"Trouble in paradise?"

Tyler's voice and the thunk of the bottle he set in front of me snapped me out of my melancholy gaze over the empty tables at West Hollywood Big Wangs. It was mid-afternoon, the slowest part of the business day for them. Not that I didn't love a raucous Saturday night while the fights were on, or a lazy Sunday watching six hours of football and downing my body weight in beer, but a nice Wednesday afternoon had its perks, too.

I picked up the beer- a Corona lite with lemon, something Lena would roll her eyes at- and drank a couple of swallows. I felt Tyler's eyes boring into the side of my head. He wasn't going to let up until I said something, obviously.

"What?"

"You tell me, what? For three weeks you've been delightfully, assholishly chipper. I know it has something to do with a girl and a dog. Today, it's like somebody died. I haven't heard you say twelve words yet and I've been in town since noon. My daughter says more words than you have and she's two."

I sucked down more beer, shifting my view from the empty restaurant to the TV above the bar showing SportsCenter on mute. "Just got a lot on my mind."

"Well, get it off of your mind. Remember when we used to come here and have a beer and talk?"

I snickered. "Before you defected and left me here in California and got married and had a kid, you mean?"

"Yeah. But we can still do that, man. Something's eating at you. Put it out there."

I played with a thin bar napkin, the cheap kind that bartenders use to keep condensation from mucking up the wood. I heaved a deep, long sigh and sat back in my seat, slouching a little and folding my hands over my belly.

"I'm dating this girl, right? She's cool. Like, mad cool. Beautiful. Spicy little thing, so hot. I'm really liking her."

Tyler nodded along while I talked. "I had figured that part out. Move to the next part of the story."

"Well, I mean... I don't want to put her business in the street, you know? But... well, she used to be a publicist. I mean she's still a publicist but she used to work for celebrities. That's common knowledge, so I can say it. Right?"

"The attorney in me says yes."

"She had a client that... well..." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "He was an asshole to her. Let's say that. He got her fired from her job at an agency. She basically pulled out of LA and took a break from all that."

"Okay. Picking up steam."

I glared at Tyler. "You asked to hear this."

"I forgot you like to tell long stories." He sat up, then leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"You sure?"

"I've got a spare couple of hours."

"Anyway, she's been back in LA for a few years and she's learned her lesson. Doesn't want anything to do with anyone who's famous, a celebrity, a well-known person-"

"Which describes you to a tee, former member of a boyband."

"You see my issue. It was tough, but I won her over and we worked through that. We have a good time, we spend  lots of time together, doing regular un-celebrity things. She cooks dinner, we walk the dog, we watch movies-"

"You wear out mattress springs."

As true as it was, I blushed. "Aw, c'mon man..."

"Am I lying? You're probably chafing right now."

"Anyway, I get a call the other night from Eric about an opportunity to write and produce for an artist. He wants a ballad, something syrupy and boy-bandy for this project he's doing. He asks around town and the advice he gets is that he should get in touch with me."

"Okay. These two things have something to do with one another..." Tyler's eyes narrowed. "Somehow."

"Guy who wants me to write the song is the asshole, Asshole."

Tyler's brows shot up and his mouth fell open. "Ooooohhhhh."

"Yeah. So my first thought is that I can't do this. I can't do that to her. I can't write for someone that was responsible for so much heartache for someone I care about. Right?"

"Of course. But I bet Eric brings up money, which he makes a percentage of, because that's all he cares about."

"He cares about making sure my name appears in liner credits and that I get royalties. Plus, he doesn't know the backstory. All he sees is major multi-platinum recording artist wants to hire me."

"So he starts talking you into it."

"Trying to. And I see his side of it. It's business. It's writing, it's producing, it's money in the bank. It's what I do all day every day with my eyes closed. It's got nothing to do with her, and whatever happened between them happened a long time ago."

"Blah, blah, blah, you should think about it because it could help your career and give you exposure and more money."

I bobbed my head slowly, bringing the bottle of Corona to my lips. I swallowed a few gulps, then said, "Eric was told the song would be almost guaranteed to appear on the record. That never happens. Do you know how many artists I've worked with, songs I've written and produced that get nowhere near an album?"

"Eight hundred and twenty three. Roughly guessing."

"And for a guy like that, even if it's a pandering, sweet, syrupy boyband ballad-"

"The girls are gonna cream, download it, tell everyone else to download it or they're not, like, cool anymore."

"Exactly."

"So your quandary is... is your relationship with this girl good enough to give up a lot of money and the chance to get your work out there? Or do you forego it, for... God knows whatever reason-"

"So you side with Eric?"

Tyler immediately went on the defensive, which was evident in the sharp rise of his shoulders. "I'm not on a side. I'm just a natural at arguments. I do it for a living. If you give up this opportunity, the reason better be damn good. And the reason should not be pussy."

With that, he lifted a bottle of Miller Lite to his lips and sucked down half the bottle.

"I just... if I decide to do this, she'll be upset. She already took a chance on me. And I already almost blew it with her once, early on."

"I hear you, but... dude. You've been seeing her all of three weeks. You're not basing career decisions on the feelings of a woman you've known three weeks. I don't care how broken the bed springs are. And who's to say she even cares? Maybe you're worried for nothing. Maybe she doesn't give a flying fuck about the asshole. Maybe she thinks you should take the deal and charge him double for being an asshole to her."

"You know, you could be right about that."

I scrubbed a hand over my face, lingering over the stubble I'd allowed to grow over the past day or so. Lena was enamored with it during the movie; playing with it, rubbing her cheek against it, giving me that come fuck me stare whenever she looked at me. I'd decided to let it grow some. Just for her.

"I guess I hadn't really thought about it that way. I mean, we're solid, right now. She's happy with me and she and I have nothing to do with him. She could be so happy that she really doesn't give a shit."

"Don't know till you ask. Lead with the fact that it could mean a lot for you and your career. Don't talk about all the money you're gonna make, hand over fist, off of the asshole."

My mood was starting to lift, finally. Which was a relief, because I was starting to get on my own nerves. "When do you head back to Florida?"

"My deposition is tomorrow morning. I'm fying out tomorrow night."

"So we have tonight to do something-"

"Nope," he interrupted, then drained the rest of his beer. "You have tonight to go talk to your girl so you can get that frown off of your face. Sick of looking at it. I have tonight to hang with my frat brothers. It's bowling night."

"By bowling, you mean-"

"Getting drunk as fuck and throwing bowling balls down some lanes. Bowling."

"If I remember right, you suck at bowling."

"Who cares what the score is when you're drunk?"

"Well, good luck anyway."

"And to you too. Hope you break some more bedsprings."

"You're married and whatever, but you're still my little brother and you're creeping me out."

Following his lead, I finished my beer and set the empty in front of him. "One more for the road," I croaked through a belch. "Go fetch."

>>||<<

"So, you seem like you're in a better mood. That's good."

Lena and I walked hand in hand up the hill to Runyon Canyon, headed to Barksdale's a favorite spot. The dog walked between us, happily panting and wagging his tail so hard that I was trying not to get directly behind him, otherwise I'd end up with another bruise.

"Yeah. I feel like I'm in a better mood. My brother is in town; I laid some things out to him, man to man. He said some very real things that gave me some of my perspective back."

"So you lost some of it?"   

"Some, yeah. I mean, the simple fact is that for the last three weeks, I haven't really been paying attention to life. Like, I've been going to work and keeping appointments and being there but I haven't really been there."

"I guess some of the newness has worn off. The shiny luster of a relationship in its early stages."

I pulled her toward me, drawing my arm across her shoulder. She released the leash and let Barksdale run free. He took off, but knew to stay close by.

"I'm not saying I don't still really like you. Or that I'm not still hoping every day that you want some of this prime Mustang."

"Prime... Mustang..."

"Or Thoroughbred. Or Holstein-"

"That's a cow, JC."

I shrugged, laughing with her. "I'm just saying, maybe I'm getting some balance back. You know?"

She nodded, watching the dog trot around the field. "I know what you mean. I have a couple of friends I haven't seen since I met you. I feel bad, but I also really... really like you." She grinned, then stepped closer to me. We were belly to belly, nearly eye to eye. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed those beautiful, thick lips against mine. "And the Mustang."

I chuckled, going in for a deeper kiss. "That's what I'm talkin' about," I mumbled as our lips met. Simultaneously, we sank into the kiss, moving in so close to each other we almost overlapped. While I was devouring her mouth, sucking and teasing and twirling my tongue around hers, my hands made their way up under her t-shirt. I gave a little groan of appreciation to find that she wasn't wearing a bra.

I filled my hands with her breasts, rubbing the pads of my thumbs over her nipples. She gasped, then moaned. Then, very suddenly, she pulled back and tugged her t-shirt down.

We weren't alone. And not that our fellow nature lover and her bulldog were even watching us from across the park, but I adjusted my shorts and pulled my shirt down, trying to hide the results of our very public rendezvous. 

"We should-"

"Yeah," Lena said, reading my mind. She jogged toward Barksdale and clipped the leash to his collar. "Sorry to cut this short, buddy, but Mama's got some ridin' to do."

We headed back to the condo, fed and watered the dog and settled in on the couch for a night of TV, which usually ended up being whatever Lena wanted to watch. She pulled the ottoman over and stretched out her legs. I laid down, resting my head in her lap, with my notebook. I'd been writing a lot lately and not caring about whatever Lena was watching was good for my progress. Barksdale curled up into the other end of the couch. I pressed my soles up against his warm belly.

"What's a word that rhymes with brave?"

"Uh.... save. Rave. Fave. Grave. Cave. They've. Behave, gave, engrave. Microwave. Want me to keep going?"

I laughed. "I wanted to see how long you would go before I told you to stop. It's a love song, honey. I can't put microwave in it."

"I bet you could."

"Definitely not grave or cave. I could maybe do something with engrave..." I stuck the end of the pen between my teeth and rattled it around. It was something I did when I wrote and I was usually alone.

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to throw the pen across the room."

She reached for the remote, which was buried between the couch cushions. She took a little extra time digging it out with a detour to pinch the skin of my lower back.

"What are you writing? Maybe I need the whole concept."

"It's a love song. It needs to be kind of sweet and peppy. Sort of like the stuff we used to write in *NSYNC. Although back then, we didn't think it was sweet and peppy. It was very, very serious."

"Mmhmmm. Space Cowboy was oh my God, so serious."

"Exactly," I said, about to stick the pen in my mouth again, but remembering her threat from not even thirty seconds ago.

"Well, who is the song for? Would help if I knew what direction we were going in."

My heart seized a little in my chest. I'd decided not to mention it until she said something about it. If, on the off chance, the song was actually selected, we could deal with it then. But I got so relaxed about it that I opened my mouth wider than I should have and some words fell out.

I wished now that I could shove those words back in. And swallow them. And never say them. I had a big mouth and a huge problem, now.

"Uhhhhh..." I sat up and swung my feet to the floor. "Something I needed to kind of talk to you about."

"Oh really? Does it have anything to do with your mood lately?"

"Yeah. A lot to do with it, actually. I uh... listen, I just want you to be open minded about this. Okay?"

She reached for the remote and muted the TV. "Alright. Open mind. Listening without judgement. Give it to me."

"I got a call from my manager the other night. The night I was here and I was outside for a while. I mean, you have to understand that where I am in my career, I could stay here forever, right? It's like purgatory. But it's not very challenging and I'm always looking for opportunities to spread my wings. You know, work with new people and whatever. All with the understanding that a song might or might not get on a record."

"Okay. I get what you're saying, completely."

"So this call was a big deal. It was for writing a ballad- a love song. It's almost guaranteed to appear on a record. That..." I shook my head, my expression one of amazement. "That never happens. Never."

"So this is the job you were offered and didn't want to take? Why, JC? It sounds like a shoo-in."

I hadn't lifted my head, raised my eyes to look at her. I just... I couldn't. I reached for her hand and held it between mine and tried... really, very hard to feel good about what I was about to say.

"The thing is, Lena...you might not approve of who the song is for."

"Oh...oh my God," she uttered, softly. My head shot up to look at her. Her shoulders were blocky, her cheeks flushed a deep red and her body was ramrod stiff. I guess she did give a shit.

"Lena, I-"

"No. Nuh uh. No." She was shaking her head and blinking rapidly, but at the same time held a death grip on my hand. "Please tell me... please, JC, tell me that you are not writing a song for Rex Luther."

"Remember what I said about purgatory and where I am and where this could take me-"

"How could you even consider it, knowing my history with him? You don't even need the money!  You're a  multi-millionaire, JC. You could afford to turn this job down."

"You're right. I could. I... could. But..."

"But you haven't. For money?" The tears that had been building in her eyes spilled over and slid down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say more but nothing came but a sob.   

Cue me feeling like an even bigger shithead than I'd felt before.

"I think I need you to go," Lena managed to say. She pushed herself up from the couch and put nearly six feet of distance between the two of us. May a well been a huge mountain chasm. 

"Can we talk, though? I'm sure that if I explain-"

"I don't want to hear your explanations. You've let me know exactly how you feel about me, exactly what I mean to you. And to think, I was gonna let myself fall..."

Her face crumbled in on itself. She covered her face and rushed past me. A moment later, I heard the bedroom door slam shut.  

Well. That didn't go anything like I'd planned. And I had nobody to blame but me.   

I grabbed my keys and wallet from the kitchen counter, pulled the Dodgers cap over my head and, before I headed out, checked the hallway. The bedroom door was still shut. Lena sniffled, over and over.  I guessed she was still crying.

"Hey. Uh, I'm leaving. I'll call you. Okay? Just give it a couple of days. We can work this out, honey."

The bedroom door flew open and Lena came storming out, eyes blazing, cheeks on fire. "Don't bother.  I want your celebrity ass to get in your Mercedes fucking AMG and drive away.  Forget you know me, forget you met me. Enjoy your new job."

She'd opened the front door and stood waiting for me to leave. "Goodnight, JC."

I didn't want to upset her further, so I chose to say nothing as I left her condo. No sooner had I stepped over the threshold than she slammed the door.

She was... pretty mad. And I was pretty hurt that I was the one that had caused it.