Beg (Songs of Submission #1)(18)

I ran into Teresa in the hall on the way to the dressing room.

“I am so sorry,” I said. “I was rude and unbecoming.”

“My brother’s an ass**le, so I don’t blame you.” She said it with a smile, taking my hand and squeezing. “We both loved your voice.”

“Thank you. I have to go. I’ll try to see you on the way out.”

I got into the dressing room just as Gabby shouldered her bag.

“I was looking for you,” she said.

“I was talking to Jonathan. You ready to go? I want to see him on the way out.”

“He’s here? Oh my God, Mon, he can help us get an agent or something. Another manager. Anything.”

“He’s not in the business, Gabs, please come on.”

She tugged my sleeve. “Wait. First of all, everyone’s in the business, even if they’re not. Okay? And what are you hiding from me? What?” She was a few inches shorter and looked up at me like she could pierce me with her eyes.

“Nothing.”

“Monica.”

“I want to go home.” I took a step toward the door, but Gabby leaned against it. I dropped my bag, giving in. “Fine, he wants to make this bet, and it has to do with sex, and I’m not hanging out with him tonight, I’m hanging out with you.”

“Cancel with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because Darren would kill me.”

“God damn the two of you!” she shouted.

“Gabs, please. Give me a break.”

“No, you guys won’t leave me alone to take a dump and you think I’m too stupid to notice? Now you have the chance to get the ear of a major f**king player—”

“He’s not—”

“Shut up. Because you don’t know anything. He teaches business at UCLA where Janet Terova heads up the Industry Relations board, and you know who that is right?”

I sighed. I felt like I was taking a quiz.

“Arnie Sanderson’s ex-wife?”

“Eugene Testarossa’s boss. Right. Him.”

“Gabby, if something happened because I went to have sex with some guy I barely even know…”

She put her hands on my arms and looked up at me with those big stinking blue eyes, the ones that had rolled to the back of her head and could only be brought back with a slap in the face, and said, “I promise I will not try to kill myself tonight.”

“Your word is the last thing I should believe.”

“I tried to kill myself because I felt hopeless. You do this, I have hope. Okay?”

“You’re whoring me out.”

“Am I taking a cab home or not?”

I had to admit, the temptation was painful, almost physically so. Here she was, not only giving me permission to leave her alone and promising not to hurt herself, but pushing me out the door.

The exquisite ache between my legs grew to a distracting level when I thought about being with Jonathan. The afternoon’s frustration had turned into a longing that seemed bigger than my body.

Right then Darren’s face showed up in my mind. He looked disappointed and angry.

I pushed past Gabby and went out to Jonathan and Teresa, who had moved to the bar. He put his hand on the back of my neck when I got close enough, and I whispered in his ear, “If I win, you cancel your flight and see me tomorrow night.”

“And no Tiffany?” he asked, smirking.

“Yes, Tiffany. If you win, I’m at your command until sunrise. And after the sun comes up, I’ll scrub your floors.” He laughed. I didn’t know exactly what he was laughing at, unless it was the presumption that he didn’t already have a team of people to sterilize his house, but I smiled back at him because it was a stupid offer and I knew it.

Gabby situated herself at the end of the bar and ordered something. I hoped it was soda. Alcohol’s a depressant, and she could assure me she had hope all she wanted. I didn’t believe she had as much control as she asserted.

“You drive a hard bargain.” He put his drink down. “And you’re funny. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth next.”

I had a million jokes about what was going in my mouth, but I kept them to myself as I pulled him into the back room.

***

The dressing room was locked. I was momentarily stumped, but I remembered there was another one for men. I took his hand and led him deeper into the back, passing the kitchen and backmost hallway, to the least populated part of the club.

“I’m really liking this scrubbing idea,” he said as I pulled him into the second dressing room, which was as gross as the first, and slammed the door behind me. If he had more wisecracks, they got swallowed in a kiss. I ran my fingers through his hair, pressing his face to mine, then ran them down the length of his body. I pushed him onto the chair, which squeaked when he fell into it.

I kneeled in front of him, the industrial carpet digging into my knees, and opened his fly. I stroked the hardness under his boxers until I teased out his cock. It was rock hard and gorgeous.

“You ready?” I asked.

“You are really cute.”

He held his arms out as if to say come at me.

I pulled up his shirt and kissed his stomach, which was hard and tight, down the line of hair, until I got to his base. I put him between my lips, kissed it, sucking the length on one side, then the other, running my tongue up and down the taut skin, tasting the sharpness of it. He took a deep breath. I flattened my tongue against the underside and ran it up to the end, then put the head in my mouth, sucking it on the way out. I tasted a salty drop of moisture on his tip.