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“So, I listened to some of your stuff,” she says, sitting down and crossing her legs under her.
That surprises me. I’m not sure why. I definitely listened to all of her music over the last couple of days. And I listened to it all again for good measure last night. You know, to prepare. Not because I’m obsessed with her or anything. She’s got this modern-alternative country vibe that I’m sure is going to mesh perfectly with my softer rock style. I’ve already been toying with chords and lyrics on my own time, but right now, I wait to see what she has to say as I sink into the second couch.
The two couches are positioned in a corner with a small end table shoved between them. She’s on the end of her couch closest to that table, so I take the same spot on the other, our knees nearly touching. Her expression freezes for just a moment and I’m sure I see her debating with herself whether or not she’s going to try and move away from me. But she stays there, not saying anything about my proximity. Doesn’t stop me from being all too satisfied when she scoots back into the couch a bit like she’s adjusting her seat. I know the truth: she’s squirming away from me, and it sends a thrill of satisfaction through me. Yeah, sweetheart, I can administer “tests” too. Let’s see how she likes that.
“What’d you think?” I finally prompt when it seems like she’s not going to offer more.
“It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting,” she admits.
“In a good way?” I ask, grinning.
I’m rewarded by the sight of a warm pink flush rising up her delicate neck, but she’s not going to give me the satisfaction of actually complimenting me.
“Well, I still showed up today, didn’t I?”
“Fair enough,” I chuckle, holding out my hands in surrender. I don’t know why she’s so uptight with me—maybe that’s just how she is, I don’t know—but I’m determined to help her loosen up. The music always flows better that way.
My motives have nothing to do with the thought of her relaxing enough to make those smiles more common. It’s just about the music.
Yeah, sure, buddy.
“Did you… listen to my stuff?” she finally asks, like she’s been sitting on that question for a while. So the unflappable Chelsea does care what I think. That’s good to know.
I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “A little,” I say. “You’ve got a good sound. I think the execs knew what they were doing when they paired us together.”
Her eyes sparkle at the praise, but then her face falls and she seems to tense up again. “Maybe,” she says, casting her eyes off to another part of the studio.
“Should we get to it? I’ve got a couple songs in progress I can play for you if you’re not ready.”
She grins behind her coffee cup and gestures to the guitar. “Be my guest.”
This has got to be another test, seeing if I’m going to balk at the idea of playing her estrogen-coated instrument. Not a damn chance. Making girls swoon with my music has always been my superpower and I’m not about to let my secret weapon go to waste because of some misplaced male pride or some bullshit. I definitely should’ve brought my own guitar, but waking up at the hour she suggested, I’m lucky I remembered my damn pants. So I’ll make do.
I stand up, pull the notepad out of my back pocket, drop it on the cushion next to me, and lean over her across the other couch to grab her guitar. Yes, reaching across her was unnecessary, but her wide-eyed look of surprise when my chest nearly brushes against hers makes it completely worth it.
Like nothing happened at all, I sit back on my couch and start strumming a few chords, getting a feel for the instrument before I flip through the pages of my notepad and start to play.
She’s watching my fingers closely until I start to sing softly, and then, gradually, her eyes drift closed and she loses herself in the music. Seeing someone respond like that is probably the best part of my job, but seeing Chelsea respond like that? Hell, that’s going to be the best part of my damn week.
“That’s all I’ve got of that one,” I say, jumping right into another promising work-in-progress. She doesn’t say anything as I play through parts of three different other songs. She just sits there, sipping her coffee, eyes closed, feeling the music.
This feels strangely natural. Before I started playing, there was some kind of tension between us, like she really didn’t want to be here with me. Now that the music is filling the room, it feels like we both belong here together. She seems more relaxed, and when I finally set the guitar down, she opens her eyes and smiles.
“I think we can work with that. I like the second one, particularly. I might have some lyrics that will work with it.”
“All right, then. Let’s hear it,” I say, nudging the guitar toward her.
For a moment, I think she’s going to decline. She looks suddenly bashful, which is not at all what I saw out on stage the other night, so I’m not sure what that’s all about. But she doesn’t argue. She takes the guitar and strums and starts singing and then suddenly it’s my turn to be lost in the music. But I don’t lean back and close my eyes like she did. I can’t tear my eyes away from her. The soft shapes her lips make, the way her hands move so gracefully up and down the neck of the guitar. I think about that little hand gripping me, stroking me, and coupled with the beautiful sounds coming from her, that’s enough to have me rigid again.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees to hide my erection. Being around Chelsea makes my dick act like it’s never seen a pretty girl before and it’s fucking crazy. I’ve been with countless women, supermodels even, and none of them made my body respond the way one look from Chelsea does. Damn.
She sets down the guitar sheepishly and I give her a slow clap, smiling. Chelsea shakes her head, half rolling her eyes at me.
“So that’s what I’ve got.”
For about an hour, we work on our pieces of songs, trying to find ways to fit them together, working on rearranging them into duets, practicing harmonies. The hour goes by so fast I don’t even notice it. Apparently I’m not the only one; Chelsea goes to take a sip of her drink and spits it out immediately, making a face.
My eyebrows lift of their own volition and she shakes her head.
