Even Lovers Drown

Saylor rocked against Blake, seam of her jeans pressing into her clit. Her lover’s hands, eagerly grasping her ass, encouraged her movements. Their lips held each other, their tongues tangled. Saylor’s own hands braced her body, one placed on either side of Blake’s head against the cushion of her bunk.

She was surprised they made it as far as the bunk in their flurry of groping and stolen kisses, even more surprised they made the adult decision to keep their clothing on. Or was that disappointment at being deprived skin-to-skin contact before the stress of selling merchandise to pushy fans?

Geez, Saylor was feeling more and more like a horny teenager the longer their physical relationship lasted. Only a week since their first intimate touch in the shared hotel room—a week filled with not-so-secret trysts in Blake’s bunk, in “Employees Only” rooms, and once in the back of the merch U-Haul—and she was sure she was addicted.

To Blake.

How lovely.

Saylor broke their heated lip lock, dropping kisses from Blake’s lips to her jaw to her neck. Between feathery kisses, she nipped Blake’s skin, gentle bites she knew overwhelmed Blake’s senses. She was rewarded with a moan, the upward thrust of hips against her, tighter grip on her behind.

And the obnoxious jingle of Blake’s cellphone cut through the air.

Intent on ignoring the device, Saylor continued kissing Blake’s body, her lips trailing to her collarbone. If whoever was trying to contact her had something important to say, they would have called instead of leaving a text message.

Blake didn’t seem to see it that way.

One of her hands left Saylor to grab the offending object. Fingers better suited to perform much more important tasks below the waistband of her panties tapped the phone to life.

Blake sighed. “It’s from Sage.”

Saylor stopped her ministrations long enough to snatch the phone from her hand and slip it into the front pocket of her jeans. “And now, it’s gone.”

Melodious laughter tickled her ears, a sweet tingle of amusement. And then, in quick movements, Saylor was on her back, hands pinned over her head, the offending cellphone in Blake’s freehand. Her lips parted in silent shock, her eyes darted from the phone to Blake’s smirking face.

“How did you do that?” she asked.

Flipping her to her back in such a tight space, and so quickly, had to be impossible. But she managed just that and grabbed her phone in the process.

“Magic,” Blake responded and turned her attention to her cellphone.

Saylor pouted, hoping Blake’s eyes would stray from her phone long enough to catch her expression and that she would be prompted by the cute expression to drop her cell and continue their fun. It worked when they fooled around among the stacked boxes of the merch U-Haul.

But no such luck. Blake’s attention stayed on the phone, reading over the message and deftly typing a one-handed reply. Saylor let her pout fall, the cause no longer worthy of such wasted efforts. Their bunk play time would be cut short and no amount of sexy pouting could stop that.

Slipping her phone into her pocket, Blake met Saylor’s eyes again, apologetic smile gracing her pretty mouth. “Duty calls.”

“Fans backstage?” Saylor asked.

Initial sound check long since completed and her performance attire only in need of minor adjusting, Blake’s sole responsibility, aside from performing later that night, consisted of meeting fans. Real fans. Not the groupies that used to frequent Blake’s free time. People who wanted pictures and autographs and wanted to tell Blake how amazing she was and just wanted to be in the same space as their favorite band. Saylor couldn’t, wouldn’t, keep her from those fans.

“Yeah.” Blake pressed her lips to Saylor’s, a gentle kiss meant to end their fun instead of encourage it. When they’re lips broke apart, she kept her face close, the tips of their noses brushing. “I’ll walk you to the merch table.”

“I’d like that.”

Another kiss—this time on the tip of her freckled nose—a shining smile, and Blake removed herself from the bunk, releasing Saylor’s trapped limbs to carefully crawl out of the small space. Relief didn’t follow the loss of a body pinning her down, freedom to move didn’t lift nonexistent anxiety.

Because she could lay defenseless under Blake and not have cause for worry. She could like it. She didn’t have to be afraid.

Blake held out her hand, and Saylor took it, extracting herself from the bunk with the same caution her lover used. And she didn’t let go of Blake’s hand as they walked from the bunk hall, through the littered lounge, and off the bus. They’re hands remained locked, fingers laced, a romantic embrace to mimic their interrupted alone time.

“You know,” Blake said, maneuvering around a set of stagehands balancing last minute materials for the show. “We’ll have a few hours between sound check and the opener tomorrow.”

Saylor’s eyes locked with hers, curious gaze meeting excited one. “I know. Didn’t you say you were going to visit your mom then?”

She had. Saylor remembered the excited glint that lit Blake’s eyes when she mentioned visiting her mother, who she hadn’t gotten the chance to see since the recent divorce. Around touring, recording, and appearances, she didn’t have the time. Her mother’s move across the country didn’t help much either.

Blake opened the backstage door, let her enter first, and followed close behind, their hands not once unlocking.

“Well, I wanted to introduce you to her, so if you’re interested, you can come with us for coffee.”

“You want me to meet your mother?”

Doubt tinged Saylor’s voice, her eyebrow formed an elegant raised arch, hidden excitement did not illuminate her green eyes. She clearly did not share Blake’s feelings on the prospect of meeting her mother. And Blake figured she’d get a less than thrilled response, not necessarily unhappy, but not enthusiastic. Because meeting each others parents was something official couples did.

They weren’t an official couple.

But Blake wasn’t planning on introducing her to her mother under false pretenses. She would introduce her as just what she was, the woman she was dating, the woman she was developing a relationship with, the woman she hoped to make her girlfriend soon.

“I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to introduce you again,” Blake said, “It could be months, could be years. I want her to at least know who you are when we become tabloid official.”

“Tabloid official?”

“You know, when there are pictures of us in tabloids with headlines like ‘Who’s Blake Andrews’ New Belle’ or ‘Blake Andrews Says Goodbye to Single Life.’” She scrunched her nose, shook her head. “Okay, something more clever than that, but you get the point.”

“Your mom reads tabloids?”

“Weird, huh? She knows stories about me that are ten times more embarrassing and she still reads those damn things.”

Saylor laughed, the wary expression disappearing under amusement. Good, she was at ease. Maybe she would consider going without dread to cloud her judgment.

“You think she’d tell those stories to me?” Saylor asked.

“She wouldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

The scent of food bombarded Blake the moment they stepped into the main halls of the venue. Chili and hot dogs and pizza and fries and hamburgers and nacho cheese, all at once. Her stomach grumbled an angry reminder.

Crap, she forgot to eat lunch.

But the absolute delight that brightened Saylor’s eyes dimmed her thoughts of food. She seemed so happy at the prospect of hearing stories from her childhood, which made Blake that much happier she thought of inviting Saylor to meet her mother.

Perhaps this would be another step closer to Saylor telling her about her traumatizing past experience.

“What time should I be ready?”

A successful grin tugged the corners of her lips. “We’ll leave after sound check.”

Her stomach let out another low grumble. On subconscious whim, her eyes drifted from Saylor’s to the nearest food stand. To her delight, Davy was leaning against the counter, casually talking to one of the security guards.

Perhaps she could grab food before rushing backstage.

She steered Saylor in his direction, eager for an unhealthy snack to curb her hunger. Davy glanced at them, their appearance breaking his conversation, and smiled.

“Hey,” he said, “fan time?”

“Yeah.” Blake nodded to the food stand. “Do you know when their chili’s going to be ready?”

“Seven minutes.”

Looked like he had the same idea she had.

“Damn,” she grumbled.

“Do you want me to bring you a chilidog?” Saylor asked.

Her longing gaze snapped away from the workers preparing quick meals, landing on expecting green eyes. Saylor knew her order. But why wouldn’t she? They had eaten in the venue numerous times and Blake’s order wasn’t particularly difficult.

She still found pleasure in Saylor remembering what she liked to eat.

“Would you?” Blake asked.

“Absolutely.”

“I adore you,” she groaned, dropping a quick kiss on her lips to accent her statement.

“I know.”

Laughing, she kissed her cheek and reluctantly released her hand. “I have to run. I’ll see you both later.”

At their returned farewells, she turned and walked back through the venue, strides quick. Far quicker than she had taken the walk on the way to bring Saylor to her brother. She didn’t see a point in making Saylor jog through the venue. No matter how angry her late appearance would irritate Andy.

When she reached the dressing room door, marked by a sheet of paper reading “Say Goodbye,” she stopped, ran a hand through her hair to tame her tousled curls, and took a breath to even her breathing. She needed to appear artfully disheveled, not like she jogged a marathon.

Rushing through the venue felt like jogging a marathon.

Wasting no more time, she pushed the door open, easy smile on her lips. No one noticed her walk in, her band mates’ attention on a speed talking pixie of a woman—who gleefully recounted, well, Blake couldn’t quite tell what she was recounting, her words stumbling over one another—and the elegant woman nodding silent affirmation next to her.

“Sorry I’m late,” Blake said.

And everyone looked at her.

“You’re Blake Andrews,” the pixie chirped.

Animated blue eyes, long blonde hair left down to flow around her shoulders, short, and a tiny frame to match. She was the living incarnate of a nursery rhyme character.

“I am. It’s nice to meet you…” she trailed off, waiting for a name

“Mary.”

Had a little lamb. How fitting.

She nodded and turned to the taller woman. Her blue eyes chilled Blake’s veins, for what reason, she wasn’t sure. Her hair was ink black under the dim lights, her complexion pale. Underlying danger laced her smile.

“I’m Katie.”