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I watched Asher as he read through our song, silently lip-syncing the words, and I tried to think up a way to tell him without him thinking I was a big fat liar. But nothing came to mind. Instead, another idea hit me.
“What about sex?”
He glanced up, startled. “What?”
“Condoms.” I rolled out my hand. “You know, your allergy. Don’t you have safe sex?”
Amusement lit his face. “They make non-latex condoms.”
“Do they? Oh.”
Shaking his head as if my shock was the most amusing thing he’d heard all day, he tapped his pen against the paper and glanced over the song as he said, “What do you think of this idea?”
So I concentrated on the new line he read off to me, trying not to pay attention when he ran a hand through his hair. But damn, I loved when Asher’s hair was all tousled and sexy. Made me want to sink my hands into its softness all over again, then rip my mask off, straddle his lap and experience some non-latex fun with him.
I d
idn’t, though. I kept my fingers to myself, made my own suggestion and didn’t mention a thing about my gender while we spent the rest of the night platonically on his bed, pounding out the rest of his song.
I’d just saved my work on my laptop when Sticks mumbled something in his sleep. Around four this morning, he’d crawled back to his bed, grabbed a pillow, and curled around it, closing his eyes as he helped me come up with a final line. Then he’d passed out a few minutes later.
But I couldn’t sleep. I was too psyched because we’d just finished something that had been taking me weeks to work through. So I’d dragged my laptop out of my duffle bag and pulled up my music program, hoping to concoct the perfect melody for the words.
Sticks had slept peacefully for the past three or four hours, but as he flailed out a hand and banged it against the headboard, he began to come to.
“Wha...?” he finally yelped and jerked his head up to gape at me from bloodshot brown eyes. His hair was full of bedhead, sticking out everywhere, and I had to wonder why he’d brought so many products for it now that I knew it was a wig connected to a mask. But hell, I knew nothing about wigs. Maybe you washed and gelled them like normal hair.
Then I wondered what the hell had happened to mess him up so bad he thought he had to wear all that. Poor guy.
“Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, wiping a hand over his face as he sat up. “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you.”
“No problem.” I saved the file I’d been working on and then clicked into the play option so I could have him listen to it. “Want to hear what I’ve come up with so far?”
“Huh?” He blinked at me, still clearly half-asleep. “How long have I been out, what time is it, and how the hell can you still be this awake?”
I shook my head. “It’s a little after eight. You dropped off not long after four. And I suffer from insomnia, so...I don’t typically get more than a few hours of sleep at a time, anyway.”
He shook his head as if reeling and completely disoriented. I couldn’t hold in a grin as I said, “Listen to our song.”
I pushed play, and as the melody began on the digital program I had, Sticks squinted and cocked his head to the side as he studied the wavelengths playing across the screen. When I began to sing the lyrics we’d hashed out, his gaze veered to mine.
His mouth fell open as I made my way through all the verses. And as the last note rang through the room, he shook his head. “What...how...that was totally freaking amazing.”
I shrugged, even though the compliment made my chest compress with pride.
“No, really,” he told me. “How the hell were you able to come up with the entire melody in just a few hours?”
“It wasn’t a very complicated one, plus it still needs tweaking,” I assured, “and I still have to add other instruments. But this is a start.”
“You’re damn right it is,” he sputtered. “You’re a freaking genius. A musical genius.”
His praise made me feel funny, so I closed the laptop and stretched my arms over my head. “Actually, I’m starving. Want to head across the street with me to that Denny’s and load up on pancakes?”
“Hell to the no. I’m going back to sleep.” Hugging his pillow, he flopped back onto his mattress and yanked his sheets up to his chin. “I doubt Gally or Holden will be ready before noon, either, so don’t wake me until then.”
“Uh…we have to check out by eleven,” I reminded him.
He grumbled a curse and then mumbled, “Ten thirty then.” I thought he’d fallen back to sleep, but he added one last, “Love the song, by the way. I think it’ll be our next hit.”
