I awoke spooning a sleepy half-naked cowboy in a very rearranged bed. Being careful not to wake him, I slowly sat up. The cowboy hat that settled on the floor next to the bed was enough to tell me what happened the previous night. I tried my damndest not to snicker at what I had done -- I made sweet, sweet love with Brandon Flowers -- me, some dude who happened to buy a brand of instruments ten years ago.
I had to laugh.
In between my laughter, Brandon sturred next to me, making completely off-brand soft noises. When he finally awoke, I quickly turned away, of course, why did it matter? I had already fucked the guy, who cared about the implications of me staring at him as he slept?
Wait, did I fuck the guy? Did he fuck me? Why the hell couldn't I remember?
"Ronnie?" He gasped.
Oh shit, I guess it didn't matter considering the shock in the guy's voice.
"That's me," I nervously managed to chuckle.
"Ah shit, I promised myself I wouldn't do this again," he muttered sharply to himself, getting out of bed.
"Wait!" I exclaimed, a bit too desperate for my taste.
"What?" He grumbled, a stone cold expression settling on his face as he looked back at me.
His expression startled me, "I -- I don't know--"
"Look, Ronnie," he sighed, "I can't do this. I can't be with a guy right now -- or any guy for that matter! I am so fucking sorry, I'm such an asshole -- it's just my image, my management -- Christ -- all sorts of stupid things."
I swallowed my disappointment, "yeah, sure, I get it."
He aggressively pulled on his pants, "God, I am such a fucking asshole! I can't tell you how sorry I am, you really are a great guy."
What the hell? That was my monologue, no one leaves me after a one night stand. "Well, you could at least stay for breakfast," I croaked.
He paused in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, "Well...I guess I at least owe ya that."
****
I was absolutely not the type of person to pull a Great Gatsby and flex my wealth in order to win the attention of a potential partner. Telling Brandon he could have anything he wants for breakfast, just ask my chief, wasn't flexing right? It certainly wasn't every single one of my designer shirts floating upon him.
"Well, well, Flowers -- I didn't take you as a fruit and oatmeal kind of guy," I said, sitting down across from him at my dining table.
He looked up at me from just that -- a bowl of oatmeal sided with a smaller bowl of assorted berries -- a tall glass of orange juice to top it off. It was endearing, actually, to see a steak-and-eggs type of man have something more subtle.
"I gotta keep in shape," he shrugged.
"I have a gym in the basement -- just take a left when you step out the elevator."
"You have a goddamn elevator?"
"Yeah, don't you remember from last night?"
"I ain't remember shit -- well, I remember some."
"What do you remember?"
He paused, "doesn't matter -- I-I don't have my gym clothes with me, but thanks for the offer."
Tragic. Both parts of the sentence were completely tragic. I wasn't completely certain in the way I was about to handle it, but it was the only way I knew how to, "c' mon, Flowers, I can tell you what I remembered."
He shifted, either in discomfort or he had also remembered our acts of passion.
"I personally remember the elevator, I remember 'cause our mouths never left each other." He had stopped shifting was completely calm and collected -- casually spooning oatmeal into his mouth -- which was worse than the shifting. It felt as though he was ignoring me. "Yeah, we were both hard as rocks," I continued, almost mad that he was so calm. He didn't say anything in response, just continued on with his consumption of oatmeal. "--And then I fucked the living hell out of you."
He stabbed his fork into the assorted berries then looked up at me, "first of all, I fucked the living hell out of you."
Oh.
"Second of all," he continued, "you can't be talkin' about all this shit, alright? I already told you I can't be with you."
"We can't ignore what happened, Brandon."
"This was a mistake," he started to stand.
"You stay in that fucking seat, brokeback--"
"Make me."
"You'll let those berries go to waste."
Disgruntled, he sat back down and shoved a raspberry in his mouth.
"I'm not making you love me, hell, I'm not even gonna make you fuck me again," I huffed, "it'd just be a shame to lose your friendship -- and that's all we have to be, friends."
Brandon stared at me expressionless as he chewed the raspberry. I wasn't going to let him know just how desperate for his existence I was, so I stayed just as expressionless.
"Okay, friends -- and that's all we'll ever be."
YOU ARE READING
cherry pain // bronnie
Fiksi PenggemarBrandon Flowers is a famous country singer who's in Las Vegas for a good time at a rodeo, he gets a little bit more than he wants when he runs into Ronnie Vannucci, a millionaire with a taste for cowboys.