"Be careful about making random ass promises. I'm the type of man who will come to collect."
She swallowed thickly and her eyes lifted to his. He smirked and stepped back. "Let's run this shit. I think we have something dope."
Her body hummed with the possibility of recording. It had been so long. A little over three years and she’d missed what it felt like to fall into a rhythm and let go.
"Well?" He lifted a brow and she nodded.
"Okay but you can't release it. Cobra will sue me."
His expression turned dark. "Let me worry about all that. Close the door and come on."
He tossed his head to the left and she unlocked her legs, closed the door, and joined him near the mic.
"You need time to think about your verses?" he asked.
"No, I can vibe off what you say."
"Bet, because I plan on just running some shit to see how it feels. Let's go."
He handed her headphones and pointed toward the mic. After he lifted a second pair of headphones and plugged them in, he ran the track back. This time, instead of his voice on the track, it flowed through the microphone when he leaned in close, keeping his eyes on her while he ran his verse.
She felt him and she liked the way he had a hold on her.
By midnight Asaoand Samari were done recording and she felt electrified. Something in her spirit was hopeful, which allowed her to feel at peace. The other part of her euphoric state was the man whose long body stretched out on the floor below where she’d curled up on the sofa. She was on her side, with her knees pulled into her chest, one arm wedged beneath her head,. and he was on his back, long legs crossed at the ankles. With both of his arms folded behind his head, he stared at the ceiling.
"How did music become your thing?" His voice was low and lazy. Like he was tired or the late hour affected his tone.
"My mom, I guess."
He turned his head, offering her a clear visual of his handsome face. His hooded eyes were serious and focused on her. "She an artist?"
She shook her head. "No, my mom's a teacher and I don’t know my dad. Just normal everyday people though. When I was a kid, I was always making up songs. Sometimes the lyrics didn't make sense. I would just sing random stuff. Like we would be at the grocery store and I'd make up a song about apples. I was young as hell back then, like maybe five or six. The older I got, the lyrics began to come together. They weren't songs but my mom bought me a notebook and told me to write them down. I've been doing that ever since."
“I know she’s proud as hell then.”
Samari’s expression dropped as she shook her head. “I wish but that’s a story for another day.”
Asao wanted the story now. He wanted every piece of her but sensed Samari wasn’t ready to share all her secrets ,so he moved on. "So the lyrics became a passion to sing?"
She laughed, shaking her head again. "No. My words were personal. Nothing I ever considered sharing until my best friend told me I needed to try. She always said how good I was but she's my best friend."
"So you didn't believe her?"
She shook her head, frowning. "No, I mean I knew I could sing, but everybody can sing."
"Nah, that's bullshit, and if they can, they don't have your voice. That shit is something special. The highs, the lows, the way you control your tone and deliver. It's not just a voice. Shit is sex, happiness, and love."
"You make me sound like a fantasy or something tantric."
"Because you are. You don't think so?"
"I do, I'm just, I don't know…"
"Too damn modest, but I fuck with that. It will keep you grounded." His eyes hit her again. "How did you get caught up with Cobra if singing wasn't what you wanted?"
"Lyrics and Love."
The festival hosted by Cobra was well known but bullshit. No one ever came up but the label and those willing to sell their souls. He grunted his disapproval and her eyes lowered to his. "You know about it?"
