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They don't answer, shuffling further away and trying to look busy. I see Tim cross the doorway and then duck out of sight when Tom waves his hands in warning.
“We could take her with us?”
They stop. Slowly Stan turns around.
“I mean… I would have to talk to her about it. See if she's got a passport or anything. But it's possible. I mean anything’s possible. So, to be clear... is that what we’re talking about here?”
Stan rolls his eyes, then comes back over to the table and sits down heavily in a chair.
“Listen, Charlie,” he starts, “I don’t want to make it sound like I don't respect your work. We all do. We totally appreciate it. It's just… there's never been anybody like her. I don't want to mess it up.”
“I don’t want to mess it up either,” I admit, heaving a deep breath.
It's true. Over the past few weeks, we have settled into an easy rhythm. We take turns, with Tim and Tom usually going over there together. The rest of us wait eagerly for our turn, careful not to wear her out, careful not to rough her up too much for the next guy. But it's been a long time since we had anybody, and I suppose we’re pretty much a lot to take.
Yet she doesn’t complain. She welcomes us, giving us her body and her heart without reservation. Can I imagine leaving the country and just leaving her behind? No. It's weird to say, but I really can't.
“Okay, we'll ask her. I'll ask. You know… But if she comes with us, it'll seem pretty serious. You know what I mean?”
“I'm not afraid of serious,” Tom quips.
Stan presses his lips together and shakes his head. “You know what, I'm not afraid of serious either.”
I push the laptop away, nodding and starting to plan what I would say to her.
“All right. If that’s how you guys feel, let's ask her together.”
Chapter 15
Tim
She comes into the den, still kind of shy and tentative about being in the big house. I think it’s sweet, the way she hangs onto the doorway, leaning in and smiling at us all. I pick up the guitar and her eyes widen.
“What's all this?” she asks.
“Hank tells us you've been holding out on us,” I explain.
“I’m not holding out on you,” she smiles as she comes forward, her pretty blue dress fluttering around those sweet dimpled knees. "I mean, you must have seen the guitar in the cabin, right? You’re just usually too busy to ask me about it.”
“Yeah, I'm distracted,” I admit, snatching at the hem of her skirt and pulling her clo
ser, sliding my hands up her thighs as I drag her onto my lap. She sits astride me, those long, curvy legs covering mine. My cock is hard and ready for her now, and I wonder if we have time to —
“Oh, hold on,” Stan barks out, spoiling the mood. “You want some accompaniment? What are you playing over there?”
He plops down behind the piano and cracks his knuckles like a big show off. Vanessa cradles the Gibson in her lap, leaning back against my chest as she plucks out a few chords.
“Twelve bar blues? In E?” she calls out.
“Sounds perfect,” he agrees, banging on the bass notes like a pro.
She wiggles as she plays, grinding her ass onto my hips. I try to focus as all the blood leaves my head. All I really figure out is that she's really talented, and really juicy wet.
“Keep going!” Charlie says as he comes in, grinning. He grabs the bass out of the rack behind the fireplace and starts noodling, jerking his chin toward Hank when he sees him come in the room.
Hank just crosses his arms and starts whistling, those high notes dancing all over the melody. Pretty soon everybody's pitching in, yelling out an improvised blues line, maybe a snatch from one of the millions of songs that fit this particular tune.
Music is the universal language, something everybody knows. The song just goes on and on, endlessly reanimating itself every time somebody picks a new theme or joke to throw in.
