Page 92 of His Bittersweet Regret

Marsh

“I can’t believe that one of my songs, maybe more, is going to be used by Misty Ramirez.”

“Not sure why that seems unbelievable to you. I’ve been telling you for years that you could make some serious money off your songs, even if you didn’t want to be the one singing them publicly.”

“Well, I won’t mind the money, but there’s no way I could deal with all the hassles fame has brought Misty in her short time on the pop charts.”

“So, did you finish up?”

She grinned at me. “Yeah, we finished and got the split sheets filled out and notarized, plus all the stuff I needed to get paid my share of royalties. Austin was there and suggested that the record company might want me to sign an Exclusive Songwriter’s Agreement.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“I don’t know. I have to look into it some more. Misty actually encouraged me not to, because then anything I create can be plundered, unless I have a really good attorney go over the fine print and make sure that what’s mine is mine, and what I do for them is all that they have access to. The other problem is, then the only people getting access to my songs are the ones that work with that recording company.”

“If I stay independent, and only do individual contracts like with Misty, it would be a safer bet. The problem there is that I might not ever get enough exposure or another prospect at writing for anyone. It’s a tough choice, and one I need to really consider.”

“I could talk to my lawyer and see if he has someone he can recommend to look over things for you.”

Opal hefted out a deep breath and then wrapped her arms around me. “Thanks for being here through the craziness of the past few days. It helps to just be able to have a normal person to talk to.”

“Are you saying Misty and Austin aren’t normal?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” We both laughed. “Not that they weren’t normal at one point, but they live in an entirely different lifestyle than we do.”

“So, Ms. Big Shot Songwriter, do you have any idea what you want for dinner?”

“Yeah, I want you.”

“For dinner?”

She moaned and patted the kitchen table. “You should sit right there,” she suggested. There was honestly no part of me that wanted to argue, so I did what Opal asked, and sat my butt on our dining room table. She moved to the fridge and grabbed a can of whipped cream and chocolate sauce.

“Oh shit!” I hissed as she came back over and sat in the kitchen chair in front of us. She put the chocolate sauce beside my right thigh, the whipped cream beside my left, and then she reached for my zipper.

“All right lovelies, I am off for the night, unless you need…” I glanced up to see Mrs. Gliden standing there with a curious look on her face. Then a slow smile spread into a giant grin before she finished her statement. “Well, it looks like you have everything you need for a good night,” she winked. “I’ll just see myself out and lock up, shall I?” She tottered off in her clunky, utilitarian loafers and called out over her shoulder. “Austin is out for the count. You should have at least two hours before something wakes him. Use your time wisely.”

Then the door shut and both Opal and I finally made eye contact again before we burst out laughing. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears were as red as mine felt.

“Oh my God! Did we just get busted, with me about to make a Sunday out of your dick, by the nanny?”

“Yeah, pretty sure that just happened.”

“I am so mortified,” Opal sighed as she rested her head on my thigh to hide her face.

“Do you know what would make you feel better?” I asked.

She glanced up. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“A Sunday,” I deadpanned, as I pointed to my lap.

Opal threw her head back in laughter before she opened the can of whipped cream and hosed my face down with it. “How’s that for a Sunday?” She asked in the sassiest way possible.

“I don’t know,” I told her as I swiped a hunk of cream from the bridge of my nose. “How do you think chocolate will taste when drizzled on your skin?” Then I popped the top on the chocolate sauce and started to squirt it from the bottle into Opal’s exposed cleavage. “I should really clean that for you before it drips and ruins your shirt.”

“I have the best dinner ideas,” Opal suggested as I dipped down to lick the chocolate from her breasts.

It wasn’t the first time we’d made love since our reconciliation, but it was the first time we dove into something we hadn’t experienced or experimented with in our previous seven years together. It suddenly became clear, that part of the frustration I was feeling before was because we never did things like this in our last year or so before our separation. We both just took one another for granted and allowed the status quo to build and build until it was drowning me – partially thanks to the multiple assholes in my ear. Whether Opal wanted to admit it or not, I think it bothered her too, she was simply too content to rock the boat.

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