Page 25 of Hard Rock Muse
“Witches are switching up their usual ride for something more modern?” Julian said.
I poked him in the side. “I meant, what sort of emotion do you think it’s trying to convey?”
Julian immediately began to look uncomfortable, rocking from foot to foot. If he thought I was agitated and panicked before, he would have found his own expression alarming.
“I don’t know,” he said. “The artist hates cleaning?”
“Both tools are used for housework,” I pointed out. “But no one uses those types of brooms anymore because we have this futuristic machine to do the cleaning for us.”
“Hurray for technology,” he said wryly. “The future is now. Let's all pray to our robot overlords.”
I placed a hand on his arm. Tense, firm muscles shifted under my palm. I was reminded of his strength, the way he used to pick me up in his arms and throw me on the bed as I giggled and shrieked.
His warm skin sent tingles along my fingers. I remembered cupping his cheeks to look into his eyes, then trailing my hands down his chest, heading toward that tempting V of his torso.
How long had it been since I’d touched Julian like that?
Too long.
I inhaled sharply and dropped my hand, taking steps backwards. I sensed Julian staring at me. I avoided his eyes and kept them trained on the art installation.
“Think about it,” I said after clearing my throat. “What does this make you feel?”
Julian turned from me to stare at the sculpture, a frown on his face. Eventually he spoke.
“It’s sort of sad,” he said. “This one old thing is being replaced by a new thing. But it’s also hopeful. Like the future is bright and full of wonder.”
I had no idea if that was what the artist meant when he made the sculpture. The fact that Julian found something in it, that he was able to relate to it and express it in words, made me feel hopeful, as well.
Julian was closed off, yes, but not entirely unreachable.
We wandered through the gallery and took in other artists’ work. For each, I asked Julian what it made him feel. He was still tense, his shoulders still hunched around his ears, but he continued playing our weird little game.
“When you first brought up the idea, I thought we’d be making up stupid captions,” he said after about an hour.
“That is fun,” I agreed. “But that’s not the point of our visit. I asked you what the song was about. What you wanted the song to say. How you wanted it to make people feel. And you said you couldn’t explain it in words. So here we are.”
“I guess it beats doing more word association games,” he said.
“We can keep doing those too.”
Julian heaved a sigh and ran hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face.
“Maybe this is all a waste of time,” he said. “I’ll just tell Cerise she can take my song and write whatever lyrics she wants.”
“I thought Cherry Lips was trying something new?” I challenged. “I thought you wanted to show the world what you had to offer?”
“Maybe I don’t have anything to offer,” he said.
I was overtaken with a fit of pique. I stepped closer and got in his face.
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” I said. “There’s a lot going on inside you, Julian Woods. You have a lot to say. A lot to share. You just need to learn to express it.”
Once I stopped talking, I realized how close I’d gotten. I’d craned my head up to look him in the eyes. His dark gaze was fixated on me. We were mere inches away, my body close to his. That sweet and spicy scent filled my head, making it swim.
The tension from before shifted. It was no longer Julian’s frustration. It was a different kind of tension. Heat simmered between the two of us, like a near visible electric current.
My hands longed to reach out for him. My skin ached for his touch. My lips begged for his kiss.
