Page 166 of Composed
We haven’t exactly announced to the world that we’re… well, I’m not sure what we are, really—dating? hooking up? husband and wife in a year, if I’ve got anything to say about it—but we’re not hiding this thing, either.
Not sure I believe in fate, or all that spiritual shit, but I do know there isn’t a universe out there where I wasn’t meant to be hers.
“So, baby girl,” Axel says.
Hendrix pushes up on her elbows. “What?”
“What’s the plan?” Axel asks, resting his head on my shoulder. “You two finish the album, we record the album, then what? Are you hanging around here a while longer?”
She chews her bottom lip, the ball catching between her teeth.
“Maybe.” She lifts a shoulder. Her eyes flick my way, the corner of her mouth twitches, and then she faces Axel and Saint. “Might flip between here and Chesterton for a bit, if that’s okay with you guys?”
Yes.
“But what about your commitments?” Axel asks.
“I do indeed have some I’ll have to follow through on.” A smirk curves her lips. “But, I happen to know these four dudes who might be open to me renting their mixing desk when I’m in London.”
“That can be arranged.” Axel nods, his expression mirroring hers. “And when you’ve done with all that?”
“Dunno.” She hums, thoughtfully. Gold glints around her pupils and sparks flicker through me. “It’s been a while since I’ve chased dreams, maybe that’s a good place to start.”
“And where are those dreams taking you?” I ask.
She nails me with a look. “Guess we’ll find out when we get there.”
We…
My heart skips a fucking beat.
“You gonna chase dreams with me, Rixie?”
The most beautiful grin I’ve ever seen flashes over her face “If you’re up for having me along for the ride.”
Scrap what I said about a year.
Six months at most until she’s mine forever.
Hendrix and Saint lounge on my couch, guitars in their laps, playlist shuffling the most out-of-pocket songs they can find.
Saint trills the strings of his Fender. Hendrix thumbs her Pacifica.Barbie Girlspills through the amps they stole from the studio.
Smoke curls in the air, thick and sweet, from the joint hanging lazily between Hendrix’s plump lips.
I pop the cap off my beer and kick my legs up on the coffee table. There’s no way I’m joining their jam session. Sure, I can play a pretty melody, but keeping up with those two when they’re locked in? Not a chance.
I’m happy to just revel in my girl and my best friend finding their groove again.
The song changes. Hendrix doesn’t miss a beat, her hands shifting easily on the neck as she follows the new melody.
I grin.
Even well on her way to stoned, she’s a master of the instrument in her hands. Her eyes flutter closed and she pulls in a slow drag before Saint snatches the joint from her.
She pouts.
He sticks it between his teeth as she reaches for it. “Sharing is caring.”
