Page 9 of Another Postcard

I tore my eyes away with a groan and looked down at my guitar. “So, let’s work on the song, yeah?” I mumbled, changing the subject before I got on my knees and begged.Haven’t even gone on a date and already pussy-whipped.Fuck.

Strumming my guitar, I closed my eyes before starting the first verse. Brooklynn hummed a little here and there, then came in with her part on the chorus. There were a few times when she sang a different note from what was written—tightening the harmony—and our blended voices were entwined so close, I felt like they were naked and pressed against each other. I halted after one refrain and stared at her for a moment, contemplating. She hummed a few bars before looking up and noticing my intense gaze. An idea was forming.

This song had come from my soul and to anyone else, they might think it was perfect. But, to me, it had always felt a tiny bit hollow. I’d assumed it was because I was singing about something I’d never experienced, a sort of empty longing. Then Brooklynn happened. It hit me that for the first time, the song had taken on a depth that I could never achieve on my own. And, it was a duet. It was always meant to be a duet but I hadn’t realized it because no other woman had made the song complete. So, I’d written only a small part for the female vocals, creating a richer sound, but not really a part of the song. Now, I was seeing what this music could be, and it was so far beyond the realm of what I’d written alone. The song was going to be spectacular, and no one would escape it without being touched deep in their soul.

I gathered up the sheets of my music, each one scribbled all over from the constant changes I made. “Come with me,” I beckoned as I made my way to the grand piano in the back corner of the room. “Will you play this while we run through it this time?” Her brow rose in question, but I just gestured to the keys. She shrugged and slid onto the shiny, black bench.

Her fingers rested lightly on the keys, just the pads touching the surface. As she began to play, they remained almost floating over the black and white notes unless they were pressing them down for sound. Watching her was hypnotic, and for a moment, I silently leaned on the piano and just listened. After a few minutes, she looked at me with a questioning raise of her brow.

“I want to make some changes to ‘Sanity.’”

“Okay, where do you want to start?” She shuffled through the music on the piano, only half paying attention to me.

I grabbed her chin gently but firmly lifting her head so that I could see her beautiful mocha eyes. “I said that wrong. What I meant was: I want us to make some changes. Mostly you, though.”

Brooklynn looked confused. “You want me to tweak the chorus a little more?”

Laughing, I let go of her chin and rounded the piano to sit next to her on the bench. “I guess I communicate better through music than talking. Baby, I want to change this into a duet and I want you to write the part, with a little collaboration.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” she sputtered. I shook my head. “But, I’m a backup singer,” she protested. “And, I’m the newest and don’t forget, temporary, band member. You should be offering this to Sasha or Kristi.” She stood and wandered around the small space by the piano, then stopped in front of me, her hands slipping into her back pockets. “I don’t want to rock the boat. Everyone has been so awesome, treating me like I’ve always been a part of the group. I’m not going to throw that back in their faces by hogging the spotlight—even if it was your idea and not mine.”

While her concerns were understandable, they weren’t necessary. I’d given Kristi the opportunity to take a bigger part in our music, but she was content with her role and didn’t want more work and responsibility. Sasha was . . . well, Sasha. She’d wouldn’t give a shit. And, she wasn’t shy about the things she felt passionately about. If she’d wanted to collaborate on “Sanity” with me, she would have made it loud and fucking clear. Or, she would have just shown up one day with her part written and told me,not asked,that she’d be singing it with me. Yeah, I knew this from experience.

“Trust me, I know my band mates, babe. They will agree with my decision.”

She looked at me doubtfully, but when she glanced at the music, I caught the flash of longing and excitement in her eyes. I’d finally scored a win with her.Levi 1, Brooklynn . . . Let’s not focus on that embarrassing number.

Taking a seat beside me on the piano bench again, Brooklynn bit her lip, trying to hide a smile. I reached out and gently tugged it out. “Don’t do that,” I warned quietly.

“What?”

“Bite your lips like that.”

Brooklynn looked surprised, obviously unaware that she’d been doing it. “Um, okay . . . Any particular reason?”

I leaned in close, so close our lips were almost touching, and I could feel her warm breaths. She retreated a little, but she had nowhere to go if she didn’t want to scoot right off the end of the bench and land on her ass. “Because it makes me want to bite it instead. Because it makes me picture those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else. Because it makes me hard as a fucking rock.”

Her tan skin made it easier to overlook, but I saw everything about Brooklynn, so I noticed when the blood rushed to her cheeks and her breathing sped up.Interesting. She was definitely not turned off by my blunt explanation. Good to know.Her eyes widened and she glanced around, probably looking for a way to escape me as I bent even closer, caging her in with my arms holding on to the edge of the bench on either side of her. I was invading almost every inch of her personal space, but I avoided actually touching her, mindful of her skittishness and not wanting to push my luck. “So, no more biting that lip unless you want me doing it for you,” I murmured.

“Music,” she squeaked in response. I laughed and moved back to my side of the bench, throwing her one last heated glance before shifting my focus to music. We talked about the feel and sound we were going for and made some progress writing her first verse.

“Do you like baseball?” The question popped out of my mouth without thought.

Brooklynn looked at me with surprise, since the question had come out of left field. (Everyone has to nerd out sometimes, don’t knock my puns.) “Why do you ask?”

“Just stockpiling ideas for when you agree to date me.”

“Good grief, you never let up.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder and tapped her full bottom lip with one finger before answering. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’m a pretty big fan.”

“Pleeeeeease, tell me you’re a Yankee fan,” I begged with my hands clasped like I was sending up a prayer.

Brooklynn laughed and batted at my hands. “Of course.”

I blew out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Good. Sasha would kick my ass if I agreed to let a Met fan into the group.”

She giggled again and turned back to the piano and plinked a few keys. Pausing, she glanced at me sideways. “Are you?”

“When my mother gave birth to me, the first thing she did was dress me in a Yankees onesie. My father made sure of it.” We continued to talk in between time spent on the music. It was light and fun, just getting to know one another. It only confirmed my belief that this amazing woman was worth pursuing.

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