Angie, a live-in-the-now singer-songwriter on the cusp of fame, sweeps Mike, a proper Mama's boy and a structural engineer by day, off his feet the moment they shake hands.
They can't deny the chemistry between them, so they start with a boom. What'...
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▪️Tuesday, December 15th, 2017▪️
▪️Las Vegas, NV▪️
Crushed ice falls into the plastic liner of the hotel provided ice-bucket. The noise grates on my ears but is a fitting accompaniment to the aches in my fingers. The extra pill I took hasn't taken effect but taking it on an empty stomach was a mistake. The snack machine is the only other thing in this closet-like appendix at the end of the hallway of my floor. The last Snickers bar winks at me from behind the glass. I could go back in, grab my credit card and get the treat that's flirting with me. I stop pushing the ice button, hug the cold bucket to my chest and shove the injured hand into the welcoming depth of icy goodness.
"Ahh," I say with relief. The numbing temperature prickles at my skin and maybe it's the placebo effect, or maybe it actually is working this fast, but my fingers sigh with me a silent exhale of flesh no longer torn apart by pain. "M-m-m-m."
"I'd love to be that bucket." Neil blocks the entrance into the room. I roll my eyes at him.
"What a surprise." I wiggle my fingers and let the ice slip between them. Neil's presence is dampening the enjoyment the relief this is bringing me.
Neil squeezes behind me over to the snack machine and slides his card in. The spirals turn and my Snickers bar falls into the tray underneath.
"Damn it." The words escape my mouth before I stop myself.
"Don't tell me you wanted that." He waves the chocolate in the air.
"No." I need to focus on my wrist and fingers. I take my hand out of the bucket. The skin turns blotchy. When I move my stiff pinkie, tendrils of pain unfold and find their way into my head.
"That doesn't look good." Neil peers over my shoulder.
"I'm used to it." I lower my hand out of his view by my side and take the first step out of the room.
"Hold on there." Neil catches up with me. "Can I have a look?"
I should say no, because it's none of his business and because it's not like there is something he can do about it, but the child in me wants to show off my hurt. I lift my hand, rotate it in front of his face as quickly as I can manage and put it down. Neil circles to my hurt side, crouches, and dissects my hand with his eyes.
"You can't play with this tomorrow."
"I can." I pick up speed.
"You shouldn't."
"I will."
He turns and walks backwards, facing me. "I could play for you."
"Ha! Imagine that. A voice and bass duo. That's going to be an innovation of the year."
Neil takes the Snickers out of his back pocket and plays on a pretend Snickers guitar. "I'm much more talented than you can imagine." He winks at me, and I reconsider our fragile truce.
