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I feel my face burn beneath the barely day-old stubble and Arlo’s eyes glitter with triumph. Josh nods sagely. “Well, if the guy moonlighting as a famous erotic poet on Instagram is blushing…”
So Arlo and Josh know about my poetry account. Don’t ask. Just know it involved the one time I tried to record a spoken word version in the studio after-hours and a horny Arlo thought to sneak Josh in for a little late-night lovin’.
“It’s not like that. Exactly. But yes, it’s pretty sensual. Of course”—I massage the back of my neck, the tension ache returning in full force—“I think everything Lorelai does is sensual. Clear bias in this vicinity.” I wave a hand up and down myself. “Which is why I asked Arlo to listen.”
“Naturally. So what did you say to Lorelai when you got the…”—Josh casts an amused glance at Arlo—“sexy nibble of a song?” His husband winks over his grilled chicken Caesar wrap.
“Nothing. At first,” I rush to clarify. “I was super busy in the studio yesterday. I listened for the first time between clients and couldn’t actually believe what I was hearing, so I waited until things quieted down and…”—I sigh, beyond humiliation at this point—“listened a thousand more times before bed.”
“Where you shot your man-custard all over your duvet like a fifteen-year-old, presumably.”
My face is the surface of the sun. “Jesus, Arlo,” I mumble. “I texted her back this morning, apologizing for taking so long to respond. I explained how busy I’d been and asked her to come over tonight.”
“She’s coming over?”
“Yeah.” I gesture at my phone, resting on the desk between all of us. “She just confirmed.”
Arlo falls back in his chair and lifts his wrap to the heavens. “Praise the Lord.”
“Arlo, Lorelai comes over all the time. She literally lives at the same address. We share a balcony.”
“Yes, but notafter sexting.This is definitive progress.”
“It wasn’t a sext!”
Arlo looks to Josh. “Survey says?”
Josh gives me an apologetic look, nudging his frames up the bridge of his nose. “It’s a sexy text, so calling it a sext isn’t that far off the mark. I’d say for two people who are so into the written word, as you two clearly are, this is legitimate.”
I take in his reasoning and roll it around my brain as we finish our lunches. It’s not that I don’t think they know what they’re talking about, but the risk is high. Higher than I’mcertain I want to pay. If we’re reading this wrong and Lorelaiisn’tmaking a move, I could blow years of friendship. She doesn’t need another guy she trusts sniffing around her, hoping for sex. Not that that’s what I’m about. Not totally, anyway, but the fact remains, she’s a beautiful, fiery, out-of-this-world talented woman and I’m… the guy who’s been hiding his hard-on behind his sound booth for the last twelve months.
The conversation changes to more mundane things, and eventually Josh packs up his things to return to work. Arlo collects the trash and walks his husband out while I tidy up my desk and check my calendar for the afternoon. I have one more client today, and they’re going to require my full attention. It’s time to do what I do best and put the rest out of my brain.
13CRAIG
COME OVER
I get held up with a late phone call with a guitarist I’m hoping to arrange for Lorelai’s record (and who’s currently residing three time zones away), so I’m hustling up the sidewalk just as she’s parking her car on the street in front of our place.
Lorelai closes the car door with her hip, balancing a takeout bag in each hand. I rush to offer my assistance but stop short when she circles the car and heads up the walk toward me. She looks like—
Well, she looks like—
Like—
Fuck. My brain short-circuits as I hold open the front door and she ascends the stairs to my place ahead of me. Lorelai’s wearing a dress. Or a long shirt. Honestly, the best I can come up with is a shirtdress. With rolled sleeves and a belted waist and a skirt that reveals her miles of suntanned legs.Milesof them. Her skirt isn’t short and I’m nottryingto look up it, but the way it flips off the back of her legskeeps flashing little glimpses of heaven at my eye level and my mouth waters and…stop.
I have to stop.
I slow my climb, letting her get far enough ahead of me to where I’m no longer within kissing distance of the backs of her toned thighs. Distance gives me the chance to take in the rest of her. She’s in leather sandals and her dark hair is pulled up off her neck in a high knot, and the overall effect makes her look stretched out and elegant and sophisticated and—
I can’t stop
Imagining your lips
Kissing every inch of me
—the keys?
