Caught Like A Fly

I almost kissed Jacky Vincent, I thought to myself incredulously, my hand over my mouth like it was trying to protect even the smallest trace of something he left there. The almost rankled me, but now Connor knew better than to go searching for me, especially when I didn't want to be found. I made my way back to the dressing room, and surprisingly, Jacky was still there.

"Why are you still lurking in here?" I asked him, leaving the door open. My muscles twitched when they realized he was in there and tried to make me go to him and pick up where we left off. Well, my brain might have agreed, but something stopped me.

"I don't feel like meeting fans right now," he said, shrugging. "My band has to come back in here before we leave, so this is the best place to wait." The silence was awkward, and I let myself sit down next to him on the ratty sofa. When I turned to face him, I didn't have a whole lot of time to react before he leaned over and pressed his lips against mine. Have you ever had that flooded feeling in your brain, where it's like every drop of blood in your body goes into your skull and numbs you for a few seconds and threatens to make you pass out? I was glad it only lasted moments because I was only able to enjoy it for a whole three seconds before the loud, raucous noises from the hallway announced the return of his band.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said under his breath, his voice husky and close enough for me to feel it on my lips. "Somebody up there doesn't want this to happen."

"Obviously," I said wryly, and we were back to a comfortable foot and a half apart by the time Ronnie and crew came through the door.

"Judging by the dirty looks we're getting, we interrupted something," said Ryan, pointing to each of us in turn. "Come on Jacky, we have to go."

"I know," he said, and turned to me with a half-smile. "Let me put my number in your phone."

"Andy! We found it!" Connor shouted from the open door. I warned him about setting foot in here while Jacky and I were inside. "You won't believe this. It got switched with another band's bass guitar, we found it in their van!"

"I am stuck," I started, seething, "with idiots."

"I'll be around for a couple of weeks," Jacky said slowly, showing only a slight resistance to being dragged to the van. "The Starbucks down the street? Tomorrow morning?"

"I'll be there!" He had been taken all the way down the hallway and I had to shout for him to hear me, but I could see his perfect white smile before the door slammed shut behind them.

* * *

"Jacky, what the fuck!" Ronnie said after we were all in the van and on our way down the street. "I'm all for you having fun, but--"

"Look, I know it was wrong," I interrupted, feeling a combination of hatred for myself and the desire to do it again. "It's so unlike me."

"Uh, yeah," said Derek, turning from the front passenger seat to look at me sympathetically. "We'll keep our mouths shut."

"She'll get it out of you," I said, very sure of that. "She always calls when she sees you drunk tweeting."

"Well, you've never cheated on her before, maybe she won't believe us," Ronnie said weakly, and shied away from my glare. "I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help."

"You could always break up with Marianne," Ryan suggested, and I hated how much my heart leaped happily at that idea. "She's already made it clear she's staying in London."

"Her modeling career is going really well," I argued, and it was the same thing I said every time they brought up her unwillingness to come to America. "She has shoots every week now."

"Do what makes you happy, dude," Ronnie said with his hands held up. "You will never love your life until you are happy with yourself. Trust me."

With that advice, I closed my eyes and put in my earphones. I needed to think, and Motley Crue would do nicely. I had a lot to think about.

* * *

I hoped Jacky knew how special he was to have my ass out of bed before nine in the morning. When he said "morning" I didn't know exactly what time, and I was afraid to text him too early. I didn't like to appear too eager, but I thought that seven in the morning was reasonable. By seven thirty, I decided that it was okay to send a quick text.

What time did you want coffee? I jumped in my seat when he texted back a few seconds later.

Now :) I'm almost there. Perfect. Maybe I wouldn't seem overeager after all.

"Come on," said Jacky the moment he stepped through the door. He was in full show attire, his hair perfectly in place and aviator sunglasses over his eyes. The short story, he was beautiful. He insisted on paying for our coffees and led me to the most secluded table in the building.

"Are you normally up this early?" I asked, forcing my hands to stay still on the table. I wanted to rub my eyes, but they were thickly lined with eyeliner and it wouldn't have been pretty.

"Honestly?" he asked, taking off his sunglasses, grinning and looking down at the table like he was nervous. "No. I'm never up this early."

"Me either," I said, allowing a yawn to come from my mouth. "Ugh, last night was insane. You guys killed it."

"So did you," he said, leaning back in his chair. "They picked an awesome opener."

"Now you're just being nice," I said, waving a hand. "Does your band know you're here?"

"No," he said flatly, and I could sense there was something significant behind that simple answer. "They're still sleeping."

"Yeah, mine too," I said, quickly finding a different subject. "Connor would kill me if he knew I was here with you right now."

"He seems to be very protective of you," Jacky said, his mood perking right back up.

"I don't know what his problem is," I said, feeling the familiar irritation every time Connor's name was spoken. "We dated for like, three months in high school and he's been obsessed with me ever since. I don't get it."

"I think I do," he said, and now I was looking down at the table, concentrating on a spec that the barista must have missed. "It really sucks when girls don't care."

"Yeah, but with Connor it's different," I argued, and Jacky lifted an eyebrow. "It is! He likes the idea of me, not me as a person."

"How can you tell?"

"You would understand if you spent a day with him around," I said, quirking my mouth up to the left. "Well, I know you started guitar early and that you got into rock music from the first Guns 'n' Roses album when you were six. I don't stalk you, I swear. Okay, maybe a little."

"You're too sweet," he said, that smile of his affecting me more the more often he did it. "I um, know that you stole your first guitar from your spoiled cousin, you didn't start playing until you were almost sixteen and you started in your youth group worship team. I don't stalk you either."

"Wow, you almost quoted my bio on our Facebook!"

"I couldn't show up clueless, it would be inappropriate when you know the basics about me," he said, taking a drink of his hot coffee. During the awkward moment of silence, I had counted every single light fixture before he cleared his throat and laughed nervously.

"I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this," I said, running my hand through my hair nervously. "My guitar makes me comfortable around everyone, and it's nowhere near here--" The very last thing I expected him to do was lean over the table and shut up my anxious rambling with those lips. Not that I was complaining. We were barely visible to the people at the counter, let alone the customers waiting in line.

"I'm not normally like this," he said, sitting back down and every move he made said he was embarrassed. "You bring out a very odd, hidden side of me; I'm not sure how I feel about it."

"So you don't go kissing girls all the time?" I asked breathlessly, my hand on my chest to calm myself down. He shook his head and hid his face in his coffee. "I guess that should make me feel special."

"Yeah, definitely special," he said, wiping his forehead. "I need to tell you something that you don't already know before this gets any worse." Worse? I thought, feeling my face droop a little in confusion. "There's this girl back in London, and well, um...fuck! Why is this so hard? I have a girlfriend in London."

"You live here, though," I said, feeling instantly different. Of course he had a girlfriend. If he was single, there would be something wrong with him.

"She won't leave," he said, sighing. This sounded like a problem that had been plaguing him for some time. "I talked her into following her fashion dream and now she's finally getting somewhere. I tried to tell her that L.A. has a lot to offer, but her heart is in London." A model? I was up against a fucking MODEL?!

"That sucks," I said as emotionless as possible. "Will you go back to London?"

"I don't think so," he said, looking outside. "I like it here. I love being in a band with Ronnie, and I love my band mates. Music is my life, fashion is hers." The longing in his voice stung.

"I think I'm going to marry my guitar," I said, and he laughed at my piss-poor attempt to cheer him up. "I'm dead serious. It will never lie to me, it won't make fun of me and it doesn't care if I get fat..."

The mood lifted again and we were back to our carefree conversation, but the lingering feeling of disappointment and the vivid memory my lips had made it hard to feel bad about being the other woman.