29. Sugar Crash
29
SUGAR CRASH
MAGGIE
Breathe By Mako
W ater spills over the edge of the tub, warm and fragrant, as I lean forward, giving Felix room to squeeze a dollop of shampoo into my hair. The scent is intoxicating—like crushed lavender and sweet orange peel. His hands slide into my scalp, and I can’t help the soft groan that escapes my lips. His fingers are firm and deliberate, working through my hair.
“Why do I feel like a stray puppy you picked up off the street, and now you’re trying to get rid of the fleas?” I tease.
Felix chuckles, the sound rich and warm, like honey drizzled over a crisp autumn morning. “You don’t like it?” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath grazing the shell of my ear.
“I love it. Don’t stop,” I practically purr. “This tub is ridiculous,” I continue, leaning into his touch. “I’m never leaving.”
“Touring does that to you,” he says, fingers still working magic through my hair.
“I’m not complaining,” I begin, but Felix interrupts with a skeptical hum of disbelief. I laugh. “Okay, fine. But ”—I stress the word, drawing it out—“I miss having my own bathroom the most.”
“I can see that,” he replies, the humor in his tone unmistakable.
“Says the guy with his own bus and private bathroom,” I shoot back, twisting slightly to glance at him over my shoulder. The bubbles shift and ripple around us.
“You got me there, Sass,” he says.
“Tell me something you miss about home,” I ask, as I settle back against him.
He’s quiet for a beat, his hands pausing as if the question pulls him somewhere far away. “The trees in my parents’ yard,” he says finally, his voice carrying a wistfulness I haven’t heard before. “In the fall, when the leaves change colors. That’s my favorite time.” He sighs, the sound deep and almost aching. “And my books.”
“What kind of books?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Mostly thrillers, some classics… besides my brother’s light novels,” he says, his tone softening as he mentions his brother, a flicker of pride sneaking in.
“What’s a light novel?” I ask, tilting my head slightly, the water lapping at my collarbones.
“Well, he draws all the characters and scenes and writes the stories. The little shit’s actually pretty fucking talented,” Felix says with a mix of humor and admiration.
“Talent runs in the family,” I tease, turning around in the tub to face him, but I can tell my choice of words hit a raw nerve. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, trying to soothe him.
“I know, I was just thinking.”
I draw my finger across his forehead, leaving a stream of bubbles in my wake to ease the lines that have formed there.
“The crowds are getting bigger, the fans, and press,” he takes a deep breath, “It’s just a lot to handle all at once. I wanted all of this… God, I wanted it so bad I could taste it.”
His hand runs across my shoulder and down my arm, disappearing beneath the murky surface.
“And the guys—I was hesitant at first, because I’m not used to relying on anyone else, but we feed off each other on stage. I’ve never had anything like that…” he pauses.
“But?” I ask, sensing his hesitation.
“It all feels like it’s happening too fast—like it’s right there within reach, but there’s this quiet fear that something bad is lurking, ready to take it all away,” he says, staring at me.
The bubbles are thick and pillowy between us. His wet hair clings to his forehead, and he pushes it back with one hand, slicking it away. Droplets of water slide from his lashes, tracing slow paths down his cheekbones. He’s beautiful, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
Maybe I am the ‘something bad’ destined to happen to Felix. I’m a walking disaster, a flaw stitched into every step, and the world never hesitates to remind me—everyone except Felix. Maybe it’s kindness, or just blindness, that shields him from the cracks in me. I tuck them away, beneath layers I hope he’ll never see.
I came here to breathe, to forget the tour and to outrun reality for just a day, so I steer the conversation to something easier to navigate.
“I’ve never been to Michigan,” I say. I scoop a small pile of bubbles and place them delicately on the tip of his nose.
“You’d love it,” he says, his smile soft and genuine. “Maybe not in the winter, though.”
“Well, I am a California girl through and through.”
“Lean back,” he instructs, his tone gentle but firm. I obey, turning around and pressing my back against his chest. The warmth of his skin against mine is grounding, and I close my eyes as he tilts my head back to rinse the shampoo from my hair. His hand shields my face, his touch protective and tender.
“Did you really record that demo all by yourself?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can second-guess it.
“You and Dylan talk about me, huh?” he says, amusement lacing his words.
“Don’t get a big ego,” I shoot back. “You are my job, ya know.”
He shifts slightly, and I turn to face him again. His expression softens, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You never told me what he said about us being together,” he says quietly.
I shrug, brushing it off. “Because it doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” he says. “I don’t want things to be strained between you and Dylan because of me.”
I place my hands on his shoulders, the muscles firm beneath my fingertips. “They’re not,” I say. “I promise.”
He studies me for a moment, his eyes searching mine as if looking for cracks in my assurance.
“I don’t want to talk about work,” I say, breaking the tension. “We’re supposed to be unplugging.”
“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up,” he points out, poking me through the bubbles.
I laugh, swatting his hand away. “I wanted to know more about your music.”
“You film me every night,” he says, leaning an elbow on the edge of the tub. His head rests against his folded knuckles, the pose casual but impossibly alluring. “I think you know everything there is to know about my music.”
“I need all the salacious details,” I insist. “Who inspired you, your influences, how you learned to play…”
“You already know all that.”
“I know the version you tell the press. I want the real story,” I counter, leaning back against him again. The water shifts around us, warm and soothing, and I let my fingers trail through it, collecting bubbles.
“It’s long and boring,” he teases.
“Nothing about you is boring,” I say.
I close my eyes as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer. His lips brush against the side of my face, and I feel the smile tugging at them.
“Well, one guess how I learned to play,” he murmurs. “As far as who inspired the songs… that’s trickier. I was always careful about who I let get close to me. My parents drilled that into me. So, I just… pretended. But now they’ve taken on a whole new meaning.”
“It’s crazy,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been leading this quiet life, but on stage, you’re electric.”
“You think so?” he asks with a bit of surprise and a bit of the cockiness that’s ever present.
“Tell me more.”
His hands find my shoulders, and he begins to massage them, his thumbs working out the tension of the tour. I let out a contented sigh, my eyes fluttering shut. The sound of his voice, low and steady, wraps around me as he tells me everything .
* * *
“I’m telling everyone you spent this whole tour corrupting me,” Felix gripes, his voice muffled by a mouthful of Whoppers. His words tumble out like candy-coated confessions, and I giggle, the Red Vine between my teeth wobbling precariously.
“I’m serious, I was an innocent angel until you came along,” he teases.
“Oh, like that night you and Gunner did a shot on stage and stomped out one of the footlights?” I counter, raising an eyebrow. “Got that on video.” I wink at him.
“Again,” he says, leaning back against the headboard, his robe slipping slightly to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone. “After you came along.” With a flick of his wrist, he chucks the empty Whoppers box across the room. It arcs through the air, landing precariously on the rim of the wastebasket before falling in.
“Score!” I laugh, the sound muffled as I bury my face into the mattress, my body shaking with amusement. My feet kick up behind me, toes curling in delight.
“Okay, this is my favorite part!” I announce suddenly, grabbing onto Felix’s ankle and giving it a little shake to make sure he’s paying attention. His socked foot twitches in protest, but I don’t let go.
I prop myself up on my elbows, my chin resting on my hands as the movie plays on.
“Your favorite part is the car chase?” Felix asks.
“Not just the car chase,” I explain. “It’s the way it’s filmed. Watch how they slow down the frames when the car fishtails around the corner. And how it pans across the body, almost making it look like it has a heartbeat. It’s not just a car anymore, ya know?” I reach for the popcorn bag, only to find it disappointingly empty.
Felix chuckles. I turn my head to look at him.
“What?”
“It’s just…” He pauses, his gaze flicking back to the screen before returning to me. “I’ll never be able to watch this movie again without thinking of you.”
His words settle over me like a blanket, warm and a little heavy. I smile, my heart doing an involuntary flip. “It’s funny,” I say, my voice quieter now, “when you know how things work, they never look the same again.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he replies, sitting up straighter. The collar of his robe slips further, revealing more of his chest. “I can’t watch music videos without dissecting them. It’s a sickness,” he adds with a laugh, running a hand through his hair.
“Oh?” I tilt my head, intrigued.
“Yeah. I could do it all day. The right video brings the song to the next level.”
I make a face, and he drops his chin, giving me a look. “Come on, you have to know what I’m talking about. Why else would you torture me in a phone booth with your video camera?”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I just… felt something. And I went with it.”
“But what you did is going to have an impact on the first person who watches it,” he says, his voice taking on that serious, passionate edge I’m starting to recognize.
“Well, it certainly did with Dylan,” I admit, “but he’s programmed to take note of that stuff.”
Felix nods slightly. “True. But someone who doesn’t know you or me—someone who isn’t partial in any way—just… you need to see for yourself what a video can do for a song.”
“Alright rockstar, show me,” I challenge.
“Where’s your laptop?” he asks.
I reach over the end of the bed, dragging my duffel bag closer. Felix grabs my ankle, steadying me. I pull the laptop out and toss it onto the bed, where it lands with a soft bounce.
Felix flips it open, his fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced ease. I shift closer and lean in to see the screen.
“The thing is,” he begins, his voice taking on that teacherly tone I secretly adore, “if you’re in your car listening to the radio, and a song you’ve never heard comes on, there’s a fifty-fifty chance you’ll connect with it. Because most people just listen to music passively. A video, though—it demands your attention and gives you a story.”
“I know this one,” I say as an old black-and-white images fill the screen. The grainy visuals are hauntingly beautiful, and the singer’s voice is raw and full of longing.
“Right, but humor me,” Felix says, his eyes glued to the screen. His intensity is magnetic, and for a moment, I find myself watching him instead of the video. The way his brow furrows, the way his lips part slightly as if he’s about to say something but doesn’t—it’s mesmerizing.
When the video ends, Felix doesn’t miss a beat. He types something else into the search bar and my mouth drops open.
“You did not just type in Mogo!” I say, my voice dripping with mock horror.
“Chill, Sass,” he says. “I’m not trying to make you watch your dad. This is seriously one of my favorites.”
“Make it quick,” I gripe, my voice dripping with mock impatience. Not that I have a problem with seeing my dad rock out, but in the nineties… well, let’s just say they weren’t shy about turning musicians into sex symbols.
“I just love how it’s not centered completely around Jack O’Donnell,” Felix says. “The man’s a legend, of course, but this was back when he was part of a band, and they all had a hand in the music. This video gives each member their own vignette.”
There are shots of Dylan’s dad, Wade, hammering away on the drums, but also these quiet, cinematic moments of him strolling down an empty street, hands in his pockets, lost in thought. Then there’s my dad, shredding on his guitar like his life depends on it, interspersed with scenes of him tearing through a sun-scorched desert on his motorcycle, his hair wild and free in the wind. The whole thing feels raw and untamed, like a time capsule of rebellion.
“Fine… it is a pretty cool video,” I grumble, crossing my arms in mock defeat. But then a wicked idea sparks in my mind, and I can’t stop the sly grin that spreads across my face. Before Felix can react, I snatch the laptop away from him. “My turn.”
“Sass?” Felix arches an eyebrow, his voice laced with suspicion. That wide-eyed, slightly panicked look he gives me is adorable , and I live for it. “What are you doing?”
“You’ll see,” I say, my grin widening as I type furiously into the search bar. Finally, I find what I’m looking for and plop the laptop back onto his lap with a triumphant flourish. “Here. Enjoy.”
Felix’s face shifts from curiosity to horror in an instant. “Sass… I don’t need to see this one.” His gaze darts away, his cheeks flushing faintly, and I can’t help but giggle at his discomfort.
“Why not?” I tease, leaning in closer, my voice dripping with mock innocence. “Like you said, a video can take a song to the next level. And this one did make your dad’s band famous.”
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Have you ever actually watched it?” He turns to me with a deadpan expression that only makes me laugh harder. “It’s my mom. Dancing. In a skimpy outfit .”
“Actually, no,” I admit, my curiosity piqued. “Not all the way through, anyway.”
I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder as the video starts. The screen flickers to life, pulling us both into a world of neon lights and smoky shadows. The music is electric, pulsing with raw energy. The band scenes are full of fire—Felix’s dad commanding the stage with his Gibson, his presence magnetic. There’s such a striking resemblance between him and his dad. But then…there’s her . Felix’s mom. She moves with a kind of effortless grace, her body swaying to the rhythm like she’s the music made flesh. And the way Felix’s dad looks at her… it’s like the rest of the world ceases to exist. His eyes are locked on her, filled with something so intense it makes my chest tighten. He’s not just mesmerized—he’s gone . Completely and utterly hers.
My gaze flicks to Felix and I find him watching me, but then he spins the laptop back toward him.
“Alright, you got me back, you little shit,” Felix mutters as the video ends, the theater on screen crumbling dramatically around the band.
Before I can gloat, he pulls up another video. The opening chords hit, and I gasp, my excitement bubbling over. “Oh my God! Joey and I used to have dance parties to this!” I leap off the bed, my fluffy white hotel robe billowing around me like a ridiculous cloud. Spinning in place, I throw my arms in the air, twirling and shaking my hips with wild abandon. Candy wrappers scatter across the floor, casualties of my sugar-fueled enthusiasm.
Felix collapses into laughter, his hand covering his face like he can’t bear to watch. “You’re hitting your sugar high,” he reports, his voice muffled by his palm. “You’re going to crash any minute.”
“Not a chance!” I declare, pointing at him with the robe’s belt like it’s a sword. “Get up here, rockstar.”
He hesitates for a moment, but the challenge in my eyes is too much for him to resist. With a groan of mock reluctance, he joins me, and for three glorious minutes, we engage in the most ridiculous, uncoordinated dance-off known to humankind. Felix’s moves are all elbows and knees, and I’m pretty sure I look ridiculous, but I don’t care. The sound of his laughter is worth every ounce of embarrassment. His smile is radiant, his whole face lighting up in a way that makes my heart stutter.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Felix says, breathless and grinning. “Bad influence.”
“Excuse me?” I gasp, clutching my chest in mock outrage. “I am a delightful influence.”
“I used to be a good dancer,” he laments dramatically. “Until you.”
I collapse onto the bed in a heap of fluffy robe and giggles. “Down she goes,” Felix teases, pointing at me like he’s just won a wrestling match. But before he can gloat too much, I grab his arm and pull him down beside me.
Lying on my side, I prop my head up with one hand and watch him, my laughter fading into a soft smile. “This is the most fun I’ve ever had,” I admit, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on the blanket between us.
“Me too,” he says. But then, because he’s Felix, he smirks. “You’re still a horrible dancer, though.”
I gasp, swatting at him playfully. “It’s just one of the many things you find irresistible about me,” I tease, but even as I laugh, a yawn sneaks up on me, and I can’t quite stifle it.
Sliding off the bed, he pulls the covers back for me, patting the mattress with a grin.
I let my robe slip unabashedly to the floor and slide under the covers, watching with rapt attention as he does the same. His naked body moves with an easy confidence, lean and strong, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. When he climbs into bed beside me, he pulls me close, tucking my head into the crook of his neck.
“The sugar crash is kicking in,” he says. His warmth surrounds me, and I sigh, letting myself melt into him.
I thread my legs through his and lay with my eyes open, unable to close them for fear of going to sleep.
“You’re tired.”
“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” I whisper, tilting my head to look up at him.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch tender. “Why not?”
“Because then this day will be over,” I say softly, my voice catching. “And I don’t want it to be over.”
He sighs and I know he feels the same way too, because tomorrow we’ll check out and join the tour again. This day will be just a memory.
He doesn’t respond right away, but I feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh. “I know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my forehead. His hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining, and for a moment, the world feels still. Peaceful.
As the silence stretches between us, I trace the pattern of ink on his chest with my fingertip, pressing a gentle kiss just above it. His fingers trail up and down my arm, soothing and steady, and I close my eyes, not to sleep, but to savor the moment.
The floral scent of the bath bubbles clings to Felix’s skin as I nuzzle deeper into his neck, inhaling the intoxicating aroma. Our cheeks press together as I tilt my head, seeking his lips. As they barely graze mine, I let my eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the slow, languorous kisses. My hand drifts to his neck, my fingers threading through his hair, as his body melds with mine against the soft mattress.
I kiss the still-raw skin where he had my nickname tattooed. My tongue traces the letters, and he lets out a strangled moan.
Wanting more, I meet his lips and try to deepen the kiss, but Felix pulls back, his eyes searching mine. Being here in this hotel room, in this bed with him, his hands and mouth charts a cartography of my body, it’s all I can think about. My stomach clenches with need as I grip him tighter, silently begging him to fill the ache within me. But he holds back, stroking my hair and jaw with a tender touch that both soothes and frustrates.
“We don’t have to, Maggie,” he whispers, his voice husky with restraint. Yet his rapid breathing betrays his true desires, spurring me to roll on top of him, my hair cascading around us like a curtain. “I know you’re tired,” he murmurs, his thumbs caressing my face as I straddle his hips.
“Don’t you want to?” I ask, a flicker of insecurity crossing my mind.
“Of course I want to. I always want you,” he assures me, his words tinged with desperation as he rolls us over, pinning me beneath his weight. The hard length of him presses against my sex, making me gasp and arch into him.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispers, his breath a gentle caress against my neck, igniting a blaze that dances down my skin, tracing the contours of my collarbone. In his gaze, I’m the singular obsession of his heart, and it intoxicates me. My body trembles, awash in the flames of his touch, as the universe contracts to the sacred space that holds only us.
Since the first day I met him, it felt like the world was turning at a faster speed than I could keep up with. The frenetic pace of the tour, the noise and chaos, it all fades away. He pulls back the covers, exposing my body to his hungry gaze. His lips and tongue worship every inch of newly revealed skin, eliciting gasps and moans from my parted lips.
When he settles between my thighs, I nearly combust on the spot. His tongue finds my already sensitive clit moving at a slow and teasing pace. He knows my body, how I react to him, how to take me to the edge but not letting me fall just yet. It’s a mixture of torture and pleasure that has me gasping for air.
My hands clutch the pillows behind me, my spine arching like a drawn bow as his lips and tongue tease across my most intimate flesh. A taut coil winds ever tighter within me, finally snapping when he gently sucks on my throbbing clit, eliciting an ecstasy that crashes over me in shuddering waves.
He makes his way back up my body as I shudder and writhe beneath him, his kisses leaving a path of fire in their wake. When his lips meet mine, I can taste my orgasm and the sugary sweetness of the candy that has long since been discarded. My whole body is consumed by him, pulsing in short, hot waves. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as much as I want him. It’s not just sex, it’s him.
“Look at me,” he says gently, a hand threading into my hair and I obey, my gaze finding his.
He lines himself up with my entrance and I resist the urge to push into him, but instead, lift my leg further up his body to wrap around him. I inhale sharply as he pushes in, my body stretching to accommodate him. I run my fingers through his hair, marveling at the depths of his eyes as he fills me completely.
He lifts me so I’m straddling his lap, still intimately joined, as his strong hands grip my hips. He pushes and pulls, setting a sensual rhythm that mimics the languid sway of our lips as they meet and part. My sensitive breasts press against the firm planes of his chest, our hearts beating as one as we’re enveloped in each other’s embrace. In this unguarded moment, I feel more exposed and intimately linked with another soul than I ever have before, stripped bare in both body and spirit.
“Felix,” I breathe out, my voice strained with impending release. He captures my cry with his lips, swallowing my moans as he drives into me harder.
The intensity builds as his hands knead my ass, orchestrating our rhythm. His face nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his whisper hot and intimate against my skin. “I know,” he breathes, the words sending shivers down my spine. I can feel the tension coiling within me, each thrust fanning the flames higher. My fingers claw into his back, silently begging for more, for the release that hovers just out of reach.
A few more thrusts and I’m flying apart, my body shaking with the force of my climax. I feel him jerk inside me, his body pulsing as he finds his own release. He holds me close, our hearts pounding together as we both catch our breath in the aftermath.
I blink my eyes open, my vision hazy as I stare up at him. He looks down at me with an intensity that steals my breath, and I can feel how different this is now, and how nothing will ever be the same again.