Page 83 of You Spin Me

“Got it,” she breathes. “I miss you too.”

The lyrics of the song—which express how I feel about Jess right now, including the fact that I’ll do anything to win her love—echo in my head as I punch in a cart with part of today’s interview, followed by the acoustic version of the Godfathers’ “Just Like You.”

When I punch back into the phone line, Jess squeals, “You did such a good job on that interview! Did you do that today?”

“Yep.” I can’t hide the pride in my voice. “And how about you? Was tonight’s show better than Thursday’s?”

She sighs. “It was. We found our rhythm, thank goodness.”

“I’m going to miss your rhythms.” My voice is more gravelly than usual as I confess, “I’ll miss you next to me tonight.”

“Me too,” she whispers. “Wait. Are you sure you’re not broadcasting this conversation?”

I fake a gasp. “Oops.”

“Oh my god. Are you?”

“Nah, I’m kidding.”

She laughs, and I can almost feel her shove me as she says, “You jerk. You about gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“No, I’m not.” I’m grinning so wide I’m sure Talia would think I was on something if she walked in here right now. “But I’m not kidding about missing you.” Normally, after sleeping with a girl, everything feels so awkward that I avoid seeing them again. With Jess, I don’t want to waste another second apart from her. “When will I see you next?”

“Um, Sunday night, maybe? I’ll be wasted though. It’s a long weekend. You could come up here, though. See the play and sleep with me.”

Springing what’s between us out of the cocoon of my place and the station is terrifying, but I’m almost ready to risk it. Still, obligations are an issue.

“I’m spinning at Axis Saturday night. But maybe I can another weekend. I’d have to get someone to take care of Blondie.”

“The Sunday night show starts earlier, so I’ll be done at nine.”

“I’d love to have you come to my place. I’m not working Sunday. I have dinner with my family, but I’ll be home before you’re done.”

“That might work.”

There’s a hesitancy in her voice. I don’t want to push too hard and scare her off. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow and figure it out.”

After I give her my home number, she says, “I’ll call you before I go to the theater, like at one o’clock.”

“Sounds good, princess.”

“‘Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.’ But I won’t”—she switches vocal gears from floaty ingenue to world-weary broad—“because I need sleep and you need to get back to work.”

Forty-eight hours. Such a long time. But then I get an idea for how to fill the time.

After work,when Phil slides a beer across the bar, he’s got a funny look on his face.

“What?”

He frowns. “What do you mean, what?”

“I mean, spit it out.”

“For someone who hides his own face all the time, you’re pretty good at reading them.”

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