My bare feet were up on the desk in my studio, Harriette on the cool floor, her jowls dripping on the hardwood. We’d just come in from an early evening walk, and I was antsy. Determined to shrug off the feeling, I shoved on my headphones and listened to a few loops of an electric violin solo.
It was perfect.
I let out a loud sigh. I’d been looking for something to pair with an erotic bathroom scene, the last piece of music for this movie, and then I was done. I played the clip on my laptop and matched up the tinny violin strokes with each body movement. The scratchy music fit perfectly with the gruff, tattooed man and the lithe woman onscreen in front of me. He was abrasive like sandpaper and she was smooth like silk. Together, they were explosive and gave new meaning to scratching an itch.
I rewound the clip, made sure the music was set perfectly, and e-mailed it to the producer, confident he would love it.
Leaning back in my chair, I should have felt at ease, but I was even more antsy. All the sexy clips made me miss Charli even more than I already did. I pined for her laughter, the new slight curve of her hips. She hadn’t really gained weight; she looked more like a woman filled out in all the right places.
And her smile ... that smile could light up Manhattan.
I didn’t want to share it, though. I wanted all of her grins, each and every one. I would stuff her giggles in my pocket for a rainy day.
Fuck, I’m such a goner. Gone for her.
My mind went to her, to our situation, like it so often did throughout my day.
Although no one had saidI love you, I wanted to, but I needed it to be right. Charli needed to be settled in her career before I approached her about this. Although her job was sort of transient, but no ... no, I needed to make a move. I suspected that was pivotal to our relationship working, yet I waited. And now I feared I’d waited too long.
It didn’t matter. I missed her so much that my hand twitched, wanting to touch her, to feel her, to slip her hair behind her ear. It was silky like satin sheets fresh from the package.
I should buy some of those, I thought, but then my phone buzzed on my desk.
Adam.
A few guys were grabbing drinks at Bastion’s. Looking more closely at the time, I realized it was almost seven on a Friday night. Happy hour was well under way.
I needed to get out of my house for something other than a run or a walk. My mind was playing tricks on me.
She loves me. She loves me not.
Leaving out some fresh water for Harriette, I pulled off my old concert tee and grabbed a Henley. I left my jeans on and slipped into a pair of Reef flip-flops. Why else live at the beach?
Adam clapped me on the shoulder when I bellied up to the bar. “Well, it isn’t Romeo! How’s it going in lover land?”
“Beer please, whatever’s on tap,” I said to the bartender.
“That good?” Adam took a sip of his drink.
“It’s rough, man. She’s not here and I’m not there.”
“Star-crossed lovers, that’s what I said.”
“I heard your little joke, but this is my life.”
He lifted his glass to my bottle and said, “Cheers, Lay. Damn straight it’s your life. Take control.”
“You’re kidding. You don’t think I have?”
But I hadn’t. It was my fault we didn’t share our true feelings. I should say it first. I knew she loved me.
“No,” Adam said, his tone suddenly sober. “And you know me? No bullshit ever. You took control of your life, even though you almost had it all. Kicking business, lots of pussy, but not her ...”
“Don’t say it,” I warned.
“Now you just mope around.” Frowning, he said, “Fucking fix it, dude. You want her to move here, ask her. You want to marry her, ask her.”
“Whoa, marry? No, we’re not there yet.”
