Page 64 of Composed
I’m curious to know if he got that far, or if there’s still any of the skin I spent hours rubbing my hands all over left.
I duck my head and swallow.
Not remotely what I’m here for.
I empty my backpack, and spread my notebooks on the black, oval table. Hooking wired headphones around my neck, I prop a pen behind my ear.
Cole places a mug in front of me.
Steam ripples over the edge, heating my face as I lean forward. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” He drops onto the couch, legs spread, a black mug hugged between his hands. “So, how have you been? I realised I haven’t really asked you that yet.”
Small talk, great.
“Good,” I tell him, shrugging. “Busy at the studio, you know. You?”
“Yeah good. Busy.” His lips twist down and his nose wrinkles. “Not in the studio, obviously. Touring, shit like that.”
I nod, drumming my fingers on my thighs. “Hopefully, you’ll be studio busy soon.”
“Hopefully.” He sips his drink.
I try not to stare, but tattooed hands catch my eyes. I trace the rings on adorning his fingers.
I’ve followed Reckless Abandon’s career since its inception, but they’re notoriously private men. There are so many things I don’t know about them now. About him.
Things I’m not sure I want to because there is only so much heartbreak a girl can take in her lifetime—I maxed out on mine the day I walked away from Cole.
I rip my eyes away from the sparkling silver jewellery and sip my drink.
The tea scolds my tongue, but I choke it down in the hopes of clearing the lump in my throat. “We should probably get cracking, if we plan to have you studio busy soon, then.”
“Right.” He leans forward, gaze avoiding mine as he glances over the Hummingbird. He tilts his head. “You still have that old thing?”
“Couldn’t get rid of it even if I wanted to.” And there was a time I really wanted to. “I did all my best work on this thing, you know?”
I trace the dipped contour of the ebony body, a smile curving my lips.
A soft breath leaves him. “Yeah.”
I look up at him, our eyes colliding. “Cole, I—”
“I was thinking,” he says and my stomach sinks. “We need a concept. ThinkBlack Paradestyle.”
I purse my lips and snatch up a pen. “You want to tell a story?”
“Yeah, all my favourite albums are concepts. Yours too, if I remember correctly.”
“You do.” I flick my notebook open.
“It makes sense,” he continues. “We’re starting out as two people who haven’t written in a while. Let alone written together. We need something a spark to get us going.”
“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea. It gives us a baseline, then if it’s not working, we just shift the concept.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so what are your ideas?”
