And then, as the sun was setting in the sky over Hollywood, painting the sky in a swirl of blues and peaches, they wound up standing under the Hollywood sign together. The sky was the same color as her eyes, and he was there for it.
"C’mere," she said, pulling him to the side of the W.
He followed and somehow his favorite blue acoustic Fender was laid out on a blanket under the Hollywood sign. A silver bucket with Prosecco sat off to the side, and right next to his guitar was a… black clarinet.
"Blue and sweet were your choices," she said, skip-walking that direction. "The clarinet was mine."
"What is this?" he asked, sliding his gaze to her.
"Well, I know you’ve been wanting to learn to play the clarinet for a while now, so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity," she said with just the right amount of snark that turned him on and made him want to dominate, all at the same time. "I think you’ll really enjoy it."
He stared at her like she’d spent the day drinking the hair dye instead of applying it to her roots.
"I thought we’d make a little music together," she said, nudging him and gripping his hand.
"You arranged this?" he asked, more than a little surprised. A stupid question because, clearly, she had.
"Well, it didn’t happen on its own, that’s for sure." She moved to the blanket, made him sit with her, and snatched up the clarinet.
"Are you ready?" she asked, ominously.
"I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life," he replied.
She sat cross legged and, then, defying anything he ever expected, she started sucking on the reed like it was his, well, yeah.
Maybe clarinets weren’t so bad after all.
Then she closed her eyes before she sort of played the Stevie Wonder song from the other day on Hollywood Boulevard. It was touch and go, but he was able to work out the melody since she gave it her best shot.
As she played, she opened her eyes wide, like he was supposed to say or do something. But what did a guy do when the girl he was into serenaded him with a clarinet under the Hollywood sign? There wasn’t a handbook for this shit.
"I’m not sure how to process this moment," he said, scratching at his neck when she got tangled up in one of the bars.
She lightly punched him in the bicep.
"It’s supposed to be a duet," she said with the clarinet still half in her mouth.
"Right." So, that made more sense, for sure.
He lifted the guitar, put the strap over his head, and strummed a few chords. Then she encouraged him with her "sort of" song. Also, he was pretty sure that’s what a flamingo sounded like when it got stuck in a swamp and wanted someone to help it out.
He helped her out, playing the notes on the guitar loud enough to drown out the sound of her—well, music was many, many things. He’d just call what she was doing music. Then he sang, and it wasn’t Darla on a squeaky clarinet, or Mark Flowers with a new name playing guitar, it was the two of them on a hill in California figuring out how to make the song work despite everything working against them.
They drank some Prosecco, watched the stars, and then headed back down the hill. They got home, and as they always did, they wound up tangled in each other.
Darla’s musical talents were iffy, but she was flexible, and that came in handy for all the ways he wanted to take her. Like that moment, with her legs draped over his shoulders, her knees pressed to her own collarbone, and him buried inside of her.
There was a path of their clothing from the front door to the bed. Socks and pants, shirts and underwear leading right where they’d fallen together on the mattress. He’d made the bed before they left earlier, so they wound up on top of the comforter. Naked and breathing heavy while their bodies tangled together.
She moaned as he moved rhythmically, her head falling to the side.
"Eyes," he said with a grunt.
Her twitch of a grin made him even harder.As if that was possible.She gave him what he asked for, meeting his gaze full force. Then she trailed her fingertips over his chest, up to pinch his nipples with just enough force to make his dick jump.
He looked up at the ceiling, savoring the feeling.
This was his favorite of all the positions they’d tried, and they’d pretty much tried them all.
