Page 53 of Lick
“We did it,” I whispered.
His eyes opened. His chest was still heaving, working to get more air into him. After a moment, he rolled onto his side to face me. There’d never been a better man. Of this I was certain.
“Yeah. You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” I shuffled closer, seeking out the heat of his body. He slid an arm over my waist, drawing me in. Letting me know I was wanted. Our faces were a bare hand’s width apart. “It was so much better than last time. I think I like sex after all.”
“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”
“Were you nervous?”
He chuckled, shuffling closer. “Not as nervous as you were. I’m glad you liked it.”
“I loved it. You’re a man of many talents.”
His smile took on a certain glow.
“You’re not going to get all cocky on me now, are you? All puns intended.”
“I wouldn’t dare. I trust you to keep me grounded, Mrs. Ferris.”
“Mrs. Ferris,” I said, with no small amount of wonder. “How about that?”
“Hmm.” His fingers stroked my face.
I caught his bare hand, inspecting it. “You don’t have a ring.”
“No, I don’t. We’ll have to fix that.”
“Yes, we will.”
He smiled. “Hey, Mrs. Ferris.”
“Hey, Mr. Ferris.”
There wasn’t enough room in me for all the feelings he inspired.
Not even close.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
We spent the afternoon back down in the recording studio with Tyler and Mal. When David wasn’t playing, he pulled me onto his lap. When he was busy on guitar, I listened, in awe of his talent. He didn’t sing, so I remained in the dark about the lyrics. But the music was beautiful in a raw, rock ’n’ roll sort of way. Mal seemed pleased with the new material, bopping his head along in time.
Tyler beamed behind the splendid board of buttons and dials. “Play that lick again, Dave.” My husband nodded and his fingers moved over the fretboard, making magic.
Pam had been busy while we’d been upstairs, starting on unpacking the collection of boxes. When she made a move to return to the job in the early evening, I went with her. Asked or not, it wasn’t fair that she got lumped with the task on her own. Plus, it pleased my inner need to organize. I snuck back downstairs now and then as the hours passed, stealing kisses, before heading back up to help Pam again. David and company remained immersed in the music. They’d come up seeking food or drink but returned immediately to the studio.
“This is what it’s like when they’re recording. They lose track of time, get caught up in the music. The number of dinners Tyler has missed because he simply forgot!” said Pam, hands busy unpacking the latest box.
“It’s their job, but it’s also their first love,” she continued, dusting off an Asian-style bowl. “You know that one old girlfriend that’s always hanging around the fringes, drunk-dialing them at all hours and asking them to come over?”
I laughed. “How do you deal with never getting to come first?”
“You have to strike a balance. Music’s a part of them that you have to accept, hon. Fighting it won’t work. Have you ever been really passionate about something?”
“No,” I answered in all honesty, eyeing up another stringed instrument I’d never seen the likes of. It had intricate carving encircling the sound hole. “I enjoy college. I love being a barista, it’s a great job. I really like the people. But I can’t sling coffee for the rest of my life.” I stopped, grimaced. “God, those are my father’s words. Forget I ever said that.”
“You can totally sling coffee for the rest of your life, if you so choose,” she said. “But sometimes it takes time to find your thing. There’s no rush. I was a born and bred photographer.”
