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He grunted and I tried to suppress a smile. Hot and broody, who knew that would be my catnip?
Doesn’t mean it would be good for me though.
I cleared my throat and tapped the top of my pen against the empty page of my notebook. “Maybe,” I mused, “we should start there.”
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but I didn’t answer his unanswered question. I just nodded toward his guitar to indicate for him to play it again. The fan girl in my watched his fingers with rapt fascination, but the songwriter in me had words trying to flow along the notes and lift in harmony.
I scratched out a few lines before putting down the notebook and grabbing another guitar. When I started playing along with him, he looked shocked, and it was my turn to smirk. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I pushed that feeling aside. I wasn’t going to let fear stop me from doing the job I was hired to do, the job that could give me the break I had been dreaming of forever.
As we restarted, playing in tandem, I sang the few lines I’d written over top, and Langston’s fingers stopped immediately. I didn’t look at him; I couldn’t.
When the music faded and I had nothing else to share, I forced myself to look at him. The appreciation on his face had heat filling me from head to toe.
“Well,” he swallowed hard, “okay then.”
That was it. It was all we needed to put our heads together and get to work.
It hasn’t taken us long at all to get the semblance of a song written. Honestly, the chorus is perfect and the thought of this being our song, one we’ve worked on together, is almost too good to be true. I’ve watched as Langston has lit up as we’ve worked together. The darkness in his eyes has started to recede and that makes me feel a lot better than it should.
It’s not about me. It’s the music. I know that, but it’s hard not to feel a little bit responsible for giving a little joy back to him.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to live without music flowing through me, but I can also see how losing someone would make it feel like a wall has formed around that inner creativity. From everything I know about Langley, they were together as a duo for a long time and best friends for even longer.
To lose that person in your life must be devastating. I wonder if Langston blames himself for Conley’s death, even if he shouldn’t.
I’m definitely not brave enough to ask. I doubt I’ll ever be brave enough to bring something like that up. It wouldn’t be my place either.
“The chorus is perfect,” Langston insists, his back straight and his broad shoulders squared like he’s ready to go march into battle over it.
It’s kind of adorable. Not that I’ll be telling him that. No fucking way.
“It’s not bad,” I offer.
He narrows his eyes at me, but I look away from him. Honestly, I can’t look into his eyes for very long. I’m trying to keep everything very professional between us. If I’m not careful I’m liable to launch myself at the man.
I don’t think he would be all that receptive, not to mention I don’t want to knock the wind out of him.
I’ve always been a curvier woman. I might be 5’7, but I’m all tits and ass; it’s always been that way. when I was a teenager, it was something I got teased about even as boys lusted after me and tried to get in my pants. They weren’t overly pushy about it, but I saw the heat in their eyes.
Only a few figured out that making fun of me while asking me out was not the way to do it. Which is why my high school boyfriend was able to get me to say yes—he was sweet and complimentary right from the start. It also helped that he was kind of on the nerdy side.
I was more than wary of the popular crowd. It always felt a little ridiculous that in a small town, where we all knew each other for our entire lives, that there was even a popular group. Why bother? It was a lot of posturing for no damn reason.
We’d all either end up sticking around and having to face our teenage bullshit as adults or we would go out to explore the world. Why make either of those things harder?
Then again, maybe I didn’t understand because I was on the receiving end of the jabs and nasty comments.
“Now,” Langston muses, “it’s the hook that need some work.”
“Wh-what?” My voice rises with indignation as I sputter, “The hook is fucking amazing.”
Okay, full disclosure? I might be a little biased about the hook considering I wrote it, and he didn’t change anything about it, unlike how we worked through bits of the verses and the chorus together. I thought that meant he liked it as it was.
My heart sinks at the thought of being wrong.
When Langston’s large hand, his fingers calloused from playing a guitar, covers mine, I jump a little and almost fall off the edge of the loveseat where I’ve been perched while we’ve been working.
“Shit,” he hisses under his breath as my heart tries to pound out of my chest. Touching this man or being touched by him is dangerous as hell. It makes my entire body light up like nothing ever has before. “Hey,” his voice is gentle, and I force myself to look up at him, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
