He said his collection, this guy that looked like he stepped off one of the billboards advertising Calvin Klein downtown.
Studying him, I let my eyes fall away to the album he picked up, one of Drake's most popular albums.
Mad respect that this is his genre of choice.
"Where's home?" I dared to ask, though as I suspected with his accent it was far from here.
The hair flopped again. He pushed the inky-black strands back and something sliced the air, something hot and thick. It laced my shop with a subtle strength and was all-too male.
He even smells like a Calvin Klein ad.
He slid me a grin. "South Korea," he said, dipping his head. He was so much taller than me. "Mostly. I travel a lot for work, but I'm here now for quite a while."
The thought moved over me that maybe he was an international model. Hell, there were many of them here, so it wouldn't surprise me.
His hands gripped the shelf and he moved closer, watching me watch him. "So can you help me? I need something good. Something different I can sit back and relax to."
A stomach jump followed a heart flip this time.
"Sure," I said, stepping away, and he watched me with curious fascination, his eyes on the CD he gave me. I dropped it off with a shrug. "You said you wanted something good, right? If so, we need to head out of the Top 40 section."
That made him chuckle. It was deep, throaty. His hands moved into his pockets again. "Right."
As his presence moved behind me, I kept my head on, trying to be smooth, collected, though inside I felt anything but.
Dom noticed.
Chuckling, he not-so-casually counted twenties from the register, eyeing the pair of us while we passed by the counter.
I stuck my tongue out at him, making my way over to the section of my desire.
"This is a nice place you guys have," came from behind me, and the words tugged at my lips, making me smile.
I fanned through the CDs, looking for what I needed. "Thanks. We put a lot into this place."
True, Capri came with a history before me, but it was myself who added those little touches, recruiting nameless faces to play sets and leave their mark here. Their essence filled the place, signed promo posters from their small in-store performances filling the walls. They also gave us memorabilia to house in the store and we never sold it. We made sure they were never forgotten no matter if they blew up or faded away into the oblivion of the industry. They all meant something to this place.
Warmth caressed my left side, the appearance of a long frame settling in beside me. He was close, but not too close, respectful. I definitely felt him there, though.
"You own this place?" he asked, that accent of his so thick.
I nodded a little. "I do," I said, and immediately I noticed something, that smile seemed to always touch his eyes first.
His arms moved over his chest. "That's quite an accomplishment for someone so young. You can't be more than … "
As the words ghosted off, I didn't miss what he did there. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was fishing for information, information about me.
So I decided to give it to him.
"Twenty-three," I said, chewing my lip a little.
He grinned. "Like I said, pretty awesome accomplishment."
I let myself look away, fighting the heat from the stare so I could thumb through the CDs. I almost let it go, almost, as I picked up the album I wanted.
"Nice, by the way," I told him, going over to the disc player we used to let customers listen to CDs.
He followed me. "Nice?"
I nodded, using my keys to unlatch the security case. I opened it, putting the CD in the disc changer. "Not-so-casually getting my age."
Being put on the spot might have flustered a weaker man, but this guy wasn't that. He took being called out in good stride, taking the headphones from me when I handed them to him. He put them on. "And here I thought I was being smooth."
I fought myself from smiling, lounging back and sliding my hands into the pockets of my fringy cardigan.
"I'm twenty-six by the way," he said, reaching over to push play on the player.
Laughing a little, I shook my head. "I didn't ask," I told him, though I kind of wanted to.
Without missing a beat, he pulled back, glancing at me too casually. "I thought I'd save you the trouble. You know, in case you were wondering."
I chewed the tip of my thumb, watching as he put his hands on the shelves, dipping his head as he listened to what I gave him. The Young MCs were an acquired taste, but I thought he might like them. They were old school, throwback, and nothing short of amazing. The band originated here and rose to national fame decades ago. They toured the world now, playing new stuff, but their old tracks couldn't be beat. They had the essence of what true, raw hip hop was, and I watched this guy, expecting one of two things. He might appease me, smiling a little like he enjoyed it when the music was only mediocre to him, or something would show on his face, something that told he really was feeling it.
I watched, waiting for that look, and though I got it, I got so much more.
His eyes closed a little, his lashes flickering down, and then he did something peculiar. Those soft, pink lips moved, speaking without words. Listening, I could hear the faraway lyrics from the track in his headphones. He couldn't possibly know the words, but that didn't seem to matter. He spoke with them, so subtly, and he did it so effortlessly, finding a rhythm within them.
Then there were his fingers.
He tapped them to his stomach, every push of the digit sharp on tempo. Again, I could hear it through the headset.
I watched in fascination, his fingers to his body, his lips, so when the track ended, it threw me off. I zoned out so far, blinking.
He pulled the headset off. "Daebak," he said, then laughed a little when I stood in a bit of a stupor before him. I didn't know if the disorientation was because I didn't understand the word or from what I just saw him do.
"It basically means cool," he said assuming the former. He fanned his hair. "I liked it. I liked it a lot."
"Oh," I responded, my face burning. I touched it, wondering why it was so hot.
He smiled, looking up at me. "What are they called?"
"The Young MCs," I told him, putting the disc back in the case. "They're an old group. They actually started here before they went wide."
That seemed to please him, a smile spreading out on his face.
"Awesome, awesome," he said. I handed him back the CD and he flipped it, studying the art. He gazed up. "I think I'll take the whole discography."
I did one of those double takes, blinking. I couldn't have heard what I thought I had.
"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head. "The whole discography?" Did he realize how many albums that was? I had told him it was an old group, so of course that came with the territory. Not to mention he heard one song and wanted all their music? That seemed a little odd to me. I supposed not to him because his eyes narrowed a little, not understanding.
"I mean, yeah. If you have it," he said. "Is that a problem?"
"Uh, well, no but they are an old group. They have like twenty albums."
His fingers went to that feathered hair, moving it around. "I understand you wanting to keep copies on the shelf … I guess. For other customers? I can just take one or two albums if you prefer. Maybe the first two?"
Holy crap, he was serious. A burst of pride swelled from my chest at the sale. I must have been on my game tonight.
I reached over gathering them up. "It's not a problem. I guess it just took me by surprise."
"Oh?" he asked, watching me. "Why's that?"
Again, very odd. He had no idea why purchasing over twenty albums on a single listen of one track was unusual. Maybe, it was just as he said. He needed to replenish his stockpile.
I picked up the last album, shrugging with the lot. "That's just a big purchase based off one listen."
"Not really," he said, reaching over to relieve me of the albums. He was the one to shrug now. "You recommend them."
My lips parted as he passed me, heading toward the registers.
I fell into step with him quickly, trying to get those lungs to work again.
"And I actually did like them," he said, placing them on the counter.
He reached behind himself and pulled out his billfold, and I pretended like he didn't just compliment the hell out of me while he waited for me to ring him up. Dom on the other hand? Not so subtle.
He whistled into the air. "Obviously, Harley hooked you up."
"She did," he said, a smile pushing into the corner of his mouth. He nodded his head a little to me. "Thank you, Harley."
His accent around my name gauged a reaction out of me, a harsh one I tried not to let spread out across my entire face. I couldn't hide the tingle, though, the pricks of awareness passing under my skin and far lower.
I squeezed my thighs together, ignoring it as I bagged his stuff. "You're welcome," I told him.