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The towel keeping me modest, a state I’ve rarely found myself in, begins to slip. I grab it before it passes below my belly and exposes more than the top of my ass. If Kenya looks my way, I don’t want her accusing me of going back on my word. In all honesty, the proposal I made her won’t be easy for me and I refuse to jeopardize my small advantage.
I chuckle darkly at the thought. If she were any other woman, I’d have more than a slight chance of snagging her interest. I’ve gotten used to sexy women throwing themselves at me to the point that I haven’t had to work for a woman’s notice in years.
Not so with Kenya. At first, her rejection stung. For a second I toy with the idea of telling her exactly who I am, but the thought sours on my tongue. I want her to want me for who I am on the inside, not how I make my living. It’s best she doesn’t discover my professional identity. If this insane desire to get to know her better is anything to go by, I’ll want to keep her in the dark as long as possible as I explore the music she inspires inside me.
If only I didn’t break out in a cold sweat at the thought of actually sitting down and putting notes on the page. My stomach roils and I have to breathe to soothe my mind.
I enter the guesthouse to the sound of my phone blaring from the bedroom. The ringtone tells me it is Khadijah. She promised to give me at least a month before her first check-in. It’s been three days. She has worse impulse control than I do, but we’ve been together for too many years for her slips to bother me.
I get to the phone in time to answer it. “Deej, I know you aren’t calling me to complain about Rhys or Hanson.”
“And good morning to you too, sour puss. What if I said I was calling because I missed you?”
“I’d have to ask, what part of me you miss,” I dryly respond.
“There are so many to choose from. Those arms of yours are definitely top contenders, but I’ll go with your ear and brain for three hundred, Alex.”
“Deej…” I lower my voice in warning.
“Just hear me out. The guys and I were talking—”
“No, Deej. I want no part in what you’re cooking up.”
“I get that. I do…”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“That you should expect a large gift from Rhys and Hanson. Before you get mad and say anything, I tried to talk them out of doing it. I know you’re missing a piece of yourself and it’s caused the block that made you hide away.”
“I’m not hiding.” I peer over at the main house.
“Yes, you are, Cam. But it’s something you need to do. I get that. After things went down with that last song, I’ve seen you struggle to get over the way we handled everything.”
“Because we would have done that song more justice. Silky Beats destroyed my work. We had a number one hit on our hands until we sold the rights to them,” I tell her.
The pop group doesn’t have the vocal range Khadijah has.
“The label disagreed. They couldn’t see our fan base sticking with us when we’ve never produced that kind of music before.”
“But don’t you tire of making music that doesn’t feed our souls? Leave us bleeding and exposed?”
Khadijah sighs over the phone. “I’m not opposed to it.”
I scoff. Although she had my back during our initial meeting with our management team, she quickly folded under their arguments.
“Honestly, I’m not,” she insists. “The fact is, we haven’t trained our fans to accept experimental music from us, and doing so after releasing five albums will come as a slap in their faces. They see our name and they know what they’re getting. Too many bands have tried to transition before and got lost in obscurity because their fans turned their backs on them. Liquid Obsession has worked too hard to follow their downfall.”
“Let’s not rehash this. We won’t see eye to eye on the matter and I have a personal project I want to get started on today.” I look toward the main house but the lack of a shadow going back and forth tells me Kenya has left her room.
Khadijah exhales, relaying her frustration. “Then try to multitask. We’ve tried doing jam sessions to get our creative juices flowing, but the muse hasn’t visited us. We need you to write us another hit single.”
“You gave me a year. I’m going to take the full time.” I walk into Kenya’s studio, needing to feel closer to her so soon after leaving her. I’ve got it bad. Being surrounded by her art helps. Not to mention the stuffed manga characters and collectible bobbleheads that shed light on her interests.
“Besides…” I say, “I tried writing a couple months ago. Nothing but shit came from my pen. I’m blocked and until I’m unblocked, you and the guys pushing me won’t help my situation.”
I keep the part about me sweating and on the brink of a full-blown panic attack when I tried to myself. Now that a tempting melody floats to mind whenever Kenya is around, I’m more leery of telling Khadijah. Plus, I’m not ready to share anything about Kenya, not when every moment with her is akin to a fever dream that I’ll wake from at any moment.
“What if we visit?” Khadijah insists.
