The Story of Lansing Lotte Read online

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  L.B. Dunbar

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  © 2015 Laura Dunbar

  Cover Design – Kari Ayasha – Cover to Cover Designs

  Format – Brenda Wright

  Edit – Karen Hrdlicka – Barren Acres Editing

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  Sensations Collection

  Sound Advice

  Taste Test

  Fragrance Free

  Touch Screen

  Sight Words (coming 2015)

  Legendary Rock Stars Series

  The Legend of Arturo King

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  The Quest of Perkins Vale (coming Summer 2015)

  Dedication

  For heroes: super and everyday.

  I could feel my head throbbing. Both of them.

  The night before was a fuzzy mash of images in my brain, as I recalled the concert. My band, The Nights, were rocking The Round Table something fierce and the crowd was thumping. I remembered the muted bright lights and the energy of the music I produced on my guitar, next to the lead singer and my best friend, Arturo King, while the girls screamed in response to Arturo’s voice. Regardless of Arturo’s recent engagement, the ladies still loved the Chivalrous Lover. They equally called out for me and my guitar playing, as well. I loved the attention. There was no better high than the cry of a crowd cheering you on.

  On the opposite side of the stage, focused on his bass guitar was Tristan Lyons. He had model-like features and his nickname was the Heartbreaker. He went through girls like they were food to be savored and devoured, and his followers were nicknamed flavors. He enjoyed the variety of woman who came his way and he never dabbled in the same flavor twice.

  Behind us had been Perkins Vale, who the band called Perk. His enthusiasm for playing the drums equaled his name. He was big and often played with his shirt off, exposing the detailed tattoo of a shield on his chest and across his left shoulder. His dark short hair, shaved to his head, gave the impression of someone serious and intense, but he was the contrary. That’s why things went askew.

  I remembered Arturo and Perk having some kind of conversation between their eyes, but I was more focused on the fact that Mel Agent had somehow gotten into The Round Table. Last night was a private function, as a fundraiser for women of domestic violence hosted by none other than Arturo’s mother, Ingrid Tintagel, and her foundation WomenFirst. Mel Agent was the lead singer of a rival band, who had become his own entity and one of The Night’s sworn enemies. I despised the man for his behavior toward women and at that moment he seemed to be interested in a young thing with jet-black hair.

  She didn’t look like the typical girl to be in the club. She didn’t look like the typical girl to follow a band. Her oversized army jacket covered her small body and her delicate hands clenched the coat closed over her chest. Mel Agent looked deep in conversation with the girl who was holding her own, but that’s when Arturo’s dark eyes started addressing Perk.

  Only the practiced ear of the band knew that Perk slipped as he played. He was off a beat, for just a second, but recovered quickly. I was trying to question Arturo with my own unspoken glance, but Arturo was too focused on Perk. When the set ended, Arturo and Perk immediately hit the side stage. Both men moved quickly through the crowd, parting ways as I realized that Guinevere DeGrance was in the path of Mel Agent, as well. I felt that familiar ping in my heart, and I looked away before I could see the guilt in Guinevere’s eyes.

  I was quick to follow them and pull Guinevere from Mel’s immediate vicinity. It seemed I was continually saving her from that man. Tristan had grabbed Arturo and was forcing him back. We didn’t need an altercation in the middle of the crowd, and Perk seemed to have the situation under control. A situation that clearly involved trying to free another woman from the evil intentions of Mel Agent.

  I waited in the wings with Tristan and Arturo, as Arturo barked out orders to give him my bike and for Tristan to take Guinie home. I knew Arturo sensed something between Guinie and I, and he refused to ask me for help when it came to her. He paused, for only a moment, to continue what looked like an argument with his girlfriend, no, his fiancée, before Perk and he disappeared completely, leaving Tristan and I to entertain the endless questions of where had the other two gone. Tristan and I could hold our own though, and we did, with continuous shots and free flowing drinks.

  I was sure that’s how I ended up here – in bed. I tried to open my eyes which seemed too heavy. The pressure on my temples was a rhythm stronger than Perk’s drumming, but the feeling of warmth and moisture on my lower head made me moan. The suction increased and I felt my leaden hands travel into the hair of my capturer.

  I could remember snapshots of the night and the countless women leaning up against me. The laughter of female voices and the whispers of desire in my ear were muted by the loud sound of the other bands playing in the background. The numerous lips burned the skin subtly on my cheek and neck from stolen kisses by aggressive fangirls.

  I had only wanted one girl to be a fan. And she was refusing.

  I was awakening slowly and the dream I was having moments before I regained consciousness was still visible in my mind. Fresh lips were on mine. Hands entwined in soft hair. Sounds moaned of pleasure. I had a vague sense that some of the dream had been a reality, but I couldn’t bring my mind to focus clearly on whether any of it had been true.

  I should have been ashamed. She was. She was embarrassed by how she responded to me. I had responded to her years before, and I had never forgotten. Despite her denying that the first kiss had been intense, I knew she was lying. She kissed me back after all that happened, and I wanted her. I couldn’t help it.

  As my hands gripped female hair gently and finger nails tickled my hips, my eyes began to peel open. I took in the dim sunlight beginning to break the darkness in the room. The ceiling was grayed in shadow, and I rotated my head on a soft pillow to get a whiff of stale roses and observe the light pink of sheets.

  My eyes opened fully, as I realized I didn’t recognize the room, painted in a pale rose color and accented with frilly curtains over the shade-covered window. My eyes traveled down my naked body to the head of my temptress. Her hair fell forward, veiling her as she worked me with her mouth. My hands coiled in her hair; I couldn’t quite distinguish the color.

  My concentration returned to what the temptress was doing between my legs. I let my eyes roll back, as I dreamt of the woman who kissed my mouth with lush lips, using those lips to suck me off. I was ready to burst. I tightened my clasp of her hair, warning her softly with the words. I’m ready.

  As the liquid strength in me ejected down her throat, I growled like a prayer: “Fuck, Guinie.” I looked down at the head over my manhood to meet green eyes, not blue.

  “Elaine?” I questioned.

  The shock in my mind matched the shock on her face, as I called out the name of another woman. A woman who was not mine and belonged to another man. My best friend.

  “Elaine?” I asked again. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  She smiled sheepishly at me. Her bright green eyes sparkled in mischief as her strawberry blond hair tumbled back off her shoulders. Her pale skin was bare as she crawled up my body to balanc
e over me, dangling her breasts mere millimeters from my chest.

  “What happened?” I demanded of her as she continued to smile at me.

  “You don’t remember?” she giggled as she leaned forward, pressing those breasts into me and nibbling on my neck with soft kisses.

  “I…I don’t think I do,” I replied honestly to Elaine Corbin.

  Elaine Corbin was one of my longest female friends. She’d grown up around Lake Avalon in upstate New York, like Perk and me, spending her summers with Arturo, Perk, and I. She’d had an unabashed crush on me, for as long as I could remember. I was careful not to return her attention, until the past summer.

  It was at Arturo’s upstate retreat in late May, when he made his desire for Guinevere DeGrance known, at a party held in Elaine Corbin’s family home. His public displays of affection were not unnoticed to those gathered, as the whispers and mummers filled the night, speculating on the status of their relationship. I would have punched anyone who claimed that Guinevere was a one-night stand of Arturo’s, because I had respect for her. I’d known her a long time, even if she didn’t act like she remembered me during that stay at Arturo’s home on Lake Avalon.

  A few nights after that party, while Tristan and I were at Arturo’s home enjoying the cool night air and some beers, I was certain of Arturo’s intentions with Guinevere. That’s the night I foolishly kissed Elaine Corbin for the first time. We weren’t a couple. We weren’t on a date. We were old friends hanging out with members of the band, who ended up at Arturo’s for an impromptu jam session. The spontaneity of the moment made me react, however, when I saw Arturo’s hands on Guinevere and her response to his caresses.

  I didn’t mind hanging out with Elaine, but I tried to keep that kiss on the down low after it happened. I didn’t want to play it off like I was drunk, back then. I respected Elaine too much. I couldn’t admit I had done it to distract myself from Arturo’s attention to Guinevere. I didn’t have an explanation for Elaine when she asked me why I kissed her, after all that time, or why I kissed her that night. I tried to laugh it off and say I was caught up in the sensual charge of the night.

  Elaine was sweet, but she was a high maintenance girl. Her father sustained an injury that left him paralyzed when she was still young. Her brother suffered in the same accident. There were rumors that the family line was dead. Elaine would brag that it was up to her to fulfill a prophecy to replenish the family. It was a frightening admission of her need for commitment and marriage. Something I did not want with her or anyone else; until the one girl I couldn’t have.

  I felt Elaine’s warm breath in my ear before she nipped me.

  “Where’d you go?” She smiled against my neck. I realized my hands were absentmindedly stroking up her bare sides.

  “Nowhere,” I choked. “Just trying to put this all together.”

  She pulled back from my warm skin and looked into my eyes.

  “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  I didn’t want to hurt her, but I was in a difficult position. I didn’t remember. Plus I was afraid that the brush off I would have to give her, after last night, would make things even more hurtful.

  “I met you at The Round Table. You’d been drinking and the women were just ferocious with you and Tristan. I almost had to fight a few off, quite literally. One almost had you undressed against the bar. The whole place was about to get a show. Tristan was no help until I put myself between you and the nymph.”

  Elaine used her hand to push back my wayward hair.

  “You asked me to get you out of there,” she continued. “I brought you to my apartment because it was closer.”

  She smiled shyly at me.

  “Is your father here?” I suddenly panicked. I knew Elaine lived with her father, in order to take care of him.

  “How do you think I got you in here?” she laughed.

  Impossible, I thought. Her father was wheelchair bound. He had no feeling in his legs and wouldn’t have had the upper body strength to move a drunken man. I was certain I had been so drunk I couldn’t have moved my own body without some assistance.

  My body was reacting, though. Elaine’s legs straddled me and I felt her wet center press against my growing shaft. I would like to have thought I had control to not do that with her. I feared I would be doing something I’d already done with her the previous night. As my length grew solid under her pressure, she slid forward and worked me into her, slamming down on me as if impaling herself. I growled.

  I wanted to deny her. It was not going to end well. But my body was taking over my mind and I let Elaine work me. Other snapshots of the night before were flashing in my head. She pushed me on the bed and I lay on my back. She stripped off my clothes as I fumbled with hers. She didn’t remove her dress before she had me exposed, and she was on me in the same position she then rode me. I couldn’t recall the sensation of being with her. I had drunk so much the night before, but my body was with her, even if my head and my heart were not.

  I grunted as my body gave complete betrayal. She came on top of me, as I reached my own release for a second time in the early morning hours. Too late, I realized I wasn’t wearing a condom.

  Suddenly I heard the ring of my phone. It was set to a ringtone that I knew I wouldn’t hear, unless it was an emergency. She swore she would never call me again.

  I reached off the side of the bed, hoping my pants were on the floor nearby. I fumbled with Elaine over me, although we were no longer joined. My fingers struggled with slipping the phone out of my jeans’ pocket. As I held the phone finally, I worried I was too late when the ringing stopped.

  I flinched when the song began again, vibrating the phone in my hand.

  “Guinie?” I breathed as I answered.

  “Lansing,” she said softly, her voice choked by sobs. “There’s been an accident.”

  She hiccupped before she could speak again. Her voice caught and I knew she was struggling to say a name.

  “It’s Arturo,” she said and broke into open cries beyond the phone. My heart broke at the obvious pain she suffered.

  “I’ll be right there,” I breathed and hung up.

  Elaine had removed herself from my lap, hopefully sensing the severity of the phone call. She still remained draped over my upper back with her arms around me and kissed my shoulder.

  “Everything okay?”

  I was hastily pulling on my jeans, not concerned with finding my boxers, as I replied,

  “There’s been an accident. It’s Arturo.”

  I stood briskly, feeling Elaine’s hands brush down my back. I suddenly felt like I needed a shower, a scalding hot one to wash myself clean. I turned to look down at Elaine who leaned back on her hands. She was fully exposed to me. Large supple breasts, white milky skin, and a mischievous grin as she was aware I observed her nakedness.

  “Like what you see?” she laughed in a playful tone, but I wasn’t in the mood to play any longer. I needed to get to Guinevere.

  My heart skipped a bit at the thought. I needed to get to her to help her through the unknown, regarding Arturo. Another man. Who was my best friend. I sighed deeply and ran my fingers through my hair that only fell back across my forehead.

  “I gotta go,” I said softly, not responding to her flirtatious words.

  I leaned forward and gave Elaine a chaste kiss on the cheek. When I pulled back, the questions on her face were clear. She expected more of me after what happened, and I wasn’t about to give it to her.

  “Call me?” she said weakly. “To let me know about Arturo?”

  It was obvious she meant other things, but my mind was far away from the room right in that moment.

  “I’ll let you know what happened.”

  When I arrived at Arturo’s apartment, the place was eerily quiet, as if someone had already died.

  Was I too late?

  Guinie was on the couch, encased in Tristan’s arms, her head buried in his chest, quietly crying.

  A head nod was
my first response from him as a greeting.

  “Am I…What happen…?” I couldn’t form complete thoughts.

  “There’s been an accident,” Tristan began. “Arturo was on your bike and he crashed into an underpass wall. I guess he was being chased, but we don’t know if the crash was intentional.”

  “Intentional? Like he purposely ran into a cement wall?” My voice was rising in my disbelief.

  I heard Guinevere whimper and Tristan wrapped her tighter into his chest, placing a hand on her head as if he was covering her ears.

  “No, asswipe, not intentional,” Tristan bit. “As if the chase into the wall was intentional, like the followers meant to run him into it.”

  I was breathing heavy, both my hands slipped into my hair as I paced back and forth in front of the Tristan-Guinie combination.

  “What details do you have?”

  “I don’t have many. Hang on.” Tristan mumbled something into Guinie’s ear and then untangled himself from her. He stood slowly, and I recognized the signs of a hangover. He must have felt like I did – shaky, clammy, and in need of coffee. Tristan motioned with his head toward the bar that spanned a section of the wall behind the couch. It was far enough away that Tristan might be able to whisper, but not too far away that he couldn’t still see Guinie, who was perched sideways on the couch with her head resting on the back cushions.

  “All I know,” he began in a hushed voice, “is when Arturo and Perkins left the club, they were apparently followed. We don’t know if it was paparazzi, or Mel Agent’s guys, or what. Either way, Perk and Arturo separated at some point, and Arturo’s bike was the one found.”

  I paused to take it all in.

  “My bike?”

  “What?”

  “It was my bike he was on.”

  “Dude, does that matter?”