Page 7 of Gabriel's Album

“Of course, I didn’t mean to…” I stammer, unsure of the right thing to say right now. “That is to say that…”

I trail off like an idiot, and we get out of the pool in awkward silence. I see Ariana shiver when we get out of the pool into the cool night air. I can’t resist looking her over from head to toe. Her dress is clinging to her in every possible place, and I can imagine how good she would look wearing nothing instead.

“I’ll just go get our stuff.”

I gesture toward my shirt and our shoes on the deck chairs down the other end of the pool, and she nods while continuing to shiver. I wish I had a blanket or something to offer her. I walk away from her and take some deep breaths while trying my hardest to control my erection. I manage to get myself under control by the time I’ve picked up our stuff. I put on my shirt as I walk back to her, and we head back toward the main building, her shoes dangling from her right hand.

“This garden is absolutely beautiful,” she says aloud.

“It is beautiful, and so are you.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. She blushes, and I worry again that I’m going to scare her off. I need to stop, but I can’t seem to control either my mind or my body around her tonight.

“So, you’re going on your first tour; how do you feel about that?”

“Equal parts excited and completely petrified.”

I’m glad for the reprieve of talking about the tour. This is safe territory for me. Music is my safe haven, far away from the dangerous thoughts that I’m having about Ariana.

“What part of it scares you?”

“Well, firstly, I’m told that most of the concerts have sold out, which is great for a first tour, but what if everyone hates us live?”

“They won’t. Next problem?”

She says it with so much certainty, and I don’t understand how she can be so sure, so I ask her, “How do you know?”

“I’ve seen you live, remember? Your performance tonight was fantastic, and you lit up onstage. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Next problem?” She repeats her question.

“If you’re sure,” I say, but I’m pleased. She said that she couldn’t take her eyes off me. Not the band, me. “I guess the only other big thing is being away from home for months on end. Living out of a suitcase and sleeping in a different bed every night.”

“You must not be getting enough action if you’re not sleeping in a different bed every night!” she says cheekily, and I laugh.

“I guess I’m not. Why? Are you offering?”

God damn, how I would love for her to be offering.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for a groupie. I’m not that kind of girl,” she scolds me playfully.

“Believe me”—I look her over from head to toe—“I haven’t mistaken who you are, sweetheart.”

We reach the house and head into the ballroom to find the party still in full swing. The woman from earlier who introduced her to me gapes at us in our sodden state when she sees us.

“Ariana? Are you okay? I was wondering where you were. Why are you wet?” She frowns at her.

“I’m fine, Aunt Susan,” Ariana says. “We just decided to go for a bit of a swim.”

“Well, that’s just great.” The woman sounds annoyed. “I’m ready to leave, and I have to be honest, I’m not thrilled about you sitting on the leather seats in the Porsche with wet clothes.”

“I’m sorry, it just happened.”

Ariana makes the mistake of looking at me. I grin at her because I know that we must look completely ridiculous, drenched in our clothes, and then we both have to hold back laughter.

“Goodbye, Gabe,” she says. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“It was great meeting you too, Ariana.”

She turns and walks away from me, and I’m surprised by how sad I feel watching her leave. I want to spend more time with her. I want to hear her say my name again. I want her in my bed.

---