Chapter 52: Drummer Boys Are Progressive

I'm pretty sure this is the song they dance to later in the chapter.  It describes the way Bodie feels about Marley perfectly.

Bodie

Damn, Mama.

Marley is walking down the stairs, her eyes on her footfalls, an expression of concentration on her lovely face.

I'm glad she's not watching me watch her.

There is something so beautiful about her unawares.

It's not her outfit—a long wrappy kind of skirt and a white lacy halter top—is that swimwear or a camisole? Either way it fits her like a glove and contrasts with her gorgeous glow.

But no. It's not the clothes that makes her breathtaking.

It's not even her sexy tan, her blown out hair, her dew-kissed makeup.

It's not her body, her smile, her snorty laugh, not even her brain.

It's her lack of pretension.

This woman has no idea that she is the complete package.

Gorgeous. Strong. Commanding in her presence. Gentle in her love.

Trace thinks he has himself a Marianne del Marco, but honestly? Marley reminds me much more of Marianne that Kat.

Kat will be his rebel princess until the day she dies.

My woman? She's a Queen.

Elegant and enduring.

Her loveliness will never fade.

She looks up at me now, and then...she trips on the very last step.

I catch her before she falls on her face.

Well, to be fair, she's maybe a little more elegant without the five inch heels.

She makes that snorty, sexy laugh.

"Sorry. These sandals—"

"Are the perfect excuse for me to get my arms around you. And bonus, now your lips are right here at mine." I press mine to hers, mindful of the makeup.

She sighs and relaxes into my embrace. I feel all the tension go out of her spine. I grin.

"I haven't even hoo-dooed you yet with my fantastic boyfriend skills. But if you ain't gon' make me work for it," I duck and hoist her over my shoulder, "I'm just gonna take you right back upstairs and get down to it..."

She whoops with laughter and beats me on my back. "No! Put me down! I want the date night, you fool! I haven't been on a real date in three years!"

I don't put her down. Instead, I carry her out to the driveway, where Tesla has been freshly washed.

"Your carriage, my Lady." I open the door while she smooths her hair and straightens her tiny top.

She moves to sit, but I catch her hand. "Wait...I want to say..." I move right up against her back. "You look incredible, Jasmine."

Her eyes rake down my ripped jeans, white tank, and open black button down with sleeves rolled up.

"Thank you. You look too good to be true."

I slide a hand up her bare back. "I'm true, Mama. You can count on that."

She gets a shy grin on her face as she gets in the car.

"So...about what you said...being true...we haven't really talked about that."

I wrap my fingers in hers. "I didn't think we needed to. But if you got questions, lay 'em on me."

"Exclusive?"

"Definitely."

"Committed?"

"100%"

She takes a big breath. "What about public versus private?"

I hesitate.

She tries to pull away. My fingers tighten on hers reflexively.

"That's complicated."

"Because of Arabella?"

"No. Not because of her. Because I want to protect you. Because I don't want you crucified in the press as the other woman that broke up AraBodie."

Marley's expression blanks. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

"Not your job to think about that. Marcy's job. She's already working on it."

"Working on it how?"

"Hmmm...with Riley, somehow. Making sure your role with SCIC is well publicized. So there's good reason for us to be seen together."

Marley squeezes my hand and releases. Her grasp snakes up my arm.

"Have you talked to him?"

I turn to her, letting the Tesla take over the driving on the Interstate. "No. It seems like a conversation better left for face-to-face. I did not know Riley and Avery Thompson had a history. Am I fucking pissed at Thompson for the lack of disclosure? Hell yes. Does that constitute a breech in the contract I signed with him? No, it does not.

"But it does solidfy my intent to grow my vanity label under B-Side and wrestle full control away from Avery. I just need a little room to maneuver there, Marley. I can fix this. Riley is our most loyal brother. More inner circle than anyone that doesn't pick up an instrument on stage. I want to do right by him."

Her touch slides up to my face. "I'm with you. But, Bodie...there's something I need to tell you. I tried to resign, but Riley wants to keep me. Not as your sobriety companion. As a...I'm not sure what role he's thinking. He said he needs to sort some things out first, before we talk about my role at his agency. I told him we could talk about it more."

My mind runs the list of possibilities that Riley could be considering.

Counselor? With only five mostly functional bandmembers Not enough meat to the job to keep her satisfied.

Consultant? A meaningless, gratis position, because Riley keeps his own counsel.

Band PA? No. We have Penelope in Atlanta and she's likely to come back out on the road with us on the summer tour. Besides, those tasks are too tedious for Marley's intellect.

Tour manager? We have a need there, for sure. Riley can't keep running all the roles he has now.

Marley has no experience with the technical side, but she could learn from the best on our joint summer tour. Skid Marc's legendary tour manager, Boss Hawkins, will run the house and the stage every night. In truth, our tour manager only needs to know the skim when it comes to technicals, because our Front of House—Andy Jackson, runs a tight ship when it comes to our audio and lighting.

Yeah, our tour manager position is more about managing people. Now that I think about it, a tour manager is basically a taskmaster, a counselor, a part-time publicist, and a roadie supervisor rolled into one.

I study Marley's open countenance. I think about how amazing she was when she talked us all down during Mac's pregnancy crisis last Labor Day. I think about how I watched her, my vision and my mind blurring, as I desperately tried to merge this fierce grown woman with the vibe underneath that felt so familiar to me.

I couldn't place her, because in that moment? She wasn't Jasmine. Dr. Watkins was in full control.

She shouldn't have to give up the strong person she has grown into, just because the girl underneath loves me.

Yeah, I think she would like the challenges of managing a group of highly creative, marginally crazy people on a impossible schedule while she constantly pulls their faces away from the train wreck of their personal dramas and shoves them out on stage.

"You know what?" I say to her.

"What?" she asks agreeably.

"Riley always has good ideas, so I'm sure whatever he's thinking would be a great opportunity for you. But I really don't want to talk business right now. Right now, I want to get deep in you."

I lean over the console and claim her mouth with my insistent tongue.

She yields wonderfully. Her soft mouth is fucktastic. Then she scares the hell out of me, by shrieking into my mouth.

"Bodie!"

"Relax, baby. The car is self-driving."

She slaps my pec. "Still. Pay attention."

——————

Our first stop is a grunge one-story dinner spot not far from the hood, but far enough to be ironically depractive.

We park in broken asphalt and weeds. We stroll through hipster beards and girls with cold shoulders.

We rise to the top.

To the roof bar, that is.

It's sunset and it has a beautiful view of downtown Atlanta.

"Wow," Marley breathes as I plant two hands around her at the roof railing. "This is a beautiful place to have dinner."

"Oh, this isn't dinner. This is a progressive date. One stop of many, as we ease toward...each other. So this is a Red Bull all fancied up like a liquor drink for me, and one real drink for you, so you can relax." I plant one simple kiss on her bare shoulder.

Her body shakes beneath my lips. I grip her upper arms in my hands, trying to still her nervousness.

Damn. Never felt a girl want me so much. Never cared so much to make sure she knew the feeling was mutual.

"What's your favorite drink, Jaz? That's something I don't know about you. Something I want to learn."

"Bodie, that's not really appropriate..."

"Sure it is. You aren't my sober companion anymore. You are my wonderful, supportive girlfriend, who knows that having a drink in front of me is not going to rattle me. Baby, you are quaking beneath my every touch. You need to relax. I want to melt into love with you later, not get shocked by a live wire..."

I plant more kisses up the back of neck and she shivers convulsively, illustrating my point.

"Okay. Okay," she giggles as she eases away from me.

She glides, all grace on her heels now. I follow. We end up at a high top for two beneath a tiger striped sky.

"A glass of Cabernet," she tells the waiter. I follow up with a request for Red Bull cut with coconut water and a splash of lime.

We toast to us. She's my dream, framed by orange and purple expanse.

She props her legs up on my thigh and offers up a smile to the heavens. "You know what the best part of this progressive date is?"

I massage her arch inside her sandal. "What's that?"

She levels her gaze to me with a look of wonder. "I don't care at all where we go next."

I grin. "That's exactly what I was hoping for."

"But it's not like me."

"Maybe not like Dr. Watkins. But maybe like a girl you used to know?" I coax.

She takes a weighted swallow of her wine. "It's scary. Giving over the control to you."

I keep massaging. "I know. It is scary, giving up control. But I know you are smart enough to see the flaw in that statement."

She takes two more long gulps. Her eyelashes brush her cheeks as she says, "You aren't in control. It's bigger than you. Than us. Than Daemon and the drugs, even. Soundcrush is a dragon you ride."

I grip her calf—my desire to take her, be one with her right this minute—so strong.

She understands.

She understands like no one does.

"Yes. Soundcrush is a beautiful beast. But savage. Lending me magic like I've never known. Threatening to dump us all off the ride at any minute. I honestly don't know how Trace copes." My smile is sad.

"He's got...hotter dragons he can't control," she smiles back. "To him, Soundcrush is...a tamed thing."

"He's wrong."

"He is," she says automatically. "But let's help him keep control as long as it can be managed, okay? I...kind of...like him."

I feel my own grin, lop-sided. "I'm glad. I love the bastard. I'm glad you like them all, really."

"They are your family."

"Yes, but if there ever was a choice—you are Darius are the only decision for me. Need you to know that, Jaz."

She finishes her wine and smiles at the sky. I love the way she gazes up there.

"Baby?" she asks.

"Yeah?"

The brilliance of her expression catches me off guard. It makes my heart speed as she says, "What's next?"

—————

The next stop on our progressive date is brief but important.

I pull the Tesla into my mother's driveway. Most of her guests have parked at the clubhouse and been shuttled to her Oyster Roast by golfcart.

Some charity thing. A foundation that provides educational funds for young, disadvantaged mothers.

I've already made a donation. Our attendance here has another goal. I want Marley to meet my family. All my family.

Marley waits this time, as I walk around to open her door. We already had the "not necessary" argument at the bar, and we compromised.

For date nights, it's completely necessary.

The party is fancy and mostly concentrated in the backyard. Despite the throng, my mama catches up with us as we hit the back patio.

Marley gets a hug before me.

"You look incredible," my mother says, brandishing a champagne flute that is barely tasted. Her eyes search us both. "You're all sorted out?"

I wrap my arm around Marley's waist and kiss her cheek in response. Marley blushes, but she doesn't shy away. She puts a hand to my face and turns to kiss me lightly.

My mother flings her champagne and embraces us both. Then she grips her fists and lifts her chin. "Thank you, Jesus."

It's amazing how her prayer perfectly coincides with the waiter, who gives her another glass of champagne she will lightly sip.

She doesn't even sample before she levels Marley with her gaze. "When do I get to meet my grandson?"

"Tomorrow?" Marley suggests. "Before we leave for LA?"

I take the champagne from my Mama before she flings it again. She throws herself on Marley for a brief instant, then she's taking her flute back.

"But Mama—"

"Don't you But Mama me, Bodie Jamison. You don't have to worry about Pat Turner and me. I won't stir up any fuss." She frowns. "Well, until it's appropriate and unless it's necessary."

I give her a stare-down. "You can not tell her you know. Darius can not let her know. I am very serious about that."

"Boy, who do you think you are talking to? You trust a thirteen year old with a secret like that and now you are gonna lecture me?" she pops right back.

I look to Marley for a little help. She's so good at mediating with difficult people.

"Of course we trust you," Marley says. "Bodie is new to parenting, remember. He's sort of..." she looks at me with a smile, "using his dad persona on everyone right now." She pats me on the arm. "You can turn it off, Big Dawg."

Wait. She was supposed to handle my mama, not me, in this situation. Still, I find myself sliding a hand around her waist and murmuring in her ear, "Hard to turn off my bark, when you got me so turned on."

She slaps my pec. I catch her hand. My mother stares at us and snorts. "Well, I would offer you some oysters, but it doesn't look like you need them, Bodie."

"Oh, I came to eat oysters. By the pound." I'm probably giving Marley a lusty look. She bites back her smile and looks away.

"Is Varrick here?" she asks innocently, scanning the crowd.

"No, he's in South America on business," my mother says automatically.

Oh. Yeah. That reminds me.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about him. Are you actually involved with him? Like, seriously?"

She raises her lovely chin, hurt squeezing her eyes. "You disapprove?"

I run a hand over my head and look at Marley. This is our date. I don't want to start an argument with my mother.

"I don't disapprove, exactly. I'm just a little...scared for you...when it comes to him. I think Von wants to be a good guy, but he's...complicated. I just don't want you to get all tangled up in his complications."

"You let me worry about my tangles," she winks at me. "Seems like you have your own tangled web. Speaking of which, what have you done with my former charge, Arabella?"

"I dropped her in LA with a temporary minder who has already gotten her a new sober companion. Let's not talk about her on my date with my wonderful girlfriend." I beam at Marley. She smiles back.

"Girlfriend?" my mother says with amusement. "That's a little weak, don't you think? Considering that you are living together like a family with your thirteen year old son?"

"You prefer I call her my Babymama? I thought you hated that label..."

"I prefer Daughter," my mom says with a wink and a grasp of the hand to Marley. Then she sails away to her guests.

I sigh in exasperation. I love my mama to death, but she never cuts me a break when she can give me a hard time. What does she want? Me to a pull a Trace or a Madam and marry Marley on some crazy whim?

Naw, that ain't me. I'm a drummer. I lay a foundation. I keep a steady beat. I build a rhythm.

"About what she said..."

Marley puts a finger to my lips. "Bodie, our life is crazy right now. So much uncertainty. Marriage is the last thing on my mind. You don't have to say a thing."

"You are my perfect partner," I tell her, and I mean it.

Her hands play on my t-shirt, fingers the muscles underneath. "It does feel like we are in sync, doesn't it?"

"Mmmm-hmmm. Just wait to I slurp down a pound of those oysters." I nod to the serving tent. "Then I'm going show you how long we can stay in sync."

Her eyes unfocus and her lip part as she stares over my shoulder. I think she's fantasizing about later tonight. Then her eyes snap back to me and she smiles. "I can't wait."

"Well you are gonna have to wait a few more hours. I brought you here to introduce you to my family."

Everyone is here but Tam. She's having a hard time trying to keep Leed from drinking himself into a coma and also keeping Ben from killing him out in LA right now. But I introduce Marley to Tam's parents—my second parents—and Tam's two younger brothers and sisters. Then to all their cousins, which are my cousins too, in every practical way.

Before long, we are seated at the family table, and Marley is laughing at the embarrassing stories a couple of my cousins are telling about me. Marley has a one of my three year old family members on her lap, coloring with her on the white paper that lines the table, while I get serious with a pile of oysters.

Every time I slurp one, Marley gives me an eye roll. Eventually little Lydia goes to play with her older brother, and the family at our long end of the table drifts away, leaving us in relative seclusion. Marley leans over to me.

"I don't believe for a second you need those oysters to increase your libido. I heard about you. The fangirls call you the All-Nighter."

I use an oyster knife to wedge open another shell. "Ah. You and Ashlynn been gossipin' huh? Can't believe Sunny would do me like that."

"To be fair, I started it," she whispers.

I put a little Tabasco on this oyster, and a little salt, and I offer it to Marley. She tips it and it slides into her mouth. I watch her throat as she swallows.

"Ya like that?"

"Mmmm-hmmm." She reaches for another. I grin.

Oysters don't only work on dudes. Supposedly they fire up women too.

"What did you want to know about me, girl? That you had to pick Ashlynn's brain for fangirl knowledge?"

She leans closer and puts her hand in my crotch. "I was trying to work out how your dick grew so much since you were fifteen."

I choke on the oyster I'm slurping.

She jumps, moving her hand to grab me a napkin.

I swallow water and oyster and her words, finally subsiding. She puts her hand back to my crotch.

"Is that so?" I murmur, working on opening another oyster. "I guess I never really noticed."

"I noticed. You're so big now it's kind of...intimidating."

"I see." I do see now. Why she was so tense two mornings ago, when we tried to get something going.

I mean, I know I'm bigger than average, although I can't remember ever not being this size. Of course, I spent a long time in juvi where the size of my dick was thankfully a non-issue.

But when I got out? Most chics seemed to love my endowment. Like, they get excited when we get down to it and they see me. Never had one shy away. Of course, I've mostly been with very experienced girls. I've always assumed my size was a fortunate blessing in the way of pleasing a woman.

I never considered it would be any different with Marley.

I look at her, considering. It's highly possible that since Daemon, thirteen years ago, that maybe Marley hasn't had a lot of sex.

I pull apart the oyster, choosing words to reassure. "Well don't worry baby, we can go slow. As slow as you need. I'll take good care of you, I promise."

Her face is lit with too many emotions for me to read, but there is a charge in the air between us. I put the shell to her lips. She takes the oyster, her eyes never leaving mine as she chews.

Goddamn, do we really have to go to dinner? I'm growing beneath her hand right now. My eyes flit to the upper story of my mother's house.

I have the brief desperate thought that a quickie in one of the bedrooms would be a nice thrill in the middle of this progressive date.

No. Marley's already worried about how we will fit together. A quickie is not the best remedy for that fear.

I gently remove her hand and press a linen napkin to her mouth to catch a dribble of oyster juice. "As much as I love your hand on me, you gotta stop that. And we gotta get out of here. Any more oysters and palming and I'm gonna have to fuck you in the holly bushes over there. I'd hate to get prickles in your pretty ass."

She giggles. I throw the napkin down and haul ass, dragging Marley around the side of the house as she calls farewells and nice-to-meet-you's to all my family.

This time, I don't let the Tesla drive itself. I need the distraction.

—————

The restaurant is casual, but one of the most acclaimed new places in Atlanta. The food is reimagined comfort food—artisan-style. It's a good thing the portions are small, because both of us are too charged to eat much.

Over the two hour dinner, I learn so many things about Marley that I didn't know.

I learn she likes red wine, but never finishes the bottom of the glass.

I learn the movie Us scared the bejesus out of her and she slept at TJ's for two nights after she saw it. I sort of wonder what her ex-fiancé thought of that, but I don't ask, because I don't want him here on our date.

I learn she likes the beach better than the mountains.

I learn she hasn't spoken to her adoptive parents since she got out of jail, and they have never met Darius.

I learn her dream vacation is a month in Italy.

I make a silent vow to work on that dream vacation.

I also plan to get into the adoptive parents thing, but later. Much later.

I learn what I suspected—she has had five lovers. Including me.

I learn she's diabolical, because when she asks me to return the body count, and I tell her I honestly have no idea, she makes an estimated calculation on a cocktail napkin.

She asks me questions. In college how many girls on average, per week? And in LA? And on tour? When I refuse to answer, she fills in her own estimates, Googles our tour dates and calculates the three phases of my life. Then she adds + Arabella and marks the count at 293.

I jerk the napkin from her, crumpling it and scooting toward her in the booth.

"It can't possibly be that high."

It can totally be that high. I think her college estimate was a little low. Leed and I went through a competitive phase our freshman year. We were nineteen year old douchebags, what can I say?

"You keep telling yourself that, Rock Star," her eyes are twinkling. She's not bothered at all by the reality she just calculated. She takes a small sip of wine.

I put a finger on her jaw and turn her face to mine. "Hey. You were always the girl in my story. I just had some dumb misadventures along the way back to you, is all."

Her lazy eyes roam my face. I think she's feeling the couple of glasses of wine. "I'm glad you came back around to me. I want you all the way back."

I know exactly what she means. "I want all the way back too. I want back inside you. As soon as possible."

She makes a moany sigh and my dick twitches even as I'm raising two fingers for the check.

————

We're making out while the Tesla drives on the interstate. We're rolling tongues, devouring each other's taste.

I am also up her skirt, teasing beneath her thong. She's gasping, reaching over the console to unbuckle my belt.

I briefly considering letting her have at it.

Road head is a car that you don't have to drive? Must be a beautiful thing.

But then I see our exit and I still her hand, putting it on the wheel instead. "We're getting off."

"Please," she moans.

"No," I chuckle, still stroking her lightly. "We're getting off the interstate. Help me change lanes, unless you want me to keep my hands on the wheel..."

"No!" she protests. I slow as she maneuvers us off the interstate and I return to teasing apart her lower lips.

"This...is...dangerous..." she pants as lightly rub her slick, swollen center and we roll to the light at the top of the off-ramp. "And...this is...not our exit."

She's right. It's dangerous. As much as I like this naughty game, she cannot navigate in traffic from the passenger seat with my hands driving her to climax. She is also right, that this is not our exit. We passed our exit, but that was on purpose.

"We have one more stop on our progressive date," I tell her.

"Let's skip it."

I kiss her and withdraw my hand from heaven. "Can't. Went to a lot of trouble for this one and I think you are going to like it."

I take a left and within three minutes we are pulling into the old coffee shop where we became each other's best friends. It's closed down.

Yesterday I leased the building and had a team of people here.

"What have you done?" she asks with a sly grin.

"Come see."

Inside, the place is devoid of people but the coffee bar is filled with inventory. Counters and floors and table tops gleam. Einstein bulbs are strung diagonally across the length of the narrow space. Soft, sweet music is playing. New decor is scattered and old books are shelved, completing the ambiance. In the back, where the light is more dim, an expansive velvet sofa littered with pillows and soft throws waits to be broken in.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," she says.

I embrace her from behind. "Because we are more beautiful than we were back then. Time and struggle have polished us. Now we are back where we began and this time...this time I'm not letting you go."

I turn her in my arms just as a new song begins.

We dance like people who are far less burdened with worry than we are. We dance away all the drama. We dance deep into each other.

At the end of the song, I walk to the front. I close the blinds. I lock the door.

I take my woman in hand and walk her slowly back toward the velvet couch I bought just so I could make love to her on it.

"Here?" She says breathlessly as her legs touch the back of the couch and I slide off her skirt.

"Here," I say decidedly. "Here where I fell in love with you."

To be looked at with as much love as Jaz has on her face right now? It makes me feel superhuman.

I swear, I will do whatever it takes to keep her love, her trust. To keep her always looking at me like she is right now.

"You are perfect."

"No, I'm not. But this moment is. I love you, Jasmine."

"I love you, Bodie."

And so we begin a night I never want to end.

Shall we have a little love scene next?