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“I should have delivered your candles last week, but I screwed up a batch.”
“I didn’t order any candles.” Indy glances up at me.
I shrug. “Me either.”
Petal ignores our responses. “How are you supposed to do wax play without candles?”
Indy’s eyes widen. “Whoa. Wax play?”
“It’s settled then.” Petal nods. “No wax play for Indigo and Cash. I’ll have massage candles sent over.”
“Massage candles?” Indy asks.
“Don’t worry. They’re safe for use on all body parts.”
Indy’s mouth drops open. “All body parts?”
Petal’s lips purse. “No wax playandno sexual massages? What do you do in the bedroom?”
I’ve had a lot of strange encounters as a musician – numerous requests to pet snakes or body parts and then there was the time a famous photographer wanted me to pose nude while urinating – but never in my life have I encountered a woman old enough to be my grandmother who openly disapproved of my choices in the bedroom.
“Don’t worry, darling.” I wink. “I can please my woman just fine without any candles.”
Petal crosses her arms over her chest and raises her eyebrows at Indy whose cheeks flush in response.
“Yeah, um… we’re good.”
Indy tugs on my hand. I debate sticking around for a while and teasing her more but she’s embarrassed. Teasing is okay. Embarrassing my girl is not.
“We need to get going.”
“Off you go.” Petal motions to the studio down the road. “Work on your album. I’ve been waiting for your next song to release.”
“You listen toCash & the Sinners?”
“Naturally, young man. I’m old. Not deaf.” She scurries into her store without another word.
“Did we just have a conversation about our sex life with an elderly woman or am I still sleeping?” Indy asks as we continue toward the recording studio.
I chuckle. “I love this town.”
“Good. Because you’re stuck here for at least a year.”
The words sound confident, but I know Indy’s still worried about our future together. She thinks I can’t settle down and is worried I travel too much. What she doesn’t realize is I’d give it all up in a second for her. Fame isn’t real. She is.
We reach the studio and I usher her inside.
“Hi, Indigo.” Jett waves as he runs past.
“Hi, Indigo,” Gibson greets as he chases Jett.
“What did Jett do now?” I ask Dylan.
He shrugs. “No idea.”
Fender grunts from his position next to Dylan on the sofas.
“Fender doesn’t know either,” Dylan says.
