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Also, he didn’t know what state she’d be in when he arrived.Wouldshe still be at maximumCarrie-level horror mode or simmering at anEmperorCommodusfromGladiator?Whenhe thought about what she’d said to him onSunday, it made him sad for her.Thethought of being controlled by hormones like that.Theremust be something that could be done.
Itoccurred to him that he could blame his little incident on hormones, too.Theyseemed to give bodies a mind of their own.
Thelift door opened.Hesquared his shoulders and twisted the handle.Fromthe editing suite came the low buzz of computers powered on.Hepopped his head around the corner, butFrancescawasn’t there.Thenhe caught a movement near the kitchenette.
Francescahad her green cordless headphones on, and she was dancing.
Shehad her back to him.Heleaned against the edge of the partition wall, a smile pulling at his lips.He’dnever seen her move like this before.Theyhad gone to clubs a few times when they were together, but this was different.
Herhands and hips swayed back and forth to what seemed like a choreographed dance.Shehad chosen a short blue sundress today, and the fabric ruched up and down her thighs as her legs kicked and stepped.Hecouldn’t hear the music, but he still enjoyed the show.Whateverthe dance was, she had the steps down pat.Itwas effective.
Infact, part of him thought it wastooeffective.Hemoved the ukulele case in front of his cargo shorts.Notagain.
Francescawhipped her hair around her head, and the kettle came to a full boil.Herheadphones flew to the ground.
‘Shit!’ she said, retrieving them, which is when she noticedKrishand jumped. ‘Christon a bobsled!’Sheclutched her headphones against her chest. ‘Didn’tyour mother teach you not to sneak up on people?’
‘Sorry.’Notsorry. ‘Greatmoves.’Itwas probably wrong to enjoy her discomfort, but he did anyway.
‘Well, you’re the one that told me to get a hobby.’Shetucked the headphones around her neck and poured water into her mug. ‘Cuppa?’
‘Yeah, sure.AndI’min shock that you actually took my advice.’
‘Veryfunny.’Sheswept her hand over the new tea selection. ‘Whatdo you fancy?’
‘Justnormal builder’s tea.’
‘Thankgod.Ican’t even pronounce half of these.’Dousinga tea bag in water, she glanced at him. ‘What’sthat thing between your legs?’
Krish’scheeks flushed and his eyes snapped downwards. ‘Myuke.I’vegot class tonight.’
‘Ooh, play something for me!’Shehanded him his mug (the one withRyanGosling) and made for the sofa. ‘Comeon.Idon’t have all day.’
Sheseemed to be in good spirits.Hisshoulders relaxed, relieved that she didn’t seem inclined to bite his head off today.Perhapsnottalking about it was the best idea. ‘Okay.’Hesat down on the grey chair and put his case on the ground.Theclasps snapped open, and he removed his instrument, a mahogany concert ukulele, shaped like a miniature guitar.
Settlingit onto his lap, he tuned the four strings.
‘Itlooks so tiny in your hands,’ she said, leaning in for a closer look.Hecaught the scent of her shea butter shampoo, reminding him of the other day.
‘Yeah…um.Anyway…’Whatshould he play?Heknew a few songs off by heart.Flickingthrough his mental index, he came upon one that he thought would be funny.Hestrummed the first few chords of ‘Cecilia’bySimon&Garfunkel.She’dalways complained when he listened to them.Toofolksy.
Thistime was no different.Shegroaned and flicked her eyes up, but didn’t say anything, settling back onto the sofa to listen.
Pluckingthe notes and hitting the wood of the uke to mimic the song, he launched into the first lines.Hehad to keep his eyes on the strings so that he got his finger placements right.
Krishloved playing the ukulele.Hefound it freeing, in a way that the piano lessons his mother had forced on him as a child never did.Theuke was easy.Thefirst time he picked it up, he’d been playing full songs within an hour.Whereasother instruments needed years of practice, the ukulele allowed him to express himself without the faff of worrying about technique.
Asthe words came out of his mouth, it dawned on him that he could have chosen a better song: singing about a woman who broke her boyfriend’s heart and then went off with another man was probably a bad idea.Hewondered again what had happened withNorman.
Whenthe song ended, he smiled hesitantly and looked up to see her reaction.
Bloodyhell.Francescahad forgotten aboutKrish’stalent for singing.They’donly ever done karaoke once, but the memory of it came flooding back.Hisvoice, crooningFrankSinatra.Herbody, jumping onto his after he finished and having dirty, up-against-the-wall sex in the private karaoke room.Thenafterwards, realising there was a security camera on the ceiling.
Hereyes slid to that little ukulele, so delicate in his big hands.Sortof like her and her petite frame…Inhindsight, why the hell had she requested a song?Shecouldn’t move.Shewas certain that she was sitting in a puddle of her own desire.
‘Whatdo you think?AmIready for the big stage?’Herested his fingers on the body of the instrument, shaped like a woman’s hips…
‘Well, you know.Don’tquit your day job or anything,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the huskiness in her voice.
