Deep (Stage Dive 4)
Page 55“It was fine.”
“It’ll never happen again. Don’t know what the fuck came over me.”
“Hey,” I said, getting up on one elbow to look him in the face. Some serious panicky eyes there. “Ben, I liked it. I like that you were so into it, that I could do that to you, make you lose control a little.”
He just stared.
I gave him a smile and carefully rolled off. “I’m getting water. You need some?”
A nod. “You really didn’t mind?”
“I like being soft with you. I do. But I think getting a little rough with you now and then is fun too. I know we’re kind of limited with what we can do with baby on board.” I gave my belly a pat. “After, though?”
Another nod, this one downright enthusiastic, to the point where I was worried he might give himself whiplash. Seemed my man really did like to play.
“Great,” I said.
After all, what was the point of having a gorgeous, hulking big boyfriend if you weren’t willing to play with him? It was all just another healthy exploration of the bounds of our relationship. Us meshing in bed gave me good feelings. It gave me hope.
“I’ll look forward to it.” I gave him a wink.
I so had this girlfriend thing down. Go, me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Hey, you two.” I sat, kicking my heels, down in the hotel café. My iced chocolate loaded with ice cream and syrup had long since disappeared from the glass in front of me. Not that I was cranky at being left waiting. All good. He hadn’t forgotten me, he’d just gotten held up with something. I trusted him.
“What’re you doing hanging down here on your own?” asked Anne.
“Ben’s taking me maternity clothes shopping.”
“When?”
I gave her a half smile. “Soon.”
“Shouldn’t you have Sam or one of his goons with you?” asked Mal, tucking his long blond hair behind an ear.
“No need. Ben’ll be here soon.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“You keep saying that.” Mal frowned. “Give me specifics.”
My cell buzzed in my bag. “This’ll probably be him.”
But it wasn’t. Weirdly enough, my ex-roommate Christy’s name flashed up on the screen. We hadn’t talked since the nightclub abandonment issue.
“I’m really sorry. Is it true?” came at me in an almighty rush.
“Is what true?” I asked.
“That you’re pregnant?” she said. “I didn’t mean to give them the photo, but then Imelda said it would be okay. That everyone deserved their fifteen minutes of fame. They said they were just doing a piece about life on campus. I didn’t think you’d mind. I had no idea they were going to use it like that.”
“Who is ‘they’?” I asked, my insides twisting as the dread rose and rose.
“A reporter from The Daily.”
“Check The Daily,” I said to Anne. She whipped out her cell and got busy. “Christy, what photo did you give them?”
She paused, gulped. “Well, they just asked if they could use my pics from Facebook. I hadn’t really thought that much about what was on there. I was kind of hoping they’d use the one of the two of us at Crater Lake. You remember I always loved that shot. But they wound up using that one from the Hawaiian luau at one of the sororities last year. When you were talking to those guys from Economics. I’m really sorry.”
I knew the picture. All the girls had been in bikinis and grass skirts or sarongs. I’d worn cutoff jeans, covering more than most because that’s how I’d felt comfortable. Each to their own and all. Everyone was sinking red Solo cups of beer, decorated with those dumb little umbrellas and chunks of pineapple. An interesting taste sensation. A member of the football team had worn a bright yellow mankini on a dare. It’d been hilarious. Good music. A good night. So I’d had a few drinks at a party while talking to a couple of guys, one of whom had thrown his arm around me for the shot. We were all grinning big, just enjoying the party. Why the hell would that excite a reporter?
Anne’s brows drew tight and she showed me her cell.
College dropout pregnant with Stage Dive baby. Reportedly continuing living the high life with her numerous male friends. Grave concerns for the fetus’s health. Vicious tug-of-war over custody anticipated. Demands for millions of dollars in alimony expected. A person close to the band reports they are horrified. Ben Nicholson as yet refusing to comment.
With numb fingers I hung up on a still babbling Christy.
Reportedly. Anticipated. Expected. It was all so brutally worded, the worst inferred to perfection by the photo. Assholes. They didn’t have a clue who I was. Worse, they didn’t even care. Whatever lies would sell. Thank god I didn’t have a juvenile record for them to go poking around at, closed or open. Still, if they asked certain people about what I was up to during that misspent year of my youth … Nightmarish thoughts flooded my mind. If Ben and I did split, if something happened and things turned bad, would it be enough for him to claim full custody of Bean?
And what about when I went for a job? Who the hell was going to trust their kid to a psychologist with a background like mine?
People were talking but I couldn’t quite make out the words. It was like being underwater, the noises distant gibberish. The bubbles in my ears made hearing anything impossible.
Hands held my face, tipping it up. Then he was looking down at me, dark eyes intent. “Sweetheart?”
The bubbles burst, reality intruding, pushing the shock aside. “Ben?”
“Let’s go up to the suite.”
“Yes,” I said, taking Ben’s hand and letting him lead me, shelter me with his body.
There was yelling behind us. A sudden scuffle and the clicking of cameras. Security closed in. Everything happened so fast. I guess the paparazzi had been following Ben, figuring he’d lead them to me—knocked-up party girl, money-hungry whore extraordinaire in a bikini top.
Mal and Anne followed close behind, piling into the elevator. Soft pan flute music filled the air. No one said anything. Worse yet, no one even looked that surprised. Apart from me, that is. The whites of my eyes and pale face were perfectly reflected in the shiny metal doors. They slid open and Anne grabbed at my arm.
“Let me talk to her.”