“It’s not fulfilling,” I ponder. “I think I want to make music.”
“In what way?”
“I want to write it. I want to do what Andy did. I saw what he did for people. I want to have that kind of impact on the world.”
“And you think it’s through music for you?”
“I think it could be,” I sigh. “How hard could it be to write a song?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy.” Dean mimics my sigh.
“Maybe I should reach out to some of Andy’s old bandmates. I think they’re still making music.”
“You should,” Dean agrees. “It might be good for you.”
I turn my body towards him. “Have you ever lost someone important to you?”
“Who hasn’t?”
“When you lose someone like I lost Andy…so publicly, so suddenly. I never dreamt I could lose him. You spend the rest of your life scared it is going to happen again,” I explain. Anxiety is overwhelming me suddenly. My heart races and pitter-patters quickly. “It happened once. Who is to say it couldn’t happen again?” I whisper.
Dean nods. He entertains my thinking for once.
“Realistically, I know that’s anxiety talking. It would really be a freak of nature for it to happen to me twice, right?”
“Yes. It would.”
“That’s not a thing that happens, right? A woman who loses two?”
“Ludicrous,” Dean assures me.
“It’s like a living hell thinking it might happen again,” I confess. I’m an unstable building, teetering towards disaster. Any amount of movement would send me into collapse. Dean props me up, beam by beam. He pulls me into his arms, pressing me back together, board by board.
The moment our lips touch, it’s undeniable bursts of electricity. His tongue slides and slices around my lips, looking for my tongue, and when we finally collide, his hands come up to angle my jaw. This kiss makes me lose myself for a minute or two, and when I come back around, I’ve become a whole new person, some person who isn’t so worried. He’s assured me that he’s here. I hear it like a song in the back of my head—piano keys tinkling, strings swelling, horns blaring. This song and dance of ours has just begun.
I’m stiff while he seems immeasurably flexible, but he hauls me up in one swift motion. He’s propping me up, and I’m climbing him like a vine wrapped around a garden trellis. Myhands are touching every plane of available skin I can—his neck, his cheeks, his temples. My forehead keeps bumping his glasses, and my bangs are getting caught in the hinges.
“Can I take these off?” I ask, tapping the wire frame on the side of his face.
He gently untangles my hair from them, stepping away from me, and places the glasses on the desk. I feel completely naked without his hands on me, even though I’m wearing several layers, including my socks.
He undoes the top two buttons on his flannel, revealing a white undershirt and a few inches of pale, freckled skin. I’m completely fascinated by the way his fingers bend and curve. It’s only when I take a few steps closer to reach and undo them for him, that I’m noticing he’s at least a head taller than I am.
Dean’s exhale when I touch my fingers to his throat is controlled and restrained. I carefully undo the rest of the buttons, revealing completely his white undershirt. He stands patiently, letting me fondle him in the near dark. I slide my fingers under the hem of his shirt, and press my face to his chest. Violins crescendo.
He smells like a fire burning in a fireplace, like how winter feels when you watch it from the comfort of a plush sofa on the other side of a frosty paned window. Chestnuts and clove with something peppery in the mix. Feral waves of desire wash over me. I want to devour him.
“You smell so fucking good,” I say, which elicits a humble laugh from somewhere deep in his belly. I take a massive inhale of him once more, pressed against his chest, while his hands find their way to my hips.
“You smell like…a flower,” He says, smelling the top of my head.
“It's the lily of the valley,” I whisper. “My favorite flower.” Dean’s hands caress the curve of my ass, squeezing and pushing.
Our eyes meet somewhere in the fading light for a brief second.
“We’re not going to eat dinner, are we?” I ask.
“No,” Dean whispers.
