Page 44 of Hauling Ashe

Swiping a hand over my head, I shift on the bar stool to face Mae. “Women used to hit on me all the time when I was with Rochelle. She’d be giving a conference about female empowerment, and her speeches made women bold as her words intended, but many took that boldness to a new level. Maybe they wanted to tempt the unobtainable. Maybe they wanted to push at my devotion to Rochelle. I have so many come-ons in my memory, I could write a book.”

This makes Mae lightly chuckle. “What would they do?”

“What didn’t they? Room keys. Napkin notes. Strong suggestions. I even had a woman slip me her underwear with her phone number on it.”

“No.” Mae laughs, horrified at the same time.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll make sure to keep my undies on.” Her laughter continues and she arches a brow. “And you would have never done those things, hitting on woman in such a manner, when you were in your band?”

“I didn’t need to. Women love a man in a band.”

Mae smiles large but she goes quiet at this statement. Our eyes meet.

“I wouldn’t know how to come on to a woman, Mae. I haven’t had to do it in a long time.”

She shifts in her seat and faces me. The stools are close, and I spread my thighs to allow her knees between my legs.

“Practice on me.” She sits up straighter, flips her hair over her shoulder and braces her hands on the tops of her legs. She looks like she’s ready to be schooled in the art of pick-up lines or preparing for battle, which might be the same thing.

“I’d start with an apology.”

Her shoulders lower a bit. “That’s a terrible opening line.”

“It’s honest. I’m sorry about earlier.”

Mae stares at me a second, her gaze roving over my face, before she waves a hand dismissing me. “Water under the bridge, and we’ve crossed several of them.” I chuckle at her remark, and then she says, “Now, try again.”

Keeping my eyes on Mae, I search for the right comment to pique her interest. To hint that I’d be interested in her for a night.

“I’d say something like, you’re a ray of sunshine beneath the clouds.”

“That one sounds familiar,” she says, pursing her lips and tilting her head.

“Then I’d add, I felt your warmth from across the room. You’re the match to my soul and the spark to my heart. You light me up.”

Mae slowly grins. “Okay. That’s… wow, that’s nice.”

“How about my heart is an hourglass and yours is the sand, but I won’t let you slip away.”

Mae dramatically fans her face. “I’d say I might be interested in riding your bike.” She bursts out laughing and I smile back at her. Our eyes lock and I want to reach for her. I’d waste no time if I were really hitting on her. I’d touch her, giving off the physical hints of how much I want her. Fingers on her neck. Tucking back her hair. A kiss to the corner of her smile.

“If you really want to apologize, you don’t need to hit on me, though.” She clears her throat, and her tone turns less playful. “I want to hear you play the piano.”

“Mae.” Her name is a quiet plea. Don’t ask this of me. Her eyes watch mine dart away from hers. I glance over at the piano in the corner. I can’t. I can’t do this, not even for her.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to do it. It’s kind of a grand gesture.” Mae pauses. “I wonder if that biker knows a tune.”

“Oh, you play dirty.”

“Dirt is my thing. How’s that for innuendo?” She slowly smiles. “Besides, I thought we were only practicing your pick-up lines.” There’s a question in her voice. Was I hitting on her? Was I genuine or was this just pretend? My opening come-hither line was an I’m-sorry-statement. Playing the piano seems to be the only way to let Mae know I’m sincere. I meant it—all of it—pickup lines and apology.

A grand gesture. Mae mentioned such a thing earlier today as we stood by the giant blue whale attraction propped in a pond. I don’t remember the details of the structure other than a husband built that whale for his wife, confirming his love for her. At the time, I scoffed. Who wants a silly cement whale as a gift? But I recall Mae saying something about the couple’s children and grandchildren enjoying the thing for years. When a man loves a woman, he gives her what she wants. He proves himself with something as simple as a red geranium or as giant as a replica whale.

Or playing the piano because she asked.

Slipping from the stool, I turn from Mae and head to the piano once more. My body hums. My heart hammers. I jiggle my arms. I can do this. I can do it for her.