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Lacy repeats the song while I drum along, rapping out a beat on the guitar. I can’t help strumming in some chords here and there as we go, almost wishing that this could be a song of mine instead of a poem of Lacy’s. When it all comes together, it sounds awesome. Lacy seems to agree, as she has a huge smile plastered on her face by the time we finish.
“Ben, that was amazing! Thank you so much!” She exclaims as she jumps up from her chair and throws her arms around my neck. I catch a whiff of that girly shampoo she uses as she comes closer. It always reminds me of fresh strawberries.
“Sure thing. Happy to help,” I reply with a gentle smile as she detaches herself from me. “Want to keep riffing a bit? I could use your help with some of my own songs right now. I’ve been blocked all morning.”
“Sure!”
I smile, pleased that I’ve finally managed to break through the ‘drill sergeant’ persona she’s put on for the last few days. She’s usually so regimented, scheduling her days with writing, renovating, and cleaning. I don’t know how she manages to work that way. I definitely can’t adhere to a schedule like that.
“Let me just switch guitars,” I say as I get up. Lacy follows me to the far side of the room, where a large curtain hides a collection of my guitar, protecting them from dust. We step behind it, and I draw it behind us.
“I wish I could play guitar,” Lacy says as she follows me, gazing at the wall of instruments I’ve got hung up.
“Happy to teach you at any time,” I say as I take down my favorite Fender.
“Really?” She looks up at me smiling, her eyes bright.
“Of course. How about a spontaneous lesson now?”
“But you wanted to get some songwriting done,” she says pointedly. “We should stick to the plan.”
Uh oh, here comes the drill sergeant, I think to myself.
“Nah, it’s cool. I like seeing you like this,” I reply.
“Like what?” She glances at me in confusion.
“Spontaneous. Exhilarated. Bitten by the creative bug. It’s pretty sexy.”
“Thanks,” she replies, biting her lip. “You’re the one that brings it out in me, you know?”
Damn, I can’t handle those lip nibbles. The last time Lacy nibbled her lip like that in front of me, it led to a kiss. A fake kiss, sure. But a kiss nonetheless. A kiss I wouldn’t mind repeating.
The memory of the kiss—her hands wrapped around my neck, her soft lips on mine, her body pressed against me—clinches it.
Without another thought, I bring one hand to her chin and lift it to me. We lock eyes. We both know… This isn’t a game of make-believe. This isn’t pretend. This isn’t some show for a silly discount that we didn’t need anyway.
This is real.
I lean down and pull her close to me, wrapping my hands around her waist as I kiss her, long and deep. I bring my hands up to her hair, running it through the strawberry-scented softness and then down over her back, feeling the straps of her bra through the flimsy cotton t-shirt she’s wearing. She presses herself more firmly against me, and I’m reminded of the day I saw her in the soaked shirt, tits on full display. Lacy lets out a tiny moan as I run my hands down her back, cupping her pert ass. All the while, we’re kissing, deep, hungry, long, kisses. I never want them to end.
DING!
There’s a loud dinging sound from the other end of the room.
“What was that?” Lacy pulls back, looking surprised and frightened.
I look to where the sound came from and then pause, realizing…
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I mutter. I pull back the curtain that’s hiding us from sight, and cross to the other side of the room, to my laptop.
Lacy is right behind me.
“What is it?”
“Uh, my computer.”
She stares over my shoulder at the screen. There’s a giant pop-up box on the screen, reading:You’ve been inactive for some time! Would you like to continue your livestream? Yes/No.
