“Fair enough.” Hopping off the railing as David put the steaks on two plates, the other man went inside and came out with a couple of beers.
They ate outside, and as they did, they talked about music. It was what had first brought the four members of Schoolboy Choir together, and though they were now bound by deeper bonds, it remained an integral part of their relationship. Noah was working on a song he’d mentioned to David before and grabbed his guitar to show David what he had so far. “Think you can do your magic?”
“Hmm.” David asked him to play it again, tapped out a clean, precise rhythm with his knife and fork on the edge of the table, using the clink of the fork against his plate to replace the sound of the cymbals. “Yeah, I can feel it.” He played some more, accompanying Noah as the other man segued into one of the band’s biggest hits.
Noah had an excellent voice, but he didn’t add it to the music. “This one needs Fox’s lungs.”
David agreed. They all had their talents and the lead singer’s voice was a force of nature. “Him and Molly, it’s serious.” Fox smiled at Molly with a possessiveness you’d have to be blind to miss—but it wasn’t only that; there was a raw tenderness there, something David wasn’t used to seeing in his friend’s expression.
Making it though… it’d be a hard road for the two. Molly seemed to have a dislike of the spotlight, and no woman who was with Fox could avoid the cameras.
“Never seen him like this about a woman,” Noah said, shooting an incisive glance at David. “Seen you like it about Thea though.”
“Damn it, Noah. How the fuck do you do that?”
Undaunted, Noah continued to play, his fingers dancing over the strings with an ease envied by millions. “You get this look in your eyes when you’re thinking about her,” the guitarist said. “So?”
“So… I’m working on it.” But he’d have to wait, be patient. Much as he wanted to talk to Thea face-to-face, she was spending time with her family, and he wasn’t an arrogant ass, wouldn’t just fly in and invite himself to their home. Not only would that wreck her well-earned vacation, it would be shooting himself in the foot.
For now, all he had were his words.
In Rebuttal
Introduction: In which I, David Rivera, prove that you, Thea Arsana, are so very wrong and should be with me.
I agree that you’re brilliant at your work and certainly don’t need anyone to look over your shoulder, which makes my point: you are more than capable of handling a lover who is also a client.
After all, it’s not as if I plan to walk into your office, stroll around to the back of your executive chair, and bend down to kiss your neck as I undo that sleek twist thing you do with your hair. Not that I’d blame me if I did. The length of your neck is so elegant that it’d be a crime not to kiss it, taste it, draw in your scent from the warmth of your skin.
Even if I did give in to temptation, it wouldn’t be such a crime as long as I’d locked the door behind me. You could fix your hair with those neat motions you make that turn me on like nothing else. The only problem would be if I went further, if I ran my hands down your shoulders to cup your breasts while I kissed your neck and whispered in your ear.
Do you think I could talk you into pulling the skirt of your dress up past your hips to expose your panties?
What if I asked you to hook your fingers in the sides of the panties, tug them off? They’d tangle halfway down because I wouldn’t let go of your breasts while I sucked on your neck. I’d probably leave a mark and I agree that would be difficult to explain to your colleagues. Probably not as difficult as the sounds you’d make while you touched yourself… but maybe you’re quiet when you come.
Not that it matters in this scenario. Because we wouldn’t be doing any of that in your office, despite how hard the fantasy makes my cock. I know exactly how seriously you take your work, and I take you seriously. Of course, if you decide to invite me to your office late at night after everyone else has gone home, then all bets are off. Until then, you don’t have to worry about me barging in demanding sex or anything else remotely personal.
You can keep your private and work lives separate. So can I.
In rebuttal of your evidence of musicians being a bad bet, I attach an article about two close friends. You might know Jack from his recent Oscar-winning song. Did you know he’s been happily married to his makeup-artist wife, Valerie, for twenty-nine years and counting? He also has grandchildren he dotes on. I know because he shows off their photos every time we meet.