Page 50 of Fresh Tracks
Me: Are you still up?
I watch as three dots appear, disappear and reappear for what feels like an eternity. Maybe she’s pissed at me for being an indecisive loser. Or maybe she didn’t buy it that I’m truly not mad about the guitar. I’m about to start spiraling when my phone buzzes and her name flashes across the screen, prompting me to fumble my phone and nearly toss it right into the window. I secure it and bring it to my ear.
“Oh, hey. I guess you are still up.” Real cool, Tommy. Real fucking cool.
She hums to herself and I can just picture her fluffing her bangs with a puff of air. I instantly find myself thinking about how she just had the tip of my thumb between her lips and what it would feel like to have my aching cock between them.
“Yep. I guess you are too.”Her voice is almost breathy.
“Is everything OK with your van? You can use the guesthouse if you need somewhere to sleep and I can get the electrician or a repairman out in the morning.”
I stand in front of the window, anxiously watching for motionin the guesthouse. I don’t want to be a creep and just constantly look for her, but I need to know she’s safe. Finally, an amused laugh comes across the line.“The van’s fine. I just want to get a long, hot shower. I really need to unwind.”
Shit. Maybe she is still worried. “I told you. Don’t beat yourself up about the guitar. It’s just bits and pieces.”
She scoffs.“I know, I believe you. That’s not why I need to unwind.” A second passes before she speaks again. “I see you’re still in the studio, Tommy.”
What the hell does she mean? And she called me Tommy? My eyes search the guesthouse windows when I see her tall, dark silhouette step toward the window.
I wave. I wave like a dumbass. Who waves to someone that just had your thumb in their mouth?
“Taking advantage of your benefits package I see.”
“Something like that.” Her tone shifting from amused to almost playful. “This job does have lots of perks.”
I’m about to come up with some witty retort when I see her step all the way up to the window, completely in the light now, giving me one, subtle wave back.
At least I feel a little less dumb for waving now, but that’s the least of my problems.
My heart stops at the sight of her, wearing nothing but that pair of tiny plaid sleep shorts and little cami again. I remember how perfect it felt to have her fall asleep, dressed in that, in my arms. I remember how much I wanted to just stay there the next morning and watch her wake up.
I pry myself out of that memory, clearing my head and hopelessly trying to not picture her wearing even less. “I told you, make yourself at home. Use that shower as much as you want. Move into the guesthouse if you want. I don’t mind.”
“More perks of the job?” she asks playfully. “I do really like that shower. Is yours bigger?”
Jesus. Christ. She is fucking with me like a cat playing with its prey.
“You’re welcome to come use it and see,” I say, trying to not sound too desperate, but more like my usual, confident self. If I’m going to have any shot with her, I need to get out of my own head.
She lets out a dismissive hum. “No, it’s late. I’m sure you’re tired. I think I’ll stay here and get in the shower.”
Before I realize what’s happening, I watch as she holds her phone in the crook of her neck, stretching her arms out to lift her cami up and over her head. She never looks away from the studio window, telling me she knows full well that I’m watching.
My eyes rake over her, taking in the sight. Even from this far away, I can see the clear dip of her waist, how full her tits are, and those beautiful tattoos running down her body.
I already know this image will be burned into my psyche, just like that time at the river, for as long as I live.
Unlike that time though, this feels different. That time, I hardly knew her. She caught me completely by surprise. She was just being her goofy, shameless self, clearly indifferent to my presence on the river with her.
This time, she damn well knows what she’s doing to me.
“Rainbow.” My voice drops low and I can hear my own desperation in it. I want to say more, but the pathways between my brain and mouth stop functioning, probably having something to do with the amount of blood rushing to my cock.
Suddenly, my normally comfortable joggers feel far too restrictive. Actually, everything feels too restrictive. The one very clear thought that runs through my mind is that I wish there weren’t two panes of glass and fifty feet of patio between us. But my legs freeze and I stand there, just admiring her, not knowing what I should do.
I hear a long sigh come through the phone that borders on a moan.
“It’s too bad you can’t get your shit together, Tommy,” she sounds breathy and flirty and lingers on my name, the one I don’t let anyone call me except her, “because I know what I want and I don’t mind giving it to myself.”
