A Song for Julia

out of the crowd and screws her, then sends her home in a cab in the morning. If that much. In a lot of ways, I’ve spent my life being a complete prick.
    I didn’t want to be a prick any more.
    Which didn’t mean I didn’t look at Julia as a sex object. I’ve not suddenly turned into a saint, and looking at her, it was inescapable. But she was also smart as hell and determined, and she took on those record industry guys like no one I know could have. She cared about Sean, and loved music, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself, I was starting to think she might love me.
    Plus, as of today, I was officially a rock star. So screw it.
    I tossed my cigarette, watching the coal as it flew out of sight and slid the door open. There were two hotel toothbrushes, one of them still wrapped in plastic in the bathroom. I sloshed water in my mouth and slid into bed with her, instead of in the other bed.
    I curled up behind her, put my arm around her and went to sleep.

    Are you serious? (Julia)
    An unfamiliar alarm clock was screaming at me. And someone’s arm was wrapped tight around my waist.
    I struggled to open my eyes and figure out just where the hell I was, when it came back. Los Angeles. That was Crank wrapped around me. And the alarm was going off. Which meant we needed to be at the airport in an hour. I stretched out and switched off the alarm.
    I groaned, then rolled over and faced Crank.
    Twenty-four hours of stubble had sprouted on his face, shading his chin and making me want to miss that plane. But I had class on Monday, and he had to work, and there wasn’t time, and damn it. I leaned forward and kissed him, hard on the lips. His eyes popped open immediately, and I said, forcefully, “You suck!”
    He was startled.
    “Get up,” I said. “We’ve got to get to the airport.”
    “Oh, shit,” he said. “Are we late? What did I do?”
    “Left me hanging,” I said. “So you could buy cigarettes.”
    I turned away and sat up. My head was swimming, my body clock all out of whack now.
    “Actually,” he murmured, very quietly, “I went to buy condoms. But you were asleep when I got up here.”
    I leaned forward and laughed, but that made my head start hurting. “Are you serious?” I asked.
    “Yeah,” he said, sheepishly.
    “I’m going to get a shower,” I said.
    I got up and stumbled to the shower, while he groaned and sat up. Then I walked over to my purse near the door and tore open the box inside. His back was to me, so he jumped when I threw the first packet at him, whacking him in the back of the head with a wrapped condom.
    “What the hell?” he said, jerking. The next one caught him on the side of the face.
    “Condoms, punk,” I said, throwing another one. That one he caught. He lifted it up and shook his head and groaned.
    I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. God. I couldn’t believe he’d gone to buy condoms. Why didn’t he just say something?
    I turned on the water, fiddling with the temperature until it was right, then slipped out of my bra and panties and got in the shower.
    I stuck my head under the stream of water, closed my eyes and sighed, already feeling my headache starting to clear. I needed that. Usually I keep regular hours, and while I’m not prone to jetlag, staying up for 24 hours straight isn’t normal for me.
    I’d have gladly stayed up a couple more, if he’d made it upstairs. I felt stupid: I’d carefully arranged the room, and myself, as provocatively as possible. Then stared up at the ceiling, getting more and more frustrated, as my eyes became heavier and heavier. Next thing I knew, the alarm was going off.
    I pulled my head out from under the water and started to reach for the shampoo when I heard his voice.
    “You’ve got ten seconds to say no, or throw something at me, or yell or whatever. Otherwise, I’m coming in there.”
    I froze. My heart was suddenly beating heavily, my chest tight, and I felt lightheaded. I hadn’t expected this. In the shower? I’d dated Willard for almost two years, and never once had something like this happened. He was straight missionary position, once a week, like clockwork. There were a couple times when I had difficulty staying awake when we were together.
    Not now. I felt tingling as the water beat against my breasts, and then behind me, the shower curtain sliding.
    I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I literally couldn’t move a muscle. Then suddenly, I felt his hands slide around me and