Do friends with benefits hold hands and exchange little gestures of intimacy? I sort of doubt it, but I don’t want to stop. It feels too right to hold Nadia’s hand in mine. To receive the pleasure of her company. To have the honor of my lips on her skin.
“If not, you already know I’m cool chilling in the back of the van for as long as you need.”
She laughs, which was my intention. “I won’t need to.” She seems confident, and I take in the new Nadia. I’m not sure what changed her, but she definitely seems different. Much happier.
There’s a lifeforce fizzing and bubbling in her that I didn’t see so much before.
I take her to the parking garage, and we ride to Rue’s in the band’s van. It belongs to both Story and me because it was a hand-me-down from our dad when we formed the band because it’s big enough to haul sound equipment and instruments. I usually drive it, but I also have a motorcycle, and Story has a small Smart Car.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask, changing the dial on the radio.
“I like your music,” she says.
“Aw, you are a peach, aren’t you?” I keep fiddling with the dial until I hit a pop station where I leave it. “What did you listen to in Russia?”
“Rock.” She looks over at me. “Did you always want to have a band?”
I shrug. “It just seemed like something I would naturally do because of my dad. It was less something I wanted and more just inevitable. Ty and Lake and I all went to high school together and started the band. We thought a female lead singer would be a good draw, so we talked Story into fronting for us.”
“She’s good,” Nadia agrees. “But I would like to see you on lead vocals.”
“Nah.” I immediately dodge that expectation like I dodge relationships. I wouldn’t want to be pinned down or try too hard. That’s been my life’s theme.
But Nadia presses me. “Why not?”
“I’m not lead singer material.”
“Flynn, you know most of that crowd is there for you now, don’t you?”
Something uncomfortable shifts through my mid-section.
“Those are girls,” I say, like those fans don’t count.
“So?”
“So, they’re not obsessed with my talent, they’re obsessed with some idea they have about me.” I flash a grin her way. “They think I’m hot.” I wink.
“You are hot.” Her return smile gets my dick hard. This whole idea of knowing Nadia and I are going to have sex sometime soon makes it very difficult to have the “just friends” feeling around her. I may or may not have spent extra time in the shower this afternoon jacking off, so I could get sex off my mind. Even so, I have to work hard not to remember how fucking perfect she looked in nothing but her panties.
I hadn’t absorbed it during the moment because she was upset, but that didn’t mean the image of her glory hadn’t been seared on my eyeballs. In my brain. There for me to pull out every night and every morning as I lay in bed with my dick in my hand. She had pale skin, peach-pink nipples, and a red birthmark on her hip. Her breasts were ripe peaches, her belly soft.
There’s room in the parking lot when we get there. “The show doesn’t start until nine, but I thought we could go in now, so you can meet the performers. Then we can grab some food and come back to watch the show if you want.”
Nadia draws in a breath and nods. “Sounds good.”
We head inside. Rue’s is a small venue–an old Chicago building with exposed brick walls and lofted ceilings. The dancers are on the stage marking their places for a dance. There’s no one at the door yet, and Rue, the owner, is behind the bar, her blue mohawk making her a good six inches taller.
“What’s up, Flynn?” she calls out.
I love Rue. The middle-aged bar owner has the mama hen vibe to everyone who comes into her place. Her support in the way of rehearsal space and a standing gig was what got The Storytellers going. Rue’s was also the only bar Ty, Lake, and I could get in before I turned twenty-one because Rue would vouch that we were in the band, even if it wasn’t a night we played.
Consequently, I know all the regulars and staff here.
The burlesque night is more her scene because she’s been in a long-term relationship with Danica, the director of the Black Velvet Burlesque troupe for as long as I’ve known her.
“What are you up to?” she asks when I lead Nadia to the bar.
Her hand is clammy this time, but the place is mostly empty, so I’m thinking she can work through it.
“I brought Nadia down to meet Danica. Nadia designs costumes. I thought maybe they could collaborate on something.”
“Oh, sure.” Rue sets a cocktail napkin in front of each of us. “What are you drinking?”
“Just a bottle of water for me for now,” I say. “We’ll be back to see the show later.”
“Water is fine for me, too,” Nadia says.
Rue grins. “Another Russian? I love my Saturday night Russian contingent. I always feel safer when Oleg is around.”
“Yes, he’s fearsome,” I agree.
Nadia smiles and nods.
“I would ask him if he wants to moonlight as a bouncer when you lot play, but I figure he’s already doing the job for free.” Rue cracks two bottles of water and puts them on our napkins, and I toss a five-dollar bill on the bar.
“Right.”
Music starts up, and the dancers take their places. Nadia and I swivel in our seats to watch. It’s a sexy piece with a Cabaret vibe that involves giant feather fans the dancers use to cover various body parts as their clothes gradually come off. The clothes stay on for now, since it’s just a run-through, but we get the general idea.