Chapter 15 Alexander #2
“Please.” I nod at her when she turns back to face me.
“He seems like a great guy. I can see why you like him.” Lucy’s smile and approval acts like a Tums, settling my stomach.
I’m momentarily distracted as Connie makes an inarticulate noise, smirking and shaking her head.
I shake off the need to ask her to clarify her response. Her opinion holds a lot of weight alongside Paul’s in business affairs, but when it comes to affairs of the heart, I defer to Lucy and Erica and, at a push, my mom.
Just before I begin the third take of Stolen Moments, the blue doors in front of me open. Christopher walks through with Lucy. Thank God I’m sitting down on a stool, otherwise the sight of him would have sent me stumbling.
There’s something about the way he carries himself—like he’s slightly uncomfortable in his own skin, but imbues his posture with confidence to counter it—that has me enraptured.
“Alex, you ready?” the engineer asks through my headphones.
The distraction of Christopher and Lucy made me miss the cue, and I’m snapped back into performance mode. I slide my fingers back into position on the guitar.
“I’m ready,” I say, nodding as if the engineer can see me.
“You said that with some determination. Okay, we’re recording. Whenever you’re ready.”
I nod to Freddy, who in a matter of hours has managed to bring this song to life. He created a percussive arrangement that goes far beyond what I envisioned when I wrote it this morning.
My gaze drifts from Freddy back to Christopher as I begin to play out the chords in C major, and hold the intro for four bars rather than two. I adjust myself slightly to get closer to the microphone.
I saw your face on a Thursday,
You were cool as an ocean breeze,
Turned me into a nervous wreck,
and my mouth began to freeze.
With each successive line, I feel the room disappear around me. It’s just Christopher and me, alone in the room. Me, serenading him on the guitar. Vulnerability seeps into my tone, in a way that counters the up-tempo poppiness of the song.
Christopher’s gaze doesn’t leave mine.
Just before I get to the final chorus, another intrusive thought about Samuel comes, snapping at me out of my memories. The symbolic embodiment of him manifests in front of me. Lucy on the left professionally, and Christopher on the right, at least sexually, if not romantically.
I try to shake the thought away, but I can’t push it out of my head.
My fingers stumble on one of the chords, forcing me to stop.
“Sorry guys, I lost my focus. Can I take a minute before we go again?” I ask.
I need to find something to distract myself.
I slide the guitar into the stand and jump off the chair, but get yanked back by the headphone cord. I quickly remove them, leaving them over the mic stand, and make my way to Christopher and Lucy as the thoughts become stronger.
Samuel’s voice echoes in my head.
You think you can replace me.
You think I don’t know what you’re doing.
Samuel’s words, the last conversation we had before the crash, swirl around in my brain.
And what he accused me of is now true. Chris stands right in front of me.
“That was great,” Lucy says, although I can’t bring myself to look at her, at them.
I look at the clock above the door instead.
Will I forever be haunted by Samuel’s ghost?
Am I condemned to live a life of suffering?
“No seriously.” She reaches for my arm as I tuck my hands into my jean pockets. “That song is really something.” She lifts up on her toes, trying to catch my eye.
“Appreciate it,” I say, finally. I drop my gaze to meet hers, once I manage to push the thoughts of Samuel away. “I could really do with a drink right now.”
“Sure, what do you want? I’ll run and get it for you.” She waits for my response
“Nathan was going to head out and grab me a drink. Can you go get him to make it for me?” I ask, ignoring her look of confusion.
“Okay…?” My response obviously doesn’t make things clearer for her, but she turns, exiting the room to go chase down Nathan.
“What did you think?” I ask Christopher, who is standing awkward and silent in front of me.
I usually restrict myself to asking my team for opinions about my music, or the fans who consume it. I learned early on not to listen to the critiques of snobby music journalists. I even framed a few of those reviews, and hung them up in one of my bathrooms back home:
Listening to this felt like bad sex—lots of buildup, zero climax.
This song lasts longer than most of my exes, yet somehow still left me unsatisfied.
If foreplay felt like this song, I’d fake a headache every time.
But since I wrote this about Christopher, I’m desperate to hear his thoughts.
“Sounds like this muse has managed to cast a spell on you,” he says, chuckling.
“Is that right?” I arch my brows as I step toward him.
It’s way too easy to play along with him. To avoid asking for what I want. For what I need. But right now, what I need is not sexual innuendo, but reassurance. Reassurance that this song is good. Great even.
But I’m still not ready to let him in fully.
Sure, he’s already been inside me, but that’s what I always do. I let guys into my ass before I think about letting them into my heart.
It’s easier to dance around the edges. To speak in metaphors than ask outright.
“And what do you think this muse would sing back if it were a duet?” I’m keen to get inside his mind, to know his thoughts. Especially since I’ve exposed myself through these lyrics.
“Well… I guess they would be flattered and might feel the same way.” The right corner of his mouth lifts into a semi-smile.
Might.
Might feel the same way?
Does that mean he might not?
Is he only interested in hooking up with me?
Is he just using me to say he hooked up with a celebrity?
I catch myself before I go too far down the rabbit hole. I take a deep breath, and follow it up with a long exhale.
“And how do you reckon the muse would move from maybe feeling the same way, to actually feeling the same?” I ask.
Christopher stares at me, as if mulling over his choice of words. I’ve noticed his ability to stop and form his thoughts before expressing them. It’s a trait I’m beginning to envy.
“I guess he’d continue to do what he’s already doing, and maybe move from something that’s been mainly physical to something more intimate.” He rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight from his left leg to his right.
“Intimate?” A flicker of irritation rises in me.
“There’s still so much I don’t know about you. That we don’t know about each other,” he says. His hazel eyes study me with an intensity that makes me reach for my watch. “The questions you asked in bed earlier didn’t offer much insight, and I didn’t really get to ask you anything.”
Gone is his usual sarcasm. It’s replaced instead by vulnerability.
I lower my head as I continue fiddling with my watch.
He’s right.
The blue doors swing open and Nathan walks through, drink in hand. He reaches out to hand it to me.
“Thanks, Nathan.” I say, grabbing it, as he looks at Christopher.
I’m unable to move quickly enough. I take a gulp to push away all my feelings. The alcohol burns my throat as it goes down, forcing me to cough out loud.
“Wrong hole,” I say, trying to deflect the concern on Nathan’s face.
“I can go get more Manuka honey if you need.” He reaches for the door.
“You’re good. I should probably just sip it.”
Nathan looks at his watch, then back to me.
“Right. Well, better get back upstairs. We’re running tight on time.” Nathan taps his watch and makes his way back out, leaving me to turn my attention back to Christopher.
“Maybe the artiste would be open to being more intimate tonight?” Christopher asks, as Freddy calls me back to resume recording.
“Maybe…” I say, turning and heading back to the stool.
“Maybe” buys me more time.
“Maybe” gives me some time to fill up with enough Dutch courage to remove some of the barbed wire around my heart and allow myself to be more intimate.
More vulnerable.
More exposed.
“Solid work today, Alex,” Paul says.
I’m still raging about the stunt he tried to pull earlier. For the fact that I had to strong-arm him into getting him to do what I asked for. Especially after I’d conceded to giving up my free time to do the promos.
“Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth, keeping my eyes focused out the car window.
“They’re gonna bounce the tracks over to LA tonight to be mixed and mastered. We should have something before we wake up in the morning to approve and sign off on.”
At this point, I barely care about anything.
The alcohol is working its magic. Nathan gave me two additional drinks in between filming the live videos to accompany the live EP release. Not only has it reduced the intrusive thoughts and feelings, it’s also greatly reduced the number of fucks I give.
My gaze briefly drifts to my bag, where two bottles of Belvedere are wrapped up in my leather jacket. Hopefully the car ride is smooth, with no sudden jerks to make them clink.
“Cool.” My voice is drained of all energy, and my body feels like it’s shattered and running on empty.
All I want is my bed and a decent night’s sleep.
My insomnia is bad at the best of times, but this schedule, coupled with the fact that I barely slept last night, has me yawning repeatedly. So much so that I’m fogging up the window.
Paul takes the hint that I don’t want to talk.
The rest of the drive back to the hotel is cloaked in silence.
Paul turns on his iPad, and Lucy and Rob tap away at their phones.
Lord’s Cricket Ground catches my eye as we drive past. I wonder if the cricket players there have a schedule as relentless as mine.
The usual kerfuffle greets me as we arrive back at the hotel, and I’m quickly swept through the back entrance and into the small elevator on the right that barely fits the four of us.
I’m assuming Christopher and the rest of the team aren’t far behind and will make their way up in another elevator.
I keep my head lowered as we exit and walk through the maze of hallways, past a couple of guests and a room service trolley, back to my suite.
One of the local security guards standing by my door opens it, letting me through.
“Thanks guys,” I acknowledge.
I ignore the folders and paperwork strewn across the table, close the door behind me, and make my way into the bathroom. I toss the backpack on the counter, strip out of my clothes, and turn on the shower.
“Alex?” The sound of Christopher’s voice drifts through the suite.
My smile rises as I step under the warm water.
I like the way he pronounces my name with his English accent. And the fact that he calls me Alex, not Alexander. Maybe we are getting more intimate as we get to know each other more.
“Just jumping in the shower, make yourself at home,” I shout back.
I let the water wash over on me as I pump the shampoo into my hands, applying it to my hair. Before I finish, I turn the handle as far to the left as it will go. Ice-cold water shoots out, forcing a shudder through my body. It’s a habit I’ve gotten into to help calm my nervous system down.
Just as I reach to turn the water off, the bathroom door bursts open.
“What the fuck is this?” Christopher shouts.
His hand pushes a folder up against the glass. I squint through the condensation, trying to make out the word written across the front.
Christopher.