In Utero

By Corri Lee

After a two year battle to stay together, a new fight begins; one that no amount of research, healthy living, trust and love could prepare them for...

The fight between child and mother.

After three long, arduous days, the couple who had to learn to meet each other halfway find themselves sitting in a hospital room, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the child who sneaked into their lives without them even realising.

The experience is exhausting and unpredictable. The only comfort they have are the sounds coming from the medical equipment and each other's company, though the latter is truly more soothing than anything.

She asks nothing of him.
Nothing more than for a story - his story - to distract her. He promised to tell her once and she's holding him to it.
What she doesn't know is that she might be biting off more than she can chew with her request.

For lovers of 'I'm With The Band', read the story again as told by him; the conversations she didn't hear, the sights she didn't see and the secrets she never knew existed along with her typically blunt and brusque reactions to his belated honesty.
His version of events is guaranteed to stun, but could it possibly be more than she can handle?
One thing is certain; you'll never look at the 'Meet Me Halfway' love story in the same way again.

There is anger. There are tears. You know there'll be laughter, love and sex.

But most importantly...

There is bacon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corri Lee
• Release date: Nov 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310394430

Corri Lee

Self-publishing author and self-confessed fantasist, I vent my ideas into novels that I strive to make emotionally provocative and addictive. Music is referenced heavily and is a huge influence in the way I write. Those who know me well will see the pieces of my personality that I put into my words. Those who don't will see outrageous story lines, gut wrenching twists, raunchy love affairs, and heart stopping romance.Jaws will drop. Eyes will burn. Cheeks will blush. Pages will turn. If just one of those reactions is evoked from every reader, then I know that my time isn't wasted.I write in the hope that my work will be enjoyed and the word will spread. Not for the *unlikely* financial gain, but for the knowledge of knowing that I made a mark on the world by just 'being'.

Book preview

I've always been a dreamer. I won't deny it. Some might call me stupid for chasing fantasies, but look at all I have for doing so.

Without my dreams, I'd have nothing. There'd be no sun in my sky—no light in my life. I'd be working the daily grind, an unfulfilled robot going through the motions until the day I died. I would never have fallen in love so quickly and dramatically, have a family as wide and amazing as it is. I would just be an observer to life, not even a player out on the field. 

With the faint sound of our music in the background, I watch my miracle fend off the aftershocks of the pains bringing our son into the world. Even when exhausted, she is beyond beautiful. 

I still can't believe my luck. The odds have been against us from the start, but look at her. I fought tooth and nail for her and it's been an almighty battle. The past five months have been a cinch in comparison. I just wish I could take over from her, just for a while...

She smiles at me, eyes half closed, and holds out a hand. Stop worrying about me, Caspian. Like that's going to happen. Our boy is taking his sweet time and she's been in slow labour for three days. I'm tired. Distract me—keep me awake.

How? I will do anything to make her feel better.

You promised to tell me about how we met from your point of view. You joked about writing a book. Come on, I have some spare time. 

That's really what you want?

Sure. She smirks in that cheeky, irresistible way of hers. Call it a bedtime story.

Okay. 

My girl loves her bedtime stories, and boy, is mine a tale to tell.

ONE

The Beginning Of Everything

When I was twenty-one, I met a girl. I was on my way to a meeting at my new office in Birmingham City Centre when she shouted out after me. I didn't stop at first, but when she shouted again I stalled, amazed by her bad manners. 

I was glad that she stopped me. 

Her long blonde hair fanned out as she jogged towards me, red leather coat whipping out to reveal killer legs sheathed in fishnets. Her aviators covered her eyes and most of her face but she held herself so proudly that I couldn't not feel a stirring in my chest. Whatever it was that happened in that strange moment, I wondered if she'd felt it, too.

Her voice was small as she asked me to take her CD. That was the only clue I had that she wasn't as ballsy as she looked. She promised that the music would change my life but it didn't. 

She did.

Her music had been a shock. I'd witnessed enough amateur bands handing out demos on the street to know that they were usually out of tune, out of time and generally awful. But The Bystander Effect, even in their early days, were a well oiled machine that played seamlessly. And her voice? Well, if I hadn't already guessed that she was a complicated little thing, I had my proof in a twelve track limited edition album.

In a low, seductive rasp, she sang lyrics that told more about her life than she probably intended. While the individual tracks ranged from playful to downright aggressive, the undertones of pain and loneliness were always there. The only ballad on the CD, Meet Me Halfway, implied physical hurt I found myself praying was metaphorical. The album title itself, Make Believe, was a hint that music was a front for what she felt inside. 

From the first play through, my mind was made up that one day I would find her again and show her that it was just as safe to hurt out loud as it was to love and trust. I wouldn't rest until I'd done just that.

My family thought I was a joke for the way I handled my infatuation with a girl I'd met fleetingly just once. For me, pulling strings with my money and stalking her via the internet wasn't the way to play it. I wanted to believe that fate would push me in her direction if it was meant to be. It even sounds stupid to me now, but I don't regret the way I let things pan out.

I downloaded all their new releases on iTunes, knowing that I'd lose the CDs while travelling for business. It made sense to have it all in one place and constantly to hand. I didn't obsess over getting every item of band memorabilia, every magazine and seeing every video because that didn't matter to me. I didn't want to know what she looked like when she was airbrushed and covered in make up, her favourite colour and birthday because I could learn all that later. 

I had the memory of how she looked then and her music that told me how she felt. That was enough.

Nearly five years later, I finally found her again. Or at least I thought I had—it was hard to make sense of the circumstances. I sat and watched her for eight weeks while I tried to figure out if approaching her would end up in me being humiliated. Her band had gone international and something stupid like triple platinum, so it didn't really seem right that she'd be in Birmingham University lectures with her Chinese friend. Even if it was her, there was no guarantee that she'd remember me. When she'd said that mine was the only CD she'd hand out, it might have been a sales pitch I fell for hook, line and sinker.

Hating university, I didn't go unless imperative. Then, when I saw her, I started going out of curiosity to see if she'd be there again, which then became a sad case of me turning up to lectures because she was there. My attendance record never looked so good. The sight of her made me almost pathetic; nearly as pathetic as the way I'd fixated on her since the day our paths first crossed.

"So how, pray tell, did you avoid seeing any pictures of me or finding out my name for five years?"

"If you don't go looking for something, it's unlikely that you'll find it. I was so damn busy with work and failing uni that it was easy to never have spare time to look you up."

"And you seriously thought that fate would bring us together? Hmm..."

She reaches out and starts patting down my clothes

"...What are you doing?"

"Looking for your vagina."

Oh, haha.

"Funny. But I have to point out that my strange system worked well."

"Yeah, well... you got me there. Fate is something of a wild card."

"No shit."

At the end of those eight weeks, fate came calling. I woke up with some weird drive to finally walk up to the girl I'd been watching and get my suspicions confirmed. Something told me that it was my one and only chance. 

There were no lectures that day, so I went to the library; the only other place I'd seen her. It seemed like a sign that her and her friend walked in at exactly the same moment as me, laptops under arms, and sat at the table furthest from everyone. Grabbing any book available, I sat down somewhere with a direct view of them and pretended that I wasn't watching.

My eyes locked with her friend's the way they had every time we'd been in the same room. She knew that I was there for the blonde and while she never left her side, she never gave me any sort of indication that I should back off, either. 

Our staring competition prevailed as the blonde set to work industriously typing away what I knew was Sociology. Every time I'd seen her she was working like that—like words were going out of fashion. I wished I had her kind of motivation for the subject, lacking any kind of will to earn a degree I neither wanted nor needed. If my 'father' hadn't been such a bastard, I might not have bothered at all, but when I realised that it was my way to her I stopped resenting him for it.

But still I couldn't guarantee that it was her. This girl always wore battered up jeans and a band hoody, hair pinned back with aviator sunglasses I didn't want to hope too much that I'd seen before. She was rougher around the edges than the girl I was looking for and looked too young from a distance to be four or five years older. 

Still, that was my day and I hadn't felt myself drawn to her pointlessly. If it was her, my gut feeling was right. If it wasn't, I had to believe that the magnetism was there for a reason, and that maybe The Bystander Effect had just been a distraction to keep me from meeting someone else who wasn't really what I wanted before this golden opportunity arrived. Fate was apparently decent enough to let me uphold my morals against cheating on a woman. I hoped it was kind enough to at least let me embarrass myself to her without an audience, too.

I was almost debating getting someone with a bigger set of balls than me to pass her a note when she sat back from her laptop with a triumphant smirk. Her friend leaned over to look at the screen, nodded in approval and they chatted quietly, throwing the occasional glance in my direction. 

Crap. They were obviously talking about me. My palms began to get clammy because that was the moment I realised she was aware of my existence, and now I was going to have to make my move. 

That dampness spread to my back as I watched her turn her chair parallel to the table, lean an elbow on the wood and run a hand through her hair, taking a sweeping look around the library before looking right at me. My loose knowledge of psychology told me to mimic her posture and smile, resisting the urge to break our first time eye contact, if I wanted her to know I was interested.

Her head cocked when she smiled back and something about her softened. Her smile was sweet, if a little lacking in enthusiasm, and her eyes seemed to glaze a little as though deep in thought. It was such an unguarded look, full of emotion and mystery. Like the girl I was chasing, she looked lonely and it took all my self-control to not jump up right away and head over there. 

Her friend muttered something that brought her back from wherever her mind was floating and suddenly her entire demeanour changed. A wild flare hit her eyes and her back straightened to prime herself for the move that made me feel like a dumb kid seeing his first boobs.

Her tongue licked across her top lip and her teeth sank into the bottom. All coherent thought left me in a second at the very small flirtatious movement that apparently caught the attention of the guy next to me. His spilt drink was the only thing that saved me from having to walk up to her with an awkward boner. 

The guy stooped down and I leaned with him. He looked like I felt—flustered as shit.

You all right, man?

"Yeah, it's just her. He jerked his head in the blonde's direction. She's fucking intense. I think my nuts just dropped into a second puberty. As needlessly graphic as his description of his bollocks was, I could sympathise. The phrase 'ball buster' came to mind. Dude, she just did that at you. What the fuck are you still doing here talking to me?" 

He made a good point and by some implausible stroke of luck, she was standing on her own over a printer. Thank you, fate. It was my moment to shine.

The time it took to walk over to her was all the time I needed to remember that I sucked with women. Sure, I'd attracted a few in my time but I didn't know how to feign an interest, let alone express a genuine one. The treat 'em mean philosophy that my past, uh... 'ex-girlfriends' apparently thought I was exercising when I told them that, honestly, I didn't see them in my future, wasn't going to work with this chick. I had to think of something and fast, before she realised that I was standing behind her.

But like an idiot, I chose to focus on how she moved up close. Her hands were shoved into her pockets, jingling change as she tapped her foot to music she must have been hearing in her mind. She smelled of hard liquor and stale smoke, and had a dishevelled kind of just-rolled-out-of-bed look about her. After seeing her that way for eight weeks, I knew that it was all intentional. One way or another, as studious as she was, she was a rocker inside.

She looked over her to friend, took a step back into me and went stiff. I didn't move until she relaxed and turned to face me with an eyebrow raised, too afraid to speak and ruin my chance to be close to her.

I sagged into the wall when I saw her face—one that could break hearts with a blink. Every inch of her was flawless and so beautiful even I was a little jealous. Her—

"Are you hamming this up?"

"No, I'm telling it like I saw it. Don't interrupt me."

"Shutting up..."

Her eyes were a steely grey, all seeing and precise, boring into me unnervingly. Was it the same girl? I still had no idea, but I knew one thing. She screamed 'trouble' and I wanted her so badly it hurt. She might have even been better than the girl from four years ago, so it was a safe bet that I was way out of my depth.

Yes?

I flinched. Her voice was curt and confident with just a slight husk to it. Too different. All signs were leading to her being a different person.

Secretly a little disappointed, I finally found my voice but at a loss for words, came out with the least logical response. You look familiar. Stupid.

I should imagine I do when you've been eye-balling me for the past two months. She didn't sound overly impressed and I couldn't say I blamed her. I knew how it felt to be watched by people I didn't know.

Forcing a smile, I scratched at an imaginary itch on my neck, trying not to let her see how awkward I felt around her. Sorry, I have been a bit tactless but I don't usually go for girls like you. Girls so completely out of my league. Call me crazy but I wasn't keen on girls laughing in my face. There was no way I'd let her see that I was Mr. Inexperienced, though.

I beg your pardon? 

You know, boyfriend cut jeans, over-sized hoodies pulled up over your head to hide the fact you're self-conscious. Now why in hell would you say that? I winced inwardly, knowing that I'd just put my foot in it by trying to act like a hard-ass with a girl in every city.

Her eyebrow rose again and she shot me the same look my sister gave me when she asked if she looked fat in a dress and I told the truth. You're way off base. I know! God, did I know. Her gaze slipped down to the printer at her side and her eyes rolled. Whatever she was printing still had thirty pages left and the paper tray was empty. She couldn't escape yet; I still had chance to redeem myself for that... idiocy.

The top page of her print out caught my eye. It was mid-paragraph but I was baffled by the depth and eloquence of what she'd written. That's when it struck me that it was her dissertation and she was handing it in early. She was already too hot for me and now she was too smart. I didn't have a hope in hell.

Her irritation permeated off her and I realised that it was my fault again because I was blocking her access to the drawer of paper behind me. Sidestepping, I leaned with her when she crouched, feeling the world grind to a halt as she reached out. Two huge old school roses were tattooed across the backs of both of her hands, vivid red and as perfect as her. Except for the right hand—that was different. The centre of that rose seemed slightly off, as though it was covering a small round scar. Was that the point of the tattoo?

Like she knew I'd discovered a dirty secret, she straightened quickly and pushed past me back to the printer, leaving me feeling like the battle was lost. With no way to reverse time and nothing left to go wrong, I stood up next to her and braced myself to make my last stand. If she told me to go fuck myself, I could go back to lusting after rockstars and brush it off as a try-harder-next-time trial run. If she said yes, I'd try not to unintentionally insult her again.

Let me take you for coffee.

Her shoulders flagged with the same disbelief written all over her face. If I'm not your type, why the hell would you take me for coffee? Because you are my type. I didn't know that I wasn't beyond reproach for that dumbass comment, so I shrugged and tried to charm her with a pleading look. I'm not a tool. Please believe I'm not a tool. "Fine, she conceded, one coffee."

Before I could ask her to say it again, she strolled off to her friend to grab her bag, spoke briefly, then headed back in my direction. As she walked, she twisted her hair up into a messy bun and pulled her sunglasses down over her beautiful eyes.

After you, then.

Now? Holy shit. I hadn't expected immediate results. A phone number, maybe, or arrangements to meet somewhere. Actually, I'd had no expectations at all. 

I'm not coming back on campus after today—I've done my time. It's now or never. 

That had to be proof that fate existed. A day sooner and she might have said no. A day later and she'd be gone completely. My belief in waiting patiently for it all to play out how I wanted without pushing for divine intervention was bolstered by the sight of her leading the way out of the university.

Sneaking a celebratory air punch before I followed her, I looked back at her still printing dissertation to find her friend standing there, looking bemused. 

Go get her, tiger, she muttered with a conspiratorial wink of encouragement. Somehow, I felt like I'd found a valuable ally provided I didn't cock up this coffee.

But where the fuck was I supposed to take her? Coffee, okay, as far as I knew it was almost in 'date' territory but not quite. Everyone knew me by name and made eyes at me in Starbucks, or at least called me 'Mr. Pearce', which sort of seemed like either a suggestion that I'd shagged all the female baristas or a big slap in the face with my bank account. I didn't get the impression that this girl was the type to be impressed by money. 

Costa screamed, I can't quite afford Starbucks because I'm a broke student but I'm desperate to impress you. Where the hell could I take her that said I was a normal guy with normal tastes and interests, not some kind of psychopath or stiff? Somewhere not overly crowded, familiar and in no way isolated...

My feet stopped at the doors of McDonald's and I waited for my well deserved facepalm. We'd walked over from the campus in silence and now, without even thinking about it, I'd strolled right up to the place about as intimate and romantic as a Dutch oven. It was almost like I was subconsciously trying to screw myself over.

McDonald's, seriously? Yeah, I can't believe it either. But it was kind of late to turn around so I had to make the best of a bad situation. 

Sure, you've seen the adverts, right? She shook her head at me numbly and walked straight past me to find the table furthest away from the door with her head low. Suddenly, flashing my wallet didn't seem like it would have been such a bad idea.

The queue was graciously short, so I got our coffees in record time and grabbed a handful of sugar and milk. My new one woman hate club was still sat in the corner wearing her aviators, tapping her foot and fiddling with her fingers impatiently. As glad as I was that she hadn't bolted for the door as soon as my back was turned, I wondered if she ever kept still.

Aren't you going to take those off? I asked in reference to the aviators, and got a vicious glare over the frames in reply. Knowing how to pick my battles, I took the lid off her coffee cup so she didn't have to stop fiddling and decided break the awkward silence with pleasantries. I'm CJ Pearce, by the way. She would at least come out of this disaster with a name to add to her shit list, and I deserved to be at the top of it.

She leaned back, blowing on the steam curling from the coffee she took black with no sugar and smirked to herself. Amelia Marsh BSc. Oh hell yes, she was smart. Not smart enough to have walked out on my sorry ass and obviously too smart to pour her coffee over my head. The right amount of smart. And her name, boy, did it suit her. She looked like an Amelia.

If you already have a BSc, why have you just printed a dissertation? 

She blinked at me, looking almost put out by my question. Because I've done another degree? Holy shit. Super smart, then. And yet, she was still sitting with me.

Why in hell would you do that?

Because I can. Oh. Oh jeez. I was at a loss as to how to handle Miss Way-Smarter-Than-Me after that. Every second of my time with her was precious to me but I couldn't help but feel like she resented me for wasting hers. She was a rocker, tattooed, gorgeous, wicked clever, and obviously not into me. I had less than no chance.

What's your major? She was making small talk? I stared into her sunglasses but I could hardly see her eyes through the mirrored lenses, just my own reflection. Unlike the girl in the street whose face told her whole life, this girl—Amelia—showed me nothing. She was so stoic now her eyes were covered, it was almost unnatural. I'd have given anything to know what she was thinking.

Sociology. Which she already knew.

No shit, mine too. My other degree is in Psychology. And I'd tried to act like a smart ass with the mirroring. She'd have seen right through that. Music fan?

My eyes tracked down to my festival wrist bands, hoping they'd lead us onto some common ground. Yeah, sure. I love festivals, they bring out the animal in me. How about you, what do you listen to?

The corners of her mouth curved and she looked like she wanted to laugh at me—I had no idea why. No matter how small and mysterious her smiles, though, they were always amazing. She had dimples, for Christ's sake.

"I do not have fucking dimples."

"Amelia..."

"My bad. Sorry. But I don't."

Rock, mainly. I have a specific interest in that genre.

The torture was interrupted by her phone ringing. The minute she excused herself and turned sideways on her seat, I pushed out the breath I'd been involuntarily holding in around her. My common sense told me to chalk this round down to a lost battle valiantly fought, but my gut told me to hold on and not let her go without a fight. There was a story to come from this embarrassing afternoon, I could feel it. I hadn't waited all this time just for it to end in Mc-fucking-Donald's. Our futures were entwined somehow in a spectacular fashion and there was so much more to her than met the eye.

Amelia groaned, resting her phone against her forehead with a frown that was no less beautiful than her smile.

Is there something wrong? Anything I can do to help?

She snorted grumpily. Not unless you know someone who can drive a tour bus. Someone? Anyone? Hell, I could drive a tour bus. Transport was one of my little known fortes. Her tour bus, though? Two hot blondes in two bands—let it never be said that I didn't have an obvious preferential 'type' of woman.

I shrugged and sipped at my coffee to hide my smug smirk at finding my way into a longer term association with her. When? I drive.

Running her tongue across her teeth, she sighed, Starting Friday. But we have another sixteen gigs going up to Scotland and back down to Plymouth, and you have uni. 'We'? So it was definitely her tour bus with the potential for more time in close proximity. I had to get her to accept my offer. University didn't matter to me; it had served it's purpose to get me to her and I was used to running my own business at a distance.

I can email my work in. I'm free until further notice. I reached over and took her phone from her hand, some archaic piece of shit technology that looked like it ran on coal. She was obviously something of a technophobe. Whatever, who cares? I programmed my number into her contact list, nodding to myself. She at least had my phone number. Think about it and give me call. Think about me and give me a call. Did she detect the ambiguity in my words?

Looking me up and down, she shook her head and reached for her phone, hesitating at the last minute. I seriously considered just stroking her fingers...

Have you ever hung out with musicians before? Yes. My sister had let me go to some of the after parties when she'd been called in as session guitarist. Never the ones that might have mattered, though... It's pretty intense.

I can handle intense. I could handle you. Boy, could I ever have handled her. Thinking about all the ways I wanted to handle her made me feel kind of funny in my pants. Wow, grow up.

Amelia glanced down at her phone and swore out loud. I'm sorry, I have to bail. I have a sound check at 5pm. Her apology caught me off guard. Did she want to stay? Maybe I'd made a better impression than I thought—maybe I was as far under her skin as she was under mine. 

Yeah, right. That was a nice momentary delusion while I had it.

You have a gig tonight? She would have to. I had plans I couldn't cancel or else I'd have turned up, without a doubt.

Yeah, we're playing at the O2 Academy. Hold the fucking phone. My plans were in the same place. That meant—

The Bystander gig. Two smoking hot blonde chicks in one night in the same place on the same stage. It was the first time I'd been free for one of their local tour dates and been able to snag a ticket before they sold out. They always sold out. 

She nodded and stood, grabbing her barely touched coffee from the table. If you really think you're up for driving the bus, drop by and see how we roll. Just tell the security team you're with me.

With a half-smile, she flew out like a whirling dervish and left me with something I could only ever dream of: backstage access at a Bystander Effect gig. Maybe she was my bridge to that shy girl on the street and not the other way round.

There was only one person I wanted to tell and it was well worth the jacked up prices of an international call to Austria.

"Guten tag, frau-fucker!" 

I skipped the hello for my foul-mouthed best friend. "Andy! Remember the chick who gave me the Make Believe CD in the city centre?"

"Sure, the woman you swear blind you're going to marry. Like you could pull the bird from The Bystander Effect."

Yeah, yeah, I know. Because my fate theory is bullshit and I'll never get close enough to spit on her, right?

"Right. Plus I'm pretty sure Ems said she's into men."

Funny, and fuck you. The grin on my face threatened to crack me in half. Life changes tonight, bro. Backstage invitation courtesy of a support act. Prepare to eat your words.

"So you're telling me that you were as embarrassed to be in McDonald's as I was?"

Embarrassed? What an understatement.

"Yes. My feet went on auto-pilot and Jesus, was I ever horrified when I saw that look on your face."

"And you seriously thought I was me, but then thought I wasn't…"

She rubs her temples and shakes her head.

That didn't make sense...

"It did, and yes. My gut reaction was dead on and I still ignored it like an idiot. This story working for you?"

She nods and tries to look deathly serious.

Oh yeah, I'm cruisin' for some snoozin', all right. I'm kidding, I want to hear more. I want to hear everything.

"Well, okay..."  

Two

The Gig

The queue for the gig spread all the way down the street from the Academy. The doors wouldn't open until 8:30pm, and even though I'd gotten there two hours early, I was at least halfway down the line. That pretty much killed my chances of getting both close to the stage and a safe distance away from the mosh pit. Not that it mattered too much if I was getting to watch from the sidelines.

Armed with my iPod Touch and a flask of whiskey, I waited patiently and battered away my sobriety. I'd made a fool of myself that afternoon and I was determined not to make the same mistake twice. Unfortunately, I needed some liquid courage for that.

I had a couple of hangers on in the form of an old college acquaintance and his less than amiable girlfriend. Thor was probably the biggest berk I knew and never seemed to get the hint that nobody really liked him just because he had a cool name. That or he just chose to ignore it. The girlfriend I was yet to get a name out of, largely due to the fact she was too high to be coherent and rambling about alien conspiracy theories. 

Yeah, I would have been happy to be abducted and anally probed if it would get me away from them.

Luckily for me, my phone rang. Salvation! I was even grateful to see it was my sister.

Ems! I answered with a sob. Am I ever glad to hear from you?

"Why, have you been collared by Thor again?" Ah, sibling telepathy.

Yes, and also, I have a big in yo' face for you. Guess where I am.

"Standing outside the O2 Academy, dickbag. You've been talking about tonight for bloody months." I really had. I'd had my assistant on ticket watch the moment I knew the tour was planned and she'd managed to snag one on pre-sale. I'd practically harassed the local postie until it came in the mail. The moment I had it in my hand, I sent a picture of it to everyone I knew. My IQ dropped to match my age.

Okay, but guess where I'm going to be watching from.

"Jesus, CJ, I don't know. I just called to ask if you'd help Mum babysit Leo on Friday."

Great. That led perfectly into what I was trying to tell her. Sorry, Ems. I don't think so. Ask me why.

She sighed loudly. "Why?"

Because I'm going on tour, bitch! A dozen or so people around me turned with raised eyebrows and incredulous scoffs. I might have said it kind of loudly. I go to uni with a girl from one of tonight's support acts and they need a stand in tour bus driver. All I need to do is drop the chick's name to security and I've got the gig.

"Huh. That's kind of... Oh god. Oh dear god." A grin spread across my face. She was finally getting the point. "You're being let near The Bystander Effect."

Damn right, thanks to some sexy little brain-box called Amelia Marsh.

"... CJ?"

Yeah?

Ems started to laugh hysterically. She heaved gasping breaths between giggles and snorted a couple of times. What was so funny? The laughter must have gone on for a good five minutes, by which point I'd tuned it out and stood there playing Coin Dozer on my iPod.

"Ah... god. But seriously, if you go up to security and try to get backstage with that story, you're going to get laughed out of the building."

What? Why? We were sat in McDonald's; she took a call from a Meredith and looked really stressed. I offered my services and she told me to swing by. I really wasn't sure what was so laughable about it. I'd offered a helping hand to a damsel in distress and she'd grabbed it. 

"You took her to McDonald's? Jesus fucking Christ, CJ. What is wrong with you? Are you a misogynist?"

I know, I groaned. "It wasn't intentional. I'd already made a big enough dick of myself staring at her for eight weeks, fucked up my pick up line then took her there. Could have died."

"She's the girl you were eyeing up? Oh my shit..." Speechless Emily. This was a rarity and sadly, one short-lived. "CJ, you really shouldn't pin any hopes on getting backstage. If you really made that much of a twat of yourself, she might have just invited you to be nice. If Big Dave is on security, you may as well not bother trying."

It's fine, she said it would be fine.

"But CJ, she's—"

Ems, I've got to go. The doors are finally opening. I'll talk to you later, okay?

Without waiting for her response, I hung up and stuffed my phone back into my pocket. The slow, crawling line gave me chance to check that I looked decent enough to be exposed to rockstars. Hair: immaculate. Face: sterling, or at least my mother said so. Shirt: neatly pressed and crease free. I'd do. Or was I too tidy? Crap. I dragged a hand through my hair to muss it up and nodded decisively. Now I was ready.

The venue was already packed out when I handed my ticket over, the foyer crammed with disgruntled amateur photographers being forced to hand over their Nikon's and girls in skimpy outfits checking their coats into the cloakroom. Inside, the bars were over-spilling with people waiting for drinks, and loud rock music pounded in through the speakers. 

It was sensory overload and claustrophobic. The noise increased as more people came in behind me and shouted their conversations to be heard. What a nightmare.

I bypassed all that drama completely and battled through the crowd to find the backstage access. The swarm stemmed out to a cordoned off security point, where a mass of impatient 'journalists' waited in a line, only half of them carrying press passes, and a handful of manga-haired rockers trying their luck. I shoved past the other idiots hoping a miracle might happen and waved a hand at the guy standing at the stage door. He was built like a brick shit house—which was to be expected considering who was inside.

Uh, hey. I'm with the band. There were a few snorts of laughter around me, the loudest from the big guy, who looked straight over the top of my head and smirked.

Do you have any idea how many times a night I hear that? Which one do you suppose you're with? Crap. How could I have not asked her what her band's name was? Well?

Well see, here's the thing. I took one of the chicks playing tonight to coffee earlier and she got a call to say her tour bus driver's foot is broken, so I'm his stand in. She told me to drop by. My explanation came out as a dumb ramble, making me sound like some kind of brainless fan-boy. 

And her band's name is...

She didn't tell me. She left in a rush. But she's hot—way hot. Long blonde hair, tattoos of roses on the back of her hands, legs up to her ears. Her name's Amelia.

He stared at me for a long minute, narrowing his eyes slightly like thinking made his brain hurt too much. Then finally, he sucked in a breath and sighed. Nah. Sorry, mate. Don't think you're her type somehow. Back of the line.

My jaw dropped. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm their new driver, CJ. She had to mention I was coming.

Nope. Never heard of you. And if you're just their driver, why the fuck would you need to come backstage?

I... but... we... fuck it! All the ways I could have made my life easier flooded my mind. I should have asked her band's name. I should have got her to call me so I had her number. And damn it, I should not have stumbled up to the human hippo already steaming and stinking of booze.

The door behind him opened a crack and a loud blast of music pulsed outwards into the corridor, followed by a deafening roar of screams and cheers behind me. Okay... It was kind of an extreme reaction. 

A bob of black hair stuck out, then a surprised looking Chinese chick dressed up in tight satin and PVC, forearms covered in tattoos. The girl who was always guarding Amelia. 

Hey, tiger!

She raised a stunned eyebrow at me and looked up at the big security guy. S'up, pussycat? I heard the commotion out here.

He grunted and shrugged. Full marks for articulation. This idiot reckons Amelia invited him and he's Ryan's replacement.

Oh. Slowly, she turned to me with her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then winked. Let me check it out, big guy. Without another glance in my direction, she slipped back inside and 'Big Guy' resumed his blank stare over the top of my head. Was he intentionally trying to piss me off?

You know who I am, right? What the fuck are you doing? I'd never played that hierarchy card before, why now? Not that it worked anyway.

Couldn't give less than a fuck.

I'm CJ Pearce. You're still doing it, fuckwit. "As in Caspian Pearce of Pearce & Parker."

The rich guy who designs all that bad ass jewellery? Great, he'd heard of me but I was now officially that prick who tries to bargain his way into restricted areas with his status. Fucking penis. "So what the fuck are you doing in this place on a Wednesday night?" Wasn't he listening?

Fucks sake man, I told you! I'm with the band. Your chick Amelia invited me. Amelia Marsh. That was the last time I'd explain. The next time he got obtuse, I'd just call in the not-so-mighty Thor to bore him to death.

I think you should calm down, mate. I haven't had any messages to say she's accepting company.

The door opened again and got the same reaction as the last time. Tiger poked her head out again and whispered in security-twat's ear. Someone behind me screamed Fuck me, Meredith! and an unmissable smile hit her face. So I guessed her name was Meredith. She had to be the Meredith.

Big Guy looked in through the open door and glared at whoever was standing just inside. Well? Did you invite that? Everyone behind me suddenly hushed to silence, buzzing with anticipation. I didn't know what the hell was wrong with everyone but ultimately couldn't have cared less when a lock of blonde swayed out from the door, attached to my leading lady.

Amelia looked at me, half hidden by the door and again, I was completely mesmerised. Her hair was half up in nineteen-forties victory rolls and it looked like she was dressed in some sexy polka dot number, face made up and she looked... amazing. I didn't hear any part of the conversation they had because I was just completely bowled over by how different she looked compared to our embarrassing coffee date. 

My neck craned around the door when she walked inside and only a slap on the back from Big Guy pulled me back to my senses. All right, Maccy D, in you go. 

I was in? Holy shit, I was in! Though backstage wasn't exactly as glamorous as I thought. Not as many people as I expected or hoped, but who was complaining? I was here for her.

My eyes scanned around quickly before they settled back on Amelia and that's when it hit me. Or more like she hit me, square in the knackers. Her arms were entirely covered in tattoos, from the shoulders right down to the hands settled on amazingly curvy hips. A colourful old school design spread across her chest, ending artfully where her dress began. Fuck. Me.

I couldn't have been any more wrong about my initial judgement of her. I mean, I thought she was hot, but this was ridiculous. Any minute, my brain cells were going to re-engage and make me walk out where I belonged with the other schmucks in the stalls. She was so far out of my league it was almost insulting.

But no, the brain didn't kick back into drive. It pushed me over to her and made me run my hands down her arms. 

She tensed a little at first, but then quickly regained her hard ass composure. Her ink work was all so skillfully done and perfect... Holy shit. Man, my balls throbbed something nasty. I'd have to be careful when I sat down. I wasn’t used to reacting that way to a woman but she was just so… hot.

You seem surprised. Her voice was huskier, sexier... 

That's one word for it. 'Aroused' was better. Fuck me sideways, was I really going to spend weeks on a bus with her? That would have to be a little masochistic.

Meredith walked up behind her with a beefy guy on either side. I might have been intimidated if one of them wasn't blatantly eye-fucking me and the other eye-fucking some chick in a roadie t-shirt. And if I wasn't mistaken, Amelia looked a little disappointed that I hadn't cowered like a sissy.

The straight guy pulled his eyes away from the roadie and held a hand out to me. Was I going to shake it? Fuck yes. I had to make a good impression when he was pretty much one of my bosses. How screwed up was that considering how many salaries I paid?

CJ, right? Welcome to the dark side. This was the dark side? Does Satan wear a tutu? On the plus side, he knew my name, which meant she’d been talking about me. Good or bad, I’d at least made an impression.

The other guy squeezed Amelia's shoulder and started looking less like he was mentally undressing me. So you want to drive our tour bus? You ever been on tour before?

No, but I drove in the Gumball Rally. Amelia scoffed loudly and laughed to herself. Yeah okay, it sounded a little far-fetched. This round was hers.

Really, who for?

I held up my hands. I'm sworn to secrecy. By myself. There was no way I was playing the rich asshole card twice in one night, it wouldn't score me any respect. But neither would secrecy apparently because she rolled her eyes and strolled off towards the stage, forcing her friends to disperse. 

I couldn't help but nosy around quickly to see if I could spot The Bystander Effect, but I couldn't. Of course, I wouldn’t have known them if I was looking right at them. They were probably in the dressing rooms or something anyway and they wouldn't be on for a while if there were another two support bands to play.

Quietly, I let myself surrender to the magnetic pull Amelia emitted and sidled up next to her, leaning against the closest wall. The band on stage was pretty awesome but my focus was the girl in front of me. She really was hot as hell and while she was occupied I could check her out properly. The tattoos spread down across her back and up her legs, too. She was almost too good to be true.

They're good. I made it sound like I meant the band but I really meant those legs. Ho-ly shit. I wondered where they ended...

Have you ever seen backstage at a gig before? Amelia barely turned to me with her eyebrow raised. Everything you thought you knew about the rock industry is going to get blown to shit if you come on tour, you do know that, don't you? 

I had serious doubts about that. Ems had told me some pretty ugly tales of the times she'd been called in for back up. She'd seen the arse crack of the rock industry, from drug overdoses to assaulted groupies but I wasn't going to pretend I knew it all. She could have been talking shit. Plus Amelia spoke about it so seriously... Who says I know anything about the rock industry? I'm a blank canvas.

Without invitation, Amelia reached over and took my iPod from my pocket, pulling faces as she snooped through. Whatever she was seeing, she wasn't impressed. Must have been all that fucking drum 'n' bass. What are you even doing here?

What the hell? You told me to come. Fuck, Ems was right. She was just being polite.

I didn't think you actually would. I'm not your type apparently. That was her issue? Fuck me, she should have been more than aware that she was probably everyone's type. She couldn't possibly be insecure when she was so sweet to look at it gave me cavities. 

"Oh barf!"

"Shut up, you know it's true."

There again, I'd seen her unguarded look. She had a lot of unknown secrets underneath the surface; that much was obvious.

The band filed off stage and walked between us, blocking my view of her body but not of her face. Between their heads, there it was, right on cue—the look on my mind—the numbing confusion and detachment from everything around her. The look I was going to make it my god damn mission to erase completely. If I didn't meet the chick from The Bystander Effect, I would at least come away from the night with a chance to make another hot blonde smile.

Meredith prowled over and wrapped an arm around Amelia's shoulders. More and more, I got the impression that she was almost like her sodding bodyguard. Apparently there were two chicks I needed to wow.

Hey, Maccy Ds, any ink? Now there was a question I could undoubtedly answer to their satisfaction. Obviously it wasn't going to compare to their tattoos but I was going to show them the masterpiece on my back anyway. If anything, just to redeem a little credit and do away with that nickname. Whoa there, ace! I paused in the act of unbuttoning my shirt. What do you think I mean by 'ink'? Relax, tiger. I'm not stripping for you.

It's on my back, arsehole.

Call me 'arsehole' again and I'll get Big Dave to sit on you. I smirked because there was something about the way Meredith was looking at me that told me she wasn't actually insulted. In fact, she was almost smiling at me. Almost.

Slowly, I took my shirt off and watched Amelia's face transform from absolute hostility to blatant, greedy approval. That's right, check me out. Without milking it too much, I turned around so they could get a good look at the H.R. Giger tattoo on my back. Cost me a fucking fortune and took a whole day, but totally worth it just to hear the way people groaned when they saw it.

Ooh, this is embarrassing. Meredith ducked down as soon as I was facing them and grabbed Amelia's dress to expose her thigh. Fuck me again. The exact same image was tattooed there and went right up to the top of her leg. It was dangerously close to giving me a full frontal view of a woman already so sexy it should be illegal. You really need to exercise a little self-restraint, mate. She had no idea how much I was restraining myself before I saw the damn tattoo. Thank the good Lord for jeans.

Amelia watched her stroll off and I quickly found myself on my knees running my fingers over that damn leg; half of her Giger tattoo was still visible. Jesus, if I could touch her, it meant she was real. The universe made a woman that fucking beautiful and put her in front of me. I belonged on my knees in front of her. I'd crawl on my belly across broken glass if she told me to. Would you listen to yourself?

Um, hello? My eyes lifted to hers, and I swear to God, she looked turned on. Maybe it was the position of power over me. I understand that I haven't explained my personal boundaries to you but there's a basic level of human decency that should be ingrained in all of us. Shit, she was right. I was acting like a freak. 

Standing up quickly, I tried to magic up a reason to explain myself. Nothing. Terrific. 

Sorry, I've just never seen a chick with Giger on her before. Weak excuse. Weak, shamefully pathetic excuse.

Shaking it off, Amelia looked back out over the crowd, which went crazy every time a track ended on the PA system. For the first time, an actual smile spread across her face and it was the best smile I'd ever seen. Better than the forced smiles I'd seen that afternoon. 

Poor suckers are like Pavlov's dogs out there. She looked at me, still smiling, then her face dropped. Was I staring like an idiot? Yes, I was, and all I heard was someone's dogs.

Who's dogs?

Pavlov. She launched into a full on explanation of some psychological theory which I barely heard because I was completely stuck on the way her mouth moved when she said smart shit. Brains, beauty, tattoos... she obviously had musical talent if she was supporting The Bystander Effect. What the hell was I doing talking to her? You're sure as hell not listening to her, you moron. Ah crap. ... He rang a bell before the dogs were fed and before long, the dogs would begin to drool at the sound of the bell. That would have made a lot more sense if I'd heard the rest of it.

So how is this like that?

She pointed outside stiffly with a scowl. They associate the break in the music with the arrival of the band and go nuts whenever it happens. Every time the music breaks, they get a little more amped. They work themselves up more and more, and then we arrive on stage and give them the much needed ear-fuck they're gagging for. 

That sounded a little like the way it was seeing her walk into uni. I started to associate lectures with her. Every time I saw her, I wanted to get closer and closer. I dunno, maybe it doesn't suit that well at all...

The second support act moved on stage and all colour drained from Amelia's face. I followed her when she stepped away but she ducked off to the fire exit, making it way too obvious that I shouldn't follow. To be fair, she looked pretty sea sick and I didn't want to embarrass her if she'd gone to throw up. I mean, I'd have offered to hold back her hair but I'd give the lady her dignity.

The straight guy from earlier came up to me as I watched Amelia disappear through the fire door and held his hand out for a second time. 

Didn't introduce myself before. I'm Erek. Distracted, I nodded and shook his hand with no real enthusiasm. Erek followed my line of sight and took his hand back to fold his arms. She does this every gig. She gets... Ah... Visibly irritated, he shook his head and waved me towards a refreshment table. It was at that moment I finally registered his accent and the drumsticks in his back pocket.

You're Polish, right?

Erek handed me a bottle of Budweiser and grinned. You can tell? I'm still bad with English sometimes—I'm not good with the slang.

I speak the language, if it would help. It looked like he really appreciated the offer, but shook his head and led me over to a corner of the backstage area that was a little quieter than the rest. He slumped down to the floor and I sat with him. The view from that point was pretty good, with an impressive vantage of the hive of activity. Roadies ran around frantically tuning guitars while the musicians spoke between themselves or watched the band on stage. Meredith was stood over an iPad, oblivious to the chaos behind her. Nobody really looked fazed by everything going on around them.

Amelia has nerves about going on stage. Erek pulled me from my fascinated observation by resuming his previous conversation. Any time we're about to go on stage, she gets weird and panics. It's hard to watch.

Stage fright?

That's it. She's a very shy person, really. You'll learn that yourself soon. 

Stunning. He made a negative subject somehow seem very positive with the implication that I'd be around to get to know her. Erek seemed very laid back and level, and that made me like him immediately. Even with his language barrier, I got the impression that he knew the world better than anyone else in his band.

I couldn't help but dig a little while I had him there. Is she... you know. Is she single?

Yes. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his bottle to his lips. But she's hard work to live with. We're always saying something to upset her and there's just no talking to her sometimes. I think being her boyfriend would drive any sane man crazy. That was kind of a tough review. It certainly didn't paint a pretty picture of a future with her. Was she really that bad?

Is there anything I should know about her? You know, so she doesn't fire me or something.

She's a bitch, he said flatly, looking almost sad about it. She tries to drive everyone away. It takes a lot of spirit to live with her... and a lot of spirits, too.

I looked up and saw Amelia walking back in through the fire exit with her bulky gay friend plus another seriously camp looking guy, just in time for the band on stage to file off.

Wait for it... Erek murmured under his breath and nodded in her direction as her arm flew out to support her against the wall, the other gripping her stomach. I've never seen fear like hers or such a slow motion descent to the floor. If Ems didn't have panic attacks on occasion, I'd have been terrified by what I was watching. 

Without thinking, I scrambled over to her and helped her back to her feet, feeling physically chilly just looking at the vacant emptiness of her face and the way her eyes were scrunched up tightly as though the panic was physically painful.

Hey, you okay? Her eyes snapped open, a haze visibly clearing as our gazes locked. And with that haze slid away a barrier—just for a second—but it was long enough for me to see it.

She was scared of me.

"Hey."

She punches the top of my arm.

I have never been scared of you.

"Not consciously. Are you going to let me tell this my way or not?"

"Sure, I just don't think I'm happy with you paraphrasing my feelings."

Paraphrasing? No, I’m pretty sure I’m dead on.

"I'm just calling it as I saw it. You want to censor me?"

"Every damn day."

I shake my head at her slowly, my little control freak.

All right, fine. Tell it your way.

She licked her dry lips and the shutters went back up. I'm fine.

Your drummer says you always zone out before a gig.

Have you ever been on stage in front of that many people?

Strange, she didn't seem new to performing, and I was seeing a completely new side of her I never imagined existed; a side that feared everything. 

It was needless. She didn't need to be scared of anything, least not me. 

In the moment her attention was stolen by a roadie shouting out a five minute warning, I made the decision to take a risk. Brushing my fingers across her cheek, I prayed for a cue... You look awesome, by the way.

Before Amelia had any chance to give me any signals, Meredith grabbed her hand with a sweet smile at me. I'll take this one. I watched them march over to the stage. Amelia necked a drink looking irritated, then the crowd was going crazy as they stepped into the lights. Hadn't there already been two support acts?

Damn it, I just wanted to kiss her. I could still feel how soft her skin was and even still smell her unique scent on my fingers. Her eyes could be so direct and bold but at the same time so lost. I needed her to know that she could trust me, but trust like that wouldn't form over a few hours. She was a girl full of contradictions and she'd be a battle—one worth fighting until I won.

Sluggishly hauling myself over to the edge of the stage, I pulled my headphones up over my ears with the intention of using the couple of minutes before they started playing to unscramble my thoughts and decide how to go on. The Bystander Effect's music was like a grounding force for me and I got lost in it while I scrolled through my work emails. My focus slipped, lost in that girl's mellifluous voice and in that apparent moment of lapsed concentration, I lost ninety minutes.

"Give me a fucking break, nobody just loses ninety minutes to my voice."

"You’re interrupting me again."

"I’m interrupting your bullshit. Explain yourself."

Explain it? Ah jeez, how do I do that?

"I just pick you as the artist and let the iPod shuffle, Amelia. I get lost and your albums are mastered so the songs merge together well. Unless you’re really listening for it, you don’t hear the cross over."

She scowls for a minute, trying to decide if it’s an adequate explanation.

I can't believe you had your music on loud enough to drown us out.

Ah, a subject change. We’re in the clear.

"Yeah... noise cancelling headphones helped. May I continue?"

"You may."

Four cheesed off looking rockers stomped past me and the building started to empty out. Confused, I yanked my headphones down and shouted after them. Is that it?

Meredith spun around, vibrating with rage. What?

I thought this was a Bystander Effect gig.

She blinked and laughed. You fucking missed them, you penis.

Shit, when? I thought the headliners went on last? Though I'd been so distracted, if they'd walked right up to me I probably wouldn't have even realised. What the hell had I been thinking? I knew I'd be transfixed. So much for not making a fool of myself again.

Amelia prowled over to me and snatched my iPod again, glaring at the