mind. She could only imagine what reasoning for her single-state she was creating. Commitment phobe. Unfaithful. Just another stupid rock star who wanted to play house. But she wasn't those things.

She wasn't.

"How does this look?"

Saylor's sultry voice dragged her from her thoughts. Blake's eyes drifted from the wall, landing on Saylor, whose anxious green eyes stared back at her. She looked at the item in question, a shirt from their merchandise stock held against Saylor's torso. Her voice caught in her throat, her intended response of "fine" trapped under unsure curiosity.

The image on the shirt was Blake's favorite, a picture of herself, tenderness radiating from her expression. That was the same shirt she pointed to at the first venue. The "Team Rainbow" shirt, the one "all the girls" on her "team" wore, the one she told Saylor to wear before making the mistake of inviting her on the bus for sex.

She met Saylor's eyes again. "What are you doing?"

"As your future first girlfriend, I think it's fitting I wear your shirt," Saylor said, "So, how does it look?"

Shock trapped her words, all ability to communicate cutoff. Heavy heartbeats resonated in her ear. Excitement jolted her nerves. Warmth encompassed her. Rapid flips of her stomach nearly made her sick with happiness. And the only thing she could do was jump from her seat, scoop Saylor into her arms, and seal their lips together.