Page 38 of Electric Touch

The question draws me out of my fantasies, and I turn to look at my sister.

“Backflip?” Hank asks, with an amused smile.

“I couldn’t do it, remember, Ari?” I tell her. “I have the bruised butt to prove it.”

Everyone laughs, but I catch Mama looking at me. Her smile isn’t as real as everyone else’s. She looks at me like that a lot.

“You said you would give it another try,” Ariella frowns at me.

“I’m letting you know the likelihood is somewhere between slim and fat chance.”

“Keep trying, baby-girl,” she winks.

“Well, on the off chance I can’t master it, I’ve been practicing this.”

I lay down on my back and press the palms of my hands against the floor. I bend my elbows up to the ceiling. Once my feet are firmly planted, I push up from my middle.

Ariella laughs, while Hank and Mama look bemused. I’ve been practicing, and I take a few shuffling steps to the side and back. I get up with Hank’s help and take a bow as they clap. My face is bright red from the exertions.

“Well done, beautiful girl,” Mama reaches out and squeezes my hand.

She holds on for the rest of the time we’re there. No one comments on it.

I take a cab to the recording studio because there isn’t a subway close enough. As much as I use public transport, I’ve never been a fan of taking the bus. The building is unassuming, with a white façade and no windows, nestled between two apartment buildings.

Procrastination appears to be my middle name today. I didn’t contact Nash, and he didn’t message me either, so I’m hoping he is here. Inside is a large airy reception area. There is a huge round desk with potted plants beside it. A plush purple couch is up against the wall to the right, and a coffee table littered with music related magazines makes up the waiting area.

A woman sits behind the desk, just her shoulders and head visible. She looks at me expectantly.

“I’m meeting Nash Jameson.” I hold my breath, hoping like hell he is here.

“Name?”

“Adrestia Kouris.”

She looks at her computer. “He’s in recording room three.” She gives me directions, passes me a lanyard, which I sign for. The door behind opens after a sharp buzz. I thank her and step through.

The hallways have high ceilings, polished black marble floors, and huge colourful murals on the wall. I glance at them as I pass. They’re of famous artists, those that have recorded albums here. I pause by a close-up image of Aidan Gass’s face, the singer from BreakNeck. He looks very serious. It is a beautiful portrait. The splashes of colour make up the lines and contours of his face.

“Adrestia?”

I draw my eyes from the portrait. Nash is standing in the corridor with his hands in his pockets. There is uncertainty in his eyes. I smile, hoping to put him at ease. We’re adults, we can do this. I continue towards him and don’t miss how his eyes sweep over my outfit. I may have made an effort. My black jeans are tight. Although I’m wearing a plaid shirt, it’s open, over a black vest. It’s not low cut enough to be revealing. Just enough to entice the eye.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” he says when I stop in front of him.

“I’m not that fragile.”

He grins. “I guess not. Come on in,” he steps aside and sweeps a hand for me to pass.

He follows me and closes the door. The silence becomes more noticeable instantly, the room is soundproof. There are neon blue lights pointing up to the dark ceiling and the rest of the room is bathed in a soft orange light, with spotlights over the engineers board.

“Ambient,” I say, turning in a circle.

There is a seating area and recording booth. Close to the seats are several guitars. On the side table are music books, notepads and two bottles of water.

I drop my bag beside the couch and head over to the guitars in their stands. Before this, I never would have had the slightest idea about guitar brands. Now that I’ve researched it, I can tell these are expensive.

“How has your week been?”

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