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I don’t do much to hide my skepticism, and she grunts.
“Fine. It was probably more like fifty, but it seemed like fifty thousand to my seven-year-old brain. I was supposed to go first as the youngest, but I refused to go on stage. By the fourth person, she finally convinced me to go out, but I froze. I stood there for about a minute while she hovered just offstage whisper-shouting, ‘From the diaphragm! From the diaphragm!’ over and over again.”
The snort finally escapes. I can’t help it. Poor Mrs. Cleggs. She got what she wanted, I guess, just not in the form she wanted.
Even Larinda is forcing back a grin. “The worst part is the bulk of it landed on Mr. Pickering who was playing the piano. He practically flew out of his seat and screamed ‘FUCK!’ I don’t know which was more appalling to Mrs. Cleggs, the action or the reaction, but she burst into tears and cancelled the rest of the recital.”
“Oh my god.” I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “What did your parents do?”
“They took me out for ice cream to try to cheer me up. For the next four years Tia would ask me to throw up at all my recitals so we could get ice cream.”
“No way. And did you?”
“No!” she cries, shoving me. “No. I practiced every day after that. Visualized the stage, sang in front of my family, then extended family, then church… more and more until I was an old pro by the next recital.”
“Yeah, but did Mr. Pickering play for you again?”
She swings a pillow at me, and I swat it away, laughing.
“Yes, if you must know. In fact, he said I did a wonderful job compared to last year.”
“I mean, ‘not puking on him’ would have raised the bar so…”
She hits me again.
This time I wrap her in my arms and hug her close. She squirms for just a second before erupting into giggles. I’d almost forgotten I was only in my underwear, but once she hooks her leg between mine, that fact becomes incredibly relevant. Her smile fades as she searches my eyes, the silence tense and heated. Her hand slides up my chest, triggering a rush of chills over my bare skin.
“My turn again. What about this one?” she asks, pressing a kiss to my right shoulder.
“It’s in memory of my cousin who passed away when we were thirteen.”
“You were close?”
“Very.”
“I’m sorry. And this one?” She drags her lips down my side.
I pull in a steadying breath.
“Lyrics to my favorite Redburn song that inspired me to pursue music.”
“And this?”
She tugs the band of my boxer briefs to expose the candle flame on my hip.
Shit, she’s gonna kill me with this interrogation.
When her hand drifts up my thigh to join the fun, I groan and throw my arm over my face.
“This doesn’t seem fair,” I mumble through the growing heat.
“Want me to stop?”
“Hell no.”
Her grin would make that impossible, and when she pulls the band down further, it’s over. She’s getting whatever she wants. Right now it appears to be the thing I’ve also been craving for over a year.
Her fingers tighten around me, then her lips in a coordinated dance that has me completely at her mercy. I grip the sheets as she works my body, fire ripping through every vein and artery. The room fades. Blood pounds. Intense pleasure rushes in wave after wave. Climbing, soaring, and?—
