Bullet(77)

But if it had been just real life pressures, our relationship would probably have weathered them. Instead, it turned out that he and I were quite different. It’s not that we didn’t try. God knows it’s not because we didn’t try, because what I appreciated most about Clay was the woman inside me he’d invited out to play. When I’d been with Ethan, much as I’d enjoyed the sex, I’d felt like it was all for him. Yes, he made sure I climaxed most of the time, but the act wasn’t focused on me (not that it always had to be). In fact, I felt like sometimes I was lucky to be in the same room. With Clay, though, he was all about me…or us, really. And he liked to play. He was fun. And it was about both of us. I even started experiencing some deeper, crazier emotions for the man, and I didn’t know how to stop feeling that way, didn’t want to…but I did eventually. The more time we spent apart combined with getting to know each other better did that. I started to feel like our passion had been like a star burning bright—hot and white—but we were now cooling, slowing down, adjusting…and on tour we’d been perfect for each other. Away…not so much.

It started the first time I went to his apartment. Now, I know guys are into porn, but Clay took it to a new level. He seriously had a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in his room filled mostly with porn. We’re not talking just a DVD here or there. I mean he had hundreds of videos. He could have opened a rental business for his collection and survived just fine. And he couldn’t even blame part of the movies on his roommate because they were in his room. I even watched a few of them, but I soon discovered that once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen most of them.

I learned to ignore the wall of shame.

Our relationship continued strong through the summer. The sex was less frequent, but it was still intense. We tried to see each other twice a week when we could, but it didn’t always work.

We started seeing each other less, and I don’t know that I could put the blame on either of us. But Clay did have more distractions than I did. Clay had been watching a lot of football, which was not my cup of tea but fine, but then he’d forget we were going to be spending time together when he’d get distracted because he was hanging at a strip club.

Okay…so he was really into naked women. I didn’t let it bother me, because I was the woman he was with…even when I wondered if he was thinking about someone else when he was making love to me.

One day, we were at the mall. He liked going to different music stores—not just to get ideas to help out the store where he worked, but I think he secretly liked the thrill of being recognized once in a while. He downplayed it, but I could see the twinkle in his eyes when a girl would squeal and say, “Oh, it’s Jet! Omigod, I looooove you! Would you sign this?” This was usually a piece of paper or a t-shirt…but once in a while it was a pair of panties or even a breast. What the hell would it be like when he became famous nationwide? And I knew he would. I was surprised he was pushing thirty and hadn’t made it big yet.

On this particular day, we were getting ready to leave the music store and somehow he had gotten away with signing a girl’s butt cheek in broad daylight. She said she was going to have it tattooed along with the words Property of. I forced a smile and knew Jet was loving it. I couldn’t blame him really, and I wasn’t going to hold it against him.

Once the thrill had worn off and we were done browsing, we started walking out of the music store. While we were still at the mall, I told him I wanted to peek in the bookstore. “What for?”

I grinned at him. “Oh, I dunno. To look at books maybe?”

I thought he was joking at first. “Books? What would you wanna look at books for?”

I giggled. “Oh…maybe to read?”

I grabbed his hand, and we kept walking toward the bookstore. He was quiet and said, “I don’t read much. Really never saw a reason for it.”

“Never been lost in a book?”

“Nope. Real life’s too fascinating.”

Real life talk from the guy with a thousand pornos. “Well, that may be so, but what about nonfiction? You can learn a lot by reading.”

He smirked. “That’s what they said in school too.”

Oh…so we had completely opposite views when it came to school and education. I started feeling uncomfortable. When we got to the front of the bookstore, I said, “You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to.”

He looked grateful and walked across the way to go into a shoe store. I’d stood by and watched him sign a girl’s ass, but he couldn’t follow me to look at a book or two? I wasn’t sure why it pissed me off, but it did.

Still…it wasn’t worth a fight. Clay was a sweet, gentle soul, even when he played Jet. It wasn’t worth arguing over.

That’s what I told myself anyway, but looking back now, I think I knew I didn’t love him…or didn’t love him enough to fight. So when we found the food court and sat down to eat, I tried to find something to talk about…and came up short. And that’s when I knew our relationship was doomed.

I still wasn’t ready to give up, though. I think he knew it too but felt the same way. I think we were both trying to recapture what we’d experienced on tour.

So, a few days later, we had some hot and dirty sex, Jet style, followed an hour later with some sweet Clay-style sex, and he held me close in his arms. I had wanted to talk to him since the mall. If he was feeling like I was—that the sex was incredible, but there was no future for us—then I wanted to talk about it. But I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.

I rolled over. He wasn’t asleep. I knew because he was humming ever so lightly, something I knew he did when he was working out a new guitar riff in his head. That was one of the things I really liked about Clay. He was music—he breathed it, lived it, felt it. I loved music and it was an inextricable part of my life, but it couldn’t compare to the relationship a guy like Clay had with music. Brad and Ethan were the same way. I often felt as though the rest of us were hacks compared to the likes of them. Clay/ Jet…a one-of-a-kind guy, and I was angry with myself for not finding a way to make it work. But, even though I couldn’t identify it then—wouldn’t recognize what was in my mind—I knew he didn’t fully possess my heart, no matter how much I cared for him. And make no mistake—I cared for him deeply.

I stroked his cheek and he opened his eyes. Oh, God, those beautiful eyes of his—dark, honest, but mysterious. Could I say this? The words wouldn’t come. They got stuck in my throat, and I felt like I was choking. Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard a mournful song, played in minor keys, one I couldn’t place, but it made me want to cry. I just had to make myself start talking. My voice was a whisper. “Where do you see yourself in the next year or two?”

He was sleepy. I could see that. “Goddamn. I better be recording the next biggest album the world’s ever heard by then.”

I smiled. I hoped he would be. I took a deep breath. “Where do you see us in the next couple of years?”

He looked quizzical but not upset. That was all the confirmation I needed. He looked a little wistful like I felt, but I could tell he thought the end was inevitable too. Still, he said, “What do you mean?”

God…if all we ever did was make love…we would have been the most compatible couple in the world. But I was feeling like I needed more, so much more. In the hustle and bustle and lack of freedom we’d had on tour, I hadn’t noticed all of those other things I’d needed. Now, though…I felt like I was missing something. I looked at those cute little snake bites on his lower lip. “Do you ever feel like…maybe we, uh, weren’t meant for each other?”

I forced myself to look back in his eyes, and there I saw clarity. He was sleepy, but it was there. “I care about you, Val.”

I nodded, the side of my head rubbing against the pillow. “I care about you too, Clay. So much. But…you know what I mean, don’t you?”

I could see that split second where he considered protesting, as though he was fighting with himself. He didn’t want to admit it any more than I did. But—and I think this is because we respected the hell out of each other—it was inevitable. The fact that we cared but didn’t love each other was undeniable. Could I grow to love him? I probably could have, but if I had forced myself to stay, I would have always wondered what it was I’d given up. Because I knew, just knew, there was something missing. He was chewing on his cheek, but he nodded, just a little. His voice was hoarse. “Yeah, I do. But why?”

I kept my voice low and soft. His walls were thin and his roommate was home and quiet for a change. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. And I don’t exactly know why. It makes me sad.”

“Yeah, me too.” He placed his hand on my cheek and kissed me, a slow, sweet kiss, one that was trying to reignite whatever the hell magic we’d once shared. And it was a great kiss…but it wasn’t enough.