“Give me a C,Mr. Perfect Pitch,” I ordered.
He sighed andheld out a perfect C note. I started the song and waved my hand, encouraginghim to join me in harmony. Good god, the man could sing.
“You need towatch your pitch, Melody,” he said. “You’re going sharp on the first line ofthe chorus.”
“I know, I know,but you’re distracting me,” I said with a frustrated grunt.
“How am Idistracting you?”
“I just want tocrawl inside your voice and lick your vocal cords.”
“That’s a newone.” His eyes widened and he laughed. “I’m not sure if I should be flatteredor grossed out.”
“That makes twoof us,” I grumbled.
He grinned. “Doit again.”
“Okay, I’llfocus,” I promised, taking a deep breath, and starting again.
We got throughthe song, and it sounded like angels flew down from heaven and settled in thecar giving me all sorts of ooey gooey feelings in my soul.
Not to mention,the overwhelming need to play sit and spin on his face… again.
Good god, I wasgoing to need some extra time with my vibrator tonight.
* * *
Train
We arrived at theradio station and were ushered into the waiting area where Melody stood by thewindow and scrolled through her phone. “Fucker.”
I was sitting ona bench across from her watching her expressions as she read through whateverwas on her screen.
“Problem?” I asked.
“Just the usualarmy of unfuckable hate nerds spouting off about the Gill situation as if theyknow anything.”
I frowned. “Areyou on social media right now?”
“It’s thetwenty-first century,” she retorted. “I’m always on social media.”
“I’m not alwayson social media.”
“Yeah, but youwere probably pissed when they took away your flip phone.”
“This ceased tobe a phone when they put a screen in it. This is not a phone, this is agoddamned laptop,” I pointed out. “And there was nothing wrong with my flipphone.”
She smiled, thenimmediately frowned. “Should we go through the song again before we go in.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because wedon’t need to. You sounded amazing in the car. So as long as I don’t fuckanything up, we should be great.”
She wrinkled hernose. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he said,emphatically. “Has anyone every called you a worry wart?”
