Page 41 of Electric Touch

We leave our things in the studio. Nash walks with me, saying it’s quite a way and doesn’t want me to get lost.

“I won’t come in,” he grins. “Think you can find your way back? I’ll wait there for you.”

“I can manage.”

“Okay,” he slips his hands into his pockets, and heads back the way we came.

I watch him until he disappears around the corner, not staring at his ass. Nope. Not at all.

“Get it together,” I mumble.

Too late, I’m all hot and bothered. That man does things to me.

Chapter Thirteen

I can barely wipe the smile off my face as I head back to the studio. If the next people using it are in there, I’ll grab our stuff and wait outside. It’s fun to teach someone to play the guitar. I doubt I could teach just anyone and I definitely wouldn’t be pressing up against anyone else at every opportunity.

Not that I’m deliberately doing that. I’m making sure she is getting it right. I’ve been careful about getting too close. Sometimes I had to, Adrestia never complained.

I get a text as I approach the door.

Dylan: Poker night, you in?

Nash: Aren’t you sick of losing all your money?

Dylan: Archer isn’t gonna be there

Nash: I don’t think it’s just Archer taking your cash, bro

Dylan: Fuck off. You in or not? Alessa needs to know.

I glance towards the bathrooms. For a moment, it runs through my mind, but I shake it away. It would be playing with fire to invite her. Besides, I’m sure she has things to do.

Nash: Deal me in

Dylan: Where are you anyway?

Nash: Since when do I need to keep you updated on my whereabouts?

Dylan: Touchy. Be prepared to lose everything.

Nash: Yeah. Okay. Asshole.

As I push open the door, the smile falls from my face.

Riley is standing in the room with her back to the door. Hearing it opening, she turns and it’s clear from the look on her face, she is expecting me. Someone must have told her I’d booked the studio today. I remove my hands from my pockets and cross them over my chest.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, none too friendly.

She licks her lips and takes a few steps nearer. “Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“I want to have a normal conversation with you, without us getting angry at each other.”

“So talk,” I tell her. I still haven’t altered my defensive stance.

“Please, Nash. We have too much history to let this break us.”

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