Christie Road

The Cleveland show was the best one so far, by all standards. In the lobby after their performance, the boys were all but mobbed by enthusiastic press, and there was even a rumor floating around that someone from Rolling Stone might be in their midst. They rode the crest of the wave in a kind of dazed awe, occasionally looking to each other as if to make sure they weren't dreaming.

For a half hour, they stayed clustered together, giving group answers to the reporters' questions and posing for goofy photos, and the grins on all their faces were authentic, a reflection of the euphoria they felt. They could sense the excitement in the air, a tangible sea change that was catapulting them into heights they'd never reached before. It was happening, and happening fast.

Billie stuck it out for as long as he could, but finally the press of people and cameras around him was more than he could take, and the familiar feeling of claustrophobia started to tighten his chest. He nudged Tre lightly in the ribs, and Tre responded with a nod. The drummer suddenly leaned back, pounding on his chest with both fists, and let out a Tarzan yell that stunned the reporters momentarily. He grabbed one of the cameras, and charged across the room to the window, leaping onto the sill to turn the tables on the astonished photographers.

Billie took the opportunity to slip out and duck behind the curtain dividing the lobby from the sound room. He stood with his hands on his knees for a moment, allowing his breathing to slow. When he had calmed his pounding heart, he pulled the curtain aside a mere inch or so, peering out into the crowd.

She stood near the back, miraculously only a few feet away from where he hid, and her dark hair was a riot of messy spikes. Hands on her elbows, she appeared to be losing patience, as the toe of her creeper tapped rhythmically. She glanced at her watch, and Billie realized that if he didn't hurry, he was going to lose his chance.

"Psst," he whispered as softly as he could. She didn't respond, and rose to her tiptoes, craning her neck to try to see over the heads of the people around her. Carefully, trying not to attract attention, he reached out from behind the curtain and touched her shoulder.

She turned toward him slowly, a lazy smile curling her full lips. She had hazel eyes, almost catlike, and cheekbones that sloped away from a pixie's dainty nose. There was a toughness about her, and she had a playful, mischievous streak that mirrored his own. It intrigued him, almost as if she were a feminine incarnation of himself.

"So where the hell have you been?" she asked, arms crossed and lips pursed defiantly, but the smile still played around the corners of her mouth.

He had to stifle the laugh. She was brazen, and the effect she had over him was electric. Already he could feel the tightening of his jeans, and his hands itched to pull her toward him and take her lips right where they stood. "I had a few things to take care of," he chuckled, inclining his head toward the photographers. "How'd you like the show?"

She shrugged, only mildly impressed. "It was pretty good," she nodded. "You need to sing louder."

The fact that she hadn't fawned over him, praising him with every superlative in her vocabulary, stood in sharp contrast to the steady diet of adulation he'd been receiving for the last few months. She was vividly alive, intensely focused, fiercely herself, and it excited him unbearably.

"You didn't tell me your name this morning," he said, pushing the curtain aside for her.

"It's Griffin," she said, sliding her body smoothly around the velvet fabric. She had a catlike grace to match her eyes, and her movements were slow and sinuous. Her petite torso, beneath small, pert breasts, sloped into slim, smoothly curved hips, and he found it hard to tear his eyes away.

"I'm up here," she said, tapping underneath his chin with her knuckle. He blushed, realizing she'd followed his gaze.

"I'm--I'm sorry," he stammered, feeling foolish. Now he was being pulled into the gold flecked kaleidoscope of her eyes, and was helpless to resist.

"Don't let it happen again," she said in a voice that was low and commanding. "So what do we do now?" She rested one hand on her hip, watching him expectantly.

"Um, I thought maybe we could get some coffee, or maybe have a drink or something," he said, cursing himself for sounding like a nervous fifteen year old.

Her head tilted to one side as she weighed his offer. "I've got a better idea," she countered, and took his hand, pressing it to her midriff. "Where's the dressing room in this place?"

He thought the evil grin would split his face in two.

**********************

This had to be what the thirst of a man dying in the desert felt like. As the door snicked softly shut behind them, his hands flew to her waist, sliding around to explore the perky rear end he'd stared so rudely at as they walked up the hallway. She stood serenely, her fingers trailing lightly over his cheeks and along the line of his jaw, allowing him to touch her as he wished. His head inclined to the curve of her neck, leaving hot kisses under her ear, and her head tilted back slowly, her eyes drifting closed.

If he expected her to be aggressive, he was mistaken. Instead, she understood that she could control him most completely by doing very little, forcing him to earn a response. She was leisurely in her caresses, sparing with her sighs, her Mona Lisa smile tantalizing him, challenging him to try to shake her almost regal composure.

Hard to impress had always been his weakness.

Her hands slid to his shoulders, and when he swirled his tongue over the silky skin above her heart, he heard a tiny moan deep in her throat. He smiled against her, satisfied that he was breaking down her defenses. Was it her breath coming in ragged gasps, or his own? He couldn't be sure anymore.

Arms wrapped tightly around her, he took a careful step toward her, backing her toward the wall. Two steps, three, and then her back was pressed against the gold and tan wallpaper, her eyes blazing up at him. He slid a hand under her jaw, lifting her face to his, and when his mouth found hers, it was as if they were frenzied, desperate to melt together.

Her body pulled away from a fraction of an inch, just enough to allow her fingers to work their way down the front of his shirt to his studded belt. A quick tug at the buckle, and she deftly unbuttoned his jeans. When her hand crept gently inside the waist of his boxers, he groaned, almost losing control completely, and pushed the hem of her shirt up roughly to caress her flat belly.

He never heard the click of the door latch, but the feminine gasp caught his full attention, and he jerked upright to see Lani's grief-stricken face standing just a few feet behind him. Seconds later, Tre slammed into the doorway at a run, wincing when he saw he was too late. "She was coming to get her purse, Billie, and I couldn't get here in time. I'm sorry, man," he panted, looking like a guilty puppy.

Lani looked back toward Tre, the hurt in her eyes deepening even further. "You--you mean you were in on this? That whole thing about, 'Let's go get a burger and talk' was just bullshit?" She turned back to Billie, who had used the moment to quickly zip up his pants. Griffin stood leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching Lani with cool detachment. "Who the fuck is she?" Lani cried, spitting the word as if it tasted bad.

"Lani, just calm down a minute. We can talk about this, okay?" Billie said, not moving toward her.

"Billie, I'm sorry, this was great, but I think I'm out of here," Griffin said, her hand trailing down his arm. "You have my number." She winked at him, and then headed toward the door, head demurely down to avoid Lani's furious expression.

Tre was cowering at the doorway. "Give us a minute, will you?" Billie asked, already resigned to the brewing storm. The drummer nodded apologetically, and slunk away, pulling the door closed behind him.

Tears were already streaking down her face, her fist pressed tightly against her bottom lip. She crumpled into a chair, staring down at the floor in disbelief. "How could you," she sobbed. "You had him covering for you on purpose. That means you'd planned this whole thing." She shook her head, and droplets from her eyes spotted her jeans. She looked up at him, her face a mask of agony. "You lied to me, Billie," she said accusingly.

"I never lied to you," he said firmly, sitting on the arm of the chair next to her. "I may have fucked up here, fucked up big time, and for that I am truly sorry, but I didn't lie to you."

"Yes, you did! What about our future together? What about all the time we've spent with each other? You said you loved me, Billie!" she wailed mournfully.

He reached across and took her hands gently in his. She would never believe it, but his heart was breaking, knowing what he was about to say. "No, Lani, I didn't."

Her breath was coming in hitching sobs, and she looked up into his green eyes, utterly confused. "What do you mean? You've told me plenty of times! We were going to get married, raise a family..."

His fingers stroked the back of her hand, trying to soften the sharpness of his words. "Baby, I know you want it to be that way, but if you think back, I've never...I've never lied to you." It just sounded too harsh, to spell it out for her.

She pulled her hands away, folding them in her lap, and rocked slowly back and forth, staring numbly at the spot where she had seen them together. "So all this time, I've been a fool, thinking you felt the same way about me. And you let me, you never said anything. You let me throw myself at you like some desperate slut, and you didn't bother to tell me it meant nothing to you."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "You're wrong, Lani. It did mean something. You're such an amazing girl, and so sweet, and being with you has been wonderful. It's just that we jumped into it so fast, it was like living together, and we'd only been dating a few weeks. I just wasn't ready for that. But it doesn't mean I don't care about you."

She stood, wiping her tears, and bent to pick up the purse that rested on the floor beside her chair. Taking a deep breath, she looked down at him almost coldly, her head held high. "You lied. Nothing you say can change that. You lied, and you used me. And I'll never forgive you for that."

And with the words still stinging his heart, she opened the door and was gone.