Page 18 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

“It should,” I hear Lincoln say from the doorway. I jump.

“Jesus, Lincoln. You scared the shit out of me,” I say to him as I clutch my chest.

“There’s food downstairs. Maria cooked dinner. I mean, if you’re hungry,” he adds as he turns to leave.

I take a breath. “Lincoln?” I say.

He stops but doesn’t turn around.

“I’ll call and confirm all the press stuff, but is there anything you need?” I ask him.

He’s silent for a beat. “No,” he says quietly and walks back downstairs.

I sigh. I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I want to help him. I decide to just keep my head down and do my work. That’ll be the best way to get through this. And if things don’t turn around, then I can always head back to New Orleans.

Chapter 10

Gwen has debriefed me that Lincoln has been seeing Celia Birch. I have to admit, Celia is perfect for Lincoln. I happen to see that they have a date tonight. I roll my eyes as I continue to answer emails.

One hour later, my phone buzzes.

Lincoln: Need you now

I sigh.

Me: Why?

Lincoln: Get your ass up here NOW!

I trudge up the stairs and into his room. He’s standing by the sound controls. I roll my eyes. Some routines are not easily forgotten. And here we are again, back to our favorite game of “choose the sexy music.”

Lincoln smirks and presses a button on the screen. The music starts, and I laugh.

“Seriously? Marvin Gaye?” I choke out.

“What? Millions of kids have been made to this song,” Lincoln protests as he crosses his arms and sways subtly to “Let’s Get It On.”

I roll my eyes. “Nope.”

“OK, Miss Know-It-All, what would you put on?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I walk over to his phone and pull up the perfect song, pressing play while whirling around and staring up at him. Our eyes lock as “I Want to Sex You Up” by Color Me Badd comes on. I swear I see a glimmer of lust in his, but it quickly vanishes.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says and grabs his phone. I try to reach for it, but he holds it above my head and furiously types out something. “Need You Tonight” by INXS plays loudly as I pause.

I shrug. “I like this song, but I think you should play something…more…slow sexy.”

He arches his eyebrow again. “Slow sexy?” he repeats.

I put out my hand, and he slowly places the phone in it. I scan through music and hit play on “Thank You” by Dido.

He cocks his head to one side, considering the song for a beat, and then shakes his head. “No, not feeling it,” he says.

He holds up a finger and takes back his phone. “How about this?” he says confidently as George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” plays.

“This is not romantic!” I cry out.

“Sure, it is, and it totally makes it clear that…you know…I want your sex,” he says barely suppressing a laugh. The doorbell rings, and he suddenly looks panicked.

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