“I need a drink.” He smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back as I look at the way the skin around his eyes crinkles on his suntanned face. “Why you smiling?” I ask him.
“You fucking amaze me, George. I don’t think I would survive what you’ve been through, and all you have to say in that cute little accent of yours is that you need a drink.” He kisses me full on the mouth and desire stirs in me. I think it’s the remaining adrenalin still looking for some release from my body, or it could just be that I’ve just been kissed by a well-fit bloke and I’m just a horny slut.
“Fuck me.”
“What?” He frowns as he asks and moves his head back so he can look at me better.
“I want you to fuck me.”
His eyes sparkle and he shakes his head. “I’m not fucking you yet. I want you to wait until we get to where we’re going later.”
I’m totally confused. “Why, what’s gonna happen later?” He bites down on his bottom lip, and I know he’s debating whether he wants to answer my question. I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows, giving him my best, ‘well I’m waiting’ look.
“How open-minded are you, Georgia? I mean, I’m assuming being married to a rock star, you’ve seen and done more than your average person? I know you drink. I know you smoke weed, but how much further have you ever gone? Have you ever completely lost control?” I don’t really know what he means, so I stay quiet as he continues. “These friends of mine we’re going to see tonight, they live a bit of an alternative lifestyle. There’s about twenty of them. They all live together, and when I say together, I do mean together. They all live and sleep with each other.” He looks over my face for a reaction, but I don’t think I give anything away. “They’re mainly artists, musicians—you know, hippy types—but they are all good people.”
“How’d you know them?” is all I can think of saying. This sounds more like Jackson and Emily’s thing, but hey, if it’s Roman’s as well, then who am I to judge?
“I met a girl at a bar I was playing at when I first came back from England, and she was living with them; I went and stayed for a few weeks.” My belly grumbles loudly and he smiles his crinkly-eyed smile. “Let’s go and eat. We’ll talk over dinner.”
*
By the time we pull up at the beach house a couple of hours later, I’m nervous and excited. We park at the front of the large home and then walk down through a side access. There’s no fence along the back of the property; it opens straight out onto the beach and the ocean. Roman has brought a six-pack of beers and a bottle of wine with him, and he carries them inside a cool bag in one hand and holds onto one of mine with the other. There’s a large bonfire burning, and someone is playing a guitar and singing. There are people sitting on beach chairs, lying on blankets or just standing in groups talking. I stumble a little on the sand, too busy people watching and not looking where I’m going; Roman slows and looks at me.
“You all right there, George? Not drunk already, are ya? The night’s just started.” I roll my eyes at him.
“Fuck off. I’m not drunk; I’m fucking shitting myself. You’re taking me to a party on a beach, full of people who like nothing better than to take hallucinogenic drugs and have orgies. I wish I was fucking drunk.” He stops in his tracks, turns and looks me square in the eye.
“I haven’t brought you here to do anything you don’t want to do; I told you this at dinner.” I’d drunk wine with my dinner and was feeling brave, but now the wine’s worn off and my bravery seems to have deserted me. I chew on the inside of my lip as I stare into his ice-blue eyes. From somewhere, I find her: G, George, the fifteen-year-old version who wasn’t scared of anyone. The bright, brand new, untainted version of me. I needed to be her tonight, not the thirty-two-year-old version who had been shit on from a great height by life. I understood Roman’s thinking behind bringing me here. He knew it would make me uncomfortable, but he wanted me to face it; he wants to make me brave and fearless again. I don’t know that I ever can be, but I can put on a fucking good front. The only problem with digging deep and finding fifteen-year-old George is that I’ve also found her jealousies and temper.