Page 105 of Out of Tune
“You see…I like sloppy.” He flips onto his stomach and tugs open my towel to reveal a sliver of skin that he kisses greedily. Shifting his body lower, lips brushing the jut of my hip.
I have to physically shake the daze from clogging my head as I catch his chin and stop him. “I’m being serious. At some point someone will leak that we’re…” I pause for a fraction of a second. We rarely talk about what this is, but when we do, I dance around a label. “Doing this.”
“Would that be the worst thing in the world? For people to know we belong to each other?” I know he’s waiting for me to say yes. Being here tucked away from the world doesn’t mean I care about him less. It’s because I care about us so much I want to stay like this. I don’t want anyone else to have access to it. They’ll inevitably snatch it up like a clumsy child enamored with a Christmas ornament and send it shattering against the ground.
Thankfully I’m saved from giving him an answer by a chime from my phone. I reach for it and find a sequence of texts from Lydia.
Lydia
New review.
I click the attached link.
At their stadium show in Chicago, Hart and Sloane demonstrate why they’ve earned record-breaking sales. They don’t rely on over-the-top visuals or pyrotechnics to deliver performance well worth the cost of even marked up resale tickets. Raw and riveting, they lean into beloved classics from their discographies while displaying how their voices and dynamic have matured since their early twenties.
The highlight of the night is without a doubt their finale song which they sing together with an undeniable chemistry that begs the question: What is happening between the two off-stage?
That question. That’s why I’m not sure it’s a good idea to even walk down the street with Wes’s hand in mine because people push and dig and feel entitled to parts of us that they have no right to.
Lydia
Keep doing who you’re doing.
Me
Don’t you mean what I’m doing.
Lydia
No.
Lydia
Both of you need to be downstairs in 5 for the Ingrid Grant interview.
Wes bites down on the soft flesh of my inner thigh, and I yelp, jerking my leg up but his wrist encircles my ankle and he draws me back down across the silky sheets.
“What is it?” He looks up at me.
“We need to be in the lobby in five minutes.” I start to swing off the mattress but find myself pulled against his bare chest, my legs straddling his hips. “Didn’t you hear me? We have to go.”
His nose teases up the length of my neck as he playfully rocks his hips up to press against me. “All I heard was that I have five minutes.”
As we exit the elevator, Kendal looks up at us, then back down to her phone from where she’s leaning against the opposite wall. “Wow, only ten minutes. I was sure it would be twenty.”
“Have we really gotten to the point where you’re scheduling in a buffer?” I ask.
“I don’t think I need to answer that.”
We head out back to where a car is waiting. It takes thirty minutes to get to the studio that housesMorning People with Ingrid Grant,the most popular morning show in Chicago, which over the last year has started to gain increasing amounts of national and even international attention.Kendal hops out with us, but instead of heading toward the entrance, she starts toward the exit.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
“No, I’m heading to a café around the block to scrub through interview footage from my video call with Dave, but I’ll stop by after,” she says with a tight smile. A car door slams shut further into the lot and her eyes dart toward the origin of the sound.
“You’re sure? This would be a great place to make connections.” She’s been working non-stop on the documentary with minimal help, and I want to ensure she has opportunities after this and if she tagged along she’d have the chance to network.
“It’s fine. There won’t be much need for connections if I don’t finish this project, but I really appreciate you thinking about me.” With that, she hoists the strap of her backpack higher on her shoulder.
