Gus Read Online Free PDF Page A

away.
    She's still holding my hand and her eyes have dropped to my midsection.  
    I follow suit and let my eyes drop to her chest. I don't want to look at her face. This isn't going to be personal. Eye contact makes everything more personal.
    Now she's urging me backward. I oblige and when we reach the bathroom door I open it. It's an invitation that she accepts without hesitation when she follows me in.
    I'm unbuttoning the rest of her blouse before the door shuts behind her. And by the time she manages the lock on the cramped quarters her shoulders are bared and her bra straps are pulled down to her elbows freeing her huge, obviously silicone tits. Again, I prefer natural, but once they're in my hands, my mouth, I'm not complaining. She's theatrically moaning. I tune it out.  
    When she starts wiggling out of her micro-skirt and panties I stop her, "Save it. I don't have a condom in here."
    She whispers in my ear, "It's okay, I'm on the pill." Her voice is husky. It's not sexy. It's needy. I hate needy.
    Now she's trying to kiss me.  
    That's not gonna happen either. It's too intimate. I haven't kissed anyone since Bright Side. I turn my head. "Not okay. The way I see it we have one option here—"
    I don't even have to finish my ultimatum before she's dropped to her knees and my underwear have been tugged down.
    When she takes me with her mouth I can't hold back, "Ah shit, that feels good."  
    She's aggressive. It's obvious this isn't her first rodeo. There's no fooling around with just the tip, she's taking me all in. And I'm a big guy; this is full-fledged, deep throat, porn material.  
    She's got my ass in her hands and is holding me tightly against her. I'm worried I'm hurting her so I pull out. She literally begs me to continue. Well shit, you don't have to ask me twice. It's not long before her hair is knotted in my hands and I'm full-on thrusting.
    Release isn't what it once was. It's momentary blinding satisfaction, followed up too quickly by reemergence into bleak reality.  
    I reach down and pull up my underwear as she's standing, wiping her lips and chin with the back of her hand. Her eyes are dilated and tell me that though I'm finished ... she isn't. "I'm Clare, by the way."
    I nod absently. "You have quite a way with introductions."
    She runs her finger down my chest. "So do you. I look forward to working with you." The look in her eyes tells me "working with" in that sentence is interchangeable with "fucking."
    I release the lock on the door behind her, "See ya around," and leave her alone in the john to her own devices.
    When I emerge from the bathroom, Jamie is sitting with Franco at the table playing poker. Jamie raises his chin in greeting. We aren't talking much lately. Franco shakes his head. I know he's disappointed in me. He tried to warn me. It's strange, because I used to be the one that looked out for the band. I used to be our leader. Now it's Franco. Maybe it makes sense; he's the oldest at twenty-five. Or maybe it's just inevitable given that I'm failing miserably at life.

Thursday, February 9
    (Gus)

    Our producer, MFDM, called me today. He said he's been talking to our record label and the label wants to re-release our album in a few weeks and include a bonus track. The bonus track is a song called "Finish Me" that Rook recorded last December with Bright Side. I wrote the song in the days following the bombshell—the bombshell being the discovery of Bright Side's terminal cancer diagnosis. The band flew to Minneapolis and recorded it in a studio there about a month before she died. Bright Side wrote and played the violin arrangement and sang with me. The song is our best to date, but it's also personal. Too personal. There's no way I'd be able to perform it live, which is what would be expected after an album release. Hell, we only started playing "Missing You" live again this week, and that was only after I wrote a new guitar arrangement for it and we picked up the tempo. It's morphed