The Things No One Else Sees

The band was amazing. He just wished he could commit more of his mind to enjoying the music instead of thinking about the woman standing in front of him. He kept looking down at her, wondering what was going through her head. Was she zoned out and enjoying the show? Was she thinking about him? What was all this heartbreaker shit about? He’d treated her with complete respect.

Last night on the balcony had been a blur. He’d been drunk off emotions. The conversation had been heavy, and she had been almost irresistible in her little pair of shorts with her big words and soft voice telling him about longing and love and emotional connections. He wasn’t equipped to deal with that kind of assault. He could take dirty hits against the boards, and he could take a woman letting her skirt ride up to tempt him, but he couldn’t defend against the way she’d come at him.

When she’d hid in the guest room, he’d almost went after her and forced her to deal with what was happening. Because he was having to deal with it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. What would Lucy think of this album? What would Lucy say about that? What would Lucy think about this? Where was Lucy? What was she doing? Was she happy? Did she think about him? Did she imagine what it would be like to be naked in a bed together?

Half the concert was over and all he could do was think about her.

The opening strains of a song caught his attention. It was her song--the one she’d hoped to hear--Buzzblood Ohio. Joff looked down at her shoulders and saw that they were stiff and she was leaning forward just slightly. Physical reaction to the music. He had a physical reaction, too. Gently, he placed his hands on her hips, slipping his index fingers into the belt loops of her jeans. For a couple beats, she stilled and waited. He didn’t move; this was all he wanted for now. Just let me touch you, he thought.

Tentatively, her little hands lifted and covered his. He waited for her to push him away, but she didn’t. Instead, she laced her fingers with his. A surge of pure elation shot through his mind and body with relief riding on its coattails. A minute passed with his hands on her hips, and he was starting to feel brave. He gave a tug, carefully pulling her back to him. She resisted for just a moment, and then he felt her relax into him and take the half a step so her back was leaned into his chest.

This was all he had wanted. Sure, he’d love to take her home and slide her jeans down her legs, but this was enough. And this had never been enough before, not with any other woman.

The song was amazing and the band was flawless. They transitioned into the next without a break. Lucy stayed where she was, resting her back against him. Two songs, then three songs like this.

And then he felt like he’d been punched in the gut because they started playing Slow Show. The damn song that had started all this. It was from their older album; they should have been playing songs from the two newest ones. He wasn’t prepared and neither was Lucy. Joff felt her stiffen.

No, he thought. No, you don’t. Slowly, he let go of her hips and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him more completely. Instead of resisting, she laid her hands on his arms where they cut across her body just under her breasts. Lucy tilted her head back and rested it on his collarbone.

Joff closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. All that mattered was that she was there and the show was amazing and he had his arms around her.

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

When the band left the stage after their set, he reluctantly let go of Lucy. She stepped forward, putting space between them. An encore of three songs was played and then the crowd disbursed into the temperate evening air of the beach town. She was walking beside him, and Joff really wanted to reach out and take her hand. He missed the connection, but he was afraid it would backfire on him. Neither of them had said a word since The National had taken the stage.

Maybe she was afraid to break the silence, too, because they drove back to his house without any conversation. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he was burning to sort things out and determine if he could have her--if she’d sleep in his bed tonight.

He followed her up the stairs, staring at her ass the entire way. When she flipped the lamp on in the living room, she turned around and said, “Thank you for the concert. It was amazing.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Why don’t you stay another week?”

“Lupul, I really can’t.”

“You can. What’s back in Toronto? Jacob can water your plants. Stay through the end of August.”

She looked at him, the glare from the lamp hiding the nuances of her eyes. He couldn’t determine what she was thinking. “I have to go home.”

Joff wanted to beg, but he had more self respect than that. “I want you to stay here.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” She turned away and moved toward the stairs.

“Lucy,” he said, “I’m not playing around.”

“Me neither. I’ve got to go to bed. I need to be at the airport by noon. Will you take me?”

He wanted to tell her he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t take her to the airport so she could leave him. Fuck that. “Yes,” he said anyway. “Goodnight, Lucy.”

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

Her name was Francesca, but no one was allowed to call her Fran or Frannie. She would sneer at them with her ruby lips and say, "My NAME is Fran-chess-KAH."

Joff was sitting at one of the trendy Newport Beach hotspots and Fran-chess-KAH was on his lap. Her dark brown, almost black, hair was tumbling over the arm that he'd used to brace her back, to keep her from falling off him. She was touchy tonight, more friendly since she'd learned that he had money. Biz had let it slip to a friend of hers. Now any sexual attention she'd felt toward him was multiplied exponentially.

Her hair was almost the same color as Lucy's, but she wasn't Lucy. She was a fucking far cry from Lucy.

The airport had been awkward and terrible. He'd wanted to see Lucy inside, carry her bags to the baggage check counter, give her a hug goodbye, tell her that even though she'd shut him down that he would see her in a few weeks in Toronto. He planned on returning the second week of September. But she'd grabbed her luggage out of the trunk like the city was on fire and she needed to catch the last plane out. "Thanks for the invite, Lupul. And thanks for the concert. Stay out of trouble," she'd said as she wheeled her little suitcase across a lane of traffic. "Maybe I'll see you around," she'd added while he had stood there, dumbfounded.

And that was that. Because he wasn't chasing her. He'd never had to chase a woman before and he wasn't about to start. Instead, he'd let her go and went back home to kill himself with training. For over a week he'd hit the gym hard and worn indentations in the sand of the beach by his house. And when he wasn't pushing his body, he was sitting in his house and thinking about her. The balcony was tainted, ruined. It had her all over it, which meant it was no longer a place of peace. It pissed him off. She'd spouted out all that shit about him being some sort of master manipulator who was going to break her little heart. She probably hadn't realized that right now it felt like he was the one who'd been hurt.

Fuck her, he thought. She hadn't even called him. Maybe she'd see him around, she'd said. Maybe. Like she was just going to disappear, never to be seen again.

So, after a week of moping, he'd called a couple buddies and invited them to spend a couple weeks checking out the night life of Newport Beach. Which was how he'd ended up with Francesca on this lap. Bissonnette had gone home with one of her friends a few days back and let it slip that Joff was loaded and a famous hockey player. The next time they met up at the club, Francesca, who had been lukewarm to Joff the previous time, was all over his dick. Whatever it took to get laid. He'd gone without for months. He blamed that on Lucy, too. She'd ruined everything.

Francesca wiggled in his lap and ran a hand through his hair. "You're so hot," she said. "I can't wait to see your house. I love the beach."

BIz and O’Brien were watching him. He hadn't really told them about Lucy. He'd just said the last relationship didn't work out and he was looking to have a good time. They thought Francesca was probably a good time.

"Yeah," he agreed, only half-hearing her. "It's nice."

"Those places are expensive, huh?"

"Yeah."

Obviously his basic answers weren't enough for her because she leaned down and pressed her lips to his, snaking her tongue into his mouth. Joff’s hands tightened on her body as he kissed her back. The room was spinning a bit. He'd had too many drinks tonight. Beers and shots kept coming. One more shot and he'd be sloppy drunk.

When she released him, she whispered, "I couldn't resist," in his ear.

Joff leaned forward and picked up the shot glass in front of him. He needed more if he was going to do this tonight. With one quick movement, he knocked it back and kissed her again. She was practically straddling him by that point. He could just unzip his jeans and fuck her at the table. No need to even take her home.

"Oooh, I love this song," she squealed, shaking her shoulders and flipping her hair back. California Gurls by Katy Perry. What the hell? People liked this song? Lucy didn't like this fucking song. He knew that without even asking.

The room really was spinning now. His head felt fuzzy and he knew he probably couldn't walk a straight line if he tried. "What's your favorite song, babe?" he asked the woman on his lap. She got up and maneuvered to stand between his knees. "Mmm, maybe Dirty by Christina Aguilera," she said leaning forward and bracing her hands on his shoulders so he could see down her skimpy top. "Because I'm a dirty girl."

His physical reaction was almost immediate. And despite his fuzzy head, he knew he was going to need a bathroom. Without thinking, Joff pushed her off him. Francesca fell onto the couch and landed halfway on O’Brien's girl for the night. He didn't stop to see if she was okay; he just stumbled off to the restrooms. No one was inside the men's room, allowing him to crash into the open door of the first stall.

He bent over the toilet and let go, emptying his stomach with huge heaves that started in his abdomen, but were so violent his back muscles got involved. After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned back and wiped his mouth off.

This wasn't what he wanted to be doing. He had nothing to say to Francesca who likes Katy Perry. He didn't want her in his house; he didn't want her on his balcony or in his bed. She was so fucking regular. He'd already dated her before, ten times over even. It didn't matter that the other girls had different names; they were all the same.

Why hadn't Lucy called to tell him that she got home? Bitch. Because she was a bitch.

He spit into the toilet and flushed everything away before fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing her number. She probably wouldn't even answer. Which was fine; he'd leave a message telling her what he thought of her.

"Lupul," she said softly right after the phone rang for the third time.

"Lucy," he replied, trying to focus on her voice.

"Why are you calling me at two in the morning?"

Shit. Time zones. "How was your flight home?"

"Fine. But that was almost three weeks ago. You never called me. Why are you asking now?" she said.

He clenched his free hand into a fist. "You didn't call me either."

She was silent for a moment, and then she said, "I know. I'm sorry. I had a lot on my mind."

"I've got a lot on mine, too," he said.

A man came in the bathroom and almost slammed the stall next to Joff closed. "Where you are at, Lupul?"

"A club."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. She had no right.

"Bissonnette and O’Brien came out and we've been checking out the night life. Met some girls and stuff."

"I see." Lucy's voice was icy cold.

"Don’t you say a fucking thing, Lucy. You forfeited your right when you left."

"I know," she replied softly. "And you don't owe me anything, Lupul. Just don't drink until you're sick or get an STD."

"Too late on the drinking. I'm already sick. But I'm doing well on the STD thing. I'm practically a virgin now. It's been months."

Lucy laughed softy, but it didn't sound like she really thought he was funny. "That's bullshit. I can't see you going two weeks without it."

"No one since Destiny," he told her. It was important that she understood that for some reason. He felt like she had the wrong idea about him. "Just me and my hand."

"Really?"

"I swear on my life."

"Why?"

He leaned against the wall. The million dollar question. Why? "Because I wanted you." Simple answer. She didn't respond right away, so he continued. "There's a girl out in the club name Francesca. She's a model and an actress. She'd go home with me tonight if I asked her."

"Okay," Lucy said, voice tight.

"I'm not taking her home. She likes Katy Perry and Christina Aguilera. Actually, she makes me sick. I don't even want to touch her anymore."

"Okay."

Joff ran a hand roughly through his hair. His forehead and the back of his neck were covered in a cold sweat. "That's all your fucking fault. You know that, right?"

"Lupul, I didn't do anything to you."

"Yes, you did," he accused. "You know what you did. You changed things. Fuck you, Lucy."

"Sorry?" She sounded like she wasn’t sure if she should apologize for not.

"I'm coming back to Toronto in a couple weeks. Can we talk?"

“I don't think that's a good idea."

He tried to repress the anger that shot through his body. "Yeah, whatever. Maybe I'll see you around then." Before she could get the last word, he hung up on her.

Notes