Page 67 of Sing For Me

“Did he say cream cheese?” Reese whispers in my ear once she’s regained control of her airway.

I’m slightly distracted by her breath on me—okay more than slightly—but I still whisper back, “I think he said ‘queem cheese.’”

That gets another snort out of Reese. She claps her hand over her mouth as the lead singer jerks his face in our direction. Not that he can see anything.

“I hope you’re all ready to rock!” the guy says. He looks nervous, but not as nervous as the guy on the drums, who drops his drumstick with a clatter. It rolls under his set, and he bends down to get it, but manages to topple slightly off his chair, catching himself with a flailing arm, which hits the cymbals.

The crowd erupts in laughter, but it’s cut short by the loud whine of mic feedback.

It’s several minutes before the band gets their act together and starts to play a song, which, after a few wobbly first notes, isn’t terrible. It’s a little genre-confused, with the lyrics sounding more punk than the love ballad tune deserves.

But by that time, I’ve got my arm around the back of Reese’s chair, and she’s leaning into me, humming along. I know she’s trying to show support to them, but I can’t help the laughter I have to choke down at the lyrics.

I rode my TransAm up to the gas station fast

To buy you a motherfucking bucket of gas!

And we don’t sleep with a knife under our pillow for nothing

Not when I want to give you a hot ring!

“What the hell is a hot ring?” I whisper in Reese’s ear. “It’s a sex move, right?”

This time she elbows me in the ribs, bending down to keep her laughter in check.

But the crowd’s gotten into it, and by the time the band finishes their set a half hour later, everyone’s up on their feet, cheering hard. The drummer tosses his stick on purpose this time, but he nails the bassist in the back of the head, and by then we’re all beside ourselves.

Reese leans into me, laughing so hard she can barely catch her breath. I can’t help it, I throw my arm around her, pulling her close. But I’m laughing too, and it feels natural. She presses a hand onto my chest as she tries to catch her breath. Suddenly, mine gets stuck right behind where her palm is spread across me. My laughter falls away, not because I’m not enjoying myself, but because there’s nothing about this moment that could be better. If nothing else happens after this—if we go back to pretending—I’ll remember this.

Reese’s soft body pressed against mine, the soft tickle of her hair against my neck, the floral scent of her shampoo in my nostrils over the venue’s strange olfactory mix of coffee and beer.

Her hand warm through the thin fabric of my shirt, and my arm hooked around her shoulder.

Except then I realize Reese isn’t laughing anymore either. Though the crowd is still boisterous and cheering, the band on stage bowing over and over again, Reese and I are silent. The external noise fades. It’s just us now, her eyes on mine, her lips parting slightly, my arm slipping off her shoulder, but not to let go. Never to let go. To slip my hand up under her soft cascade of hair, to cup the back of her neck.

To bring her to me.

Her hand slides up my chest and I angle her so we’re facing each other now, chairs and table and crowd and band gone. It’s just me and Reese, and it’s just her that I want, with every part of me.

“Are you having fun yet?” I ask, leaning into her ear so she can hear me.

“There’s only one thing that could make it better,” she whispers back.

And I know what that thing is. So I pull back and give it to her. I press my lips to hers for a real kiss, not stolen like the one before, but given.

Taken.

Heat spikes wildly inside of me as I sweep her lip with my tongue, needing access like I need breath. I tilt her head back, stroking her tongue with mine now, taking what I’ve been wanting, what I’ve been fucking dreaming about ever since I took her in my arms back in her office that first day.

When she still looked like she hadn’t decided whether she wanted to kill me or fall in my arms.

Thank Christ she landed on this side.

It’s Reese who breaks the kiss, but only to cup her hands up around my head, her elbows pressed against my collarbone. She meets my eye, like she wants to say something, but I speak first.

“Do that again,” I rasp.

“What?” she breathes.

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