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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▪️Saturday, February 20th, 2018▪️
▪️Chicago, IL▪️
Together.
I slide my hand up from her cheek and into her hair. "Angela Fisher." My blood rages, converts my thoughts into words, and rushes the sounds past my teeth. "I don't understand this, what's happening between us, but I don't have to."
Her lips part, inviting me to stop talking and get to the action we are starving for. But I can't stop. "I want a together." And I want to kiss her so badly I clench my jaw to keep me in the place I am. "I'd love to be by your side every day, but that's not possible. I realize that. Still . . ."
"What?" Her eyes move between mine.
"I need to ask you for something."
Angie lifts her chin. "Ask away."
This is the scariest question I've asked her. And the answer will tell me what's next for us. I swallow the razor of worry and meet her gaze. "Would you be my girlfriend?"
Her eyelashes flutter in a series of quick beats. This is not just a formality for me. This is the agreement I crave, the validation that we are on the same page. Together. I tell her what I want. "Just mine. Exclusively. Openly. Officially. And we'll make it work." I shut up and still for her answer.
Her eyes are dry but they shine the same way they do when she's coming up with a new song: as if the best possible opportunity came her way. I want to believe I am that opportunity.
"For not a poet, that was quite a thing." Her finger grazes the bridge of my nose, halts at my lower lip, and ratchets my heart to a new speed. "Did you know I've never been anyone's girlfriend?"
I shake my head in a no. Her finger doesn't move.
"No one has even asked. I got propositioned. A lot. But that's in recent years. In middle school and high school, I was several heads taller than the boys, and ran back to the piano any free minute I had. Mom jokes I was a late bloomer. I think I was a cactus, and piano was my sun, and I didn't need people to live, not unless they were related to the piano. Like my piano tuner, David. I got him a Christmas present every year. But I wouldn't be able to tell you the names of most of my teachers or classmates."
I move my lips and lightly bite her finger. Knowing more about Angie's childhood is important to me, but only takes her further from answering my question. I expect her to pull her finger out of my mouth, but she doesn't. She watches my lips around her skin, her pupils dilate, and she forgets to talk.
That's not what I'm after. I make sure we won't topple over if I move, take my hand from under the shirt on her back, and remove Angie's distracting finger from my mouth. I kiss her open palm and put it above my heart, where her temple was earlier.
"Is this your way of saying no?"
Angie lowers her gaze to our joined hands over my chest. "No. Yes."
