Serial Novel: Falling in Public, Ch. 6
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Ch.1|Ch. 2|Ch. 3|Ch. 4|Ch. 5
Falling in Public
Chapter 6
Holly followed Eddie up the stairs, her heart racing as she tried not to oogle his butt in those jeans. He'd released her hand when they'd started up the steps, and her palm was still warm from his touch. As they walked down a plush hall decorated in warm green tones, she considered what she'd be doing at home right now. Checking her watch, she realized it was already well past midnight, and wondered just how long she'd stood outside that club. Longer than she'd thought, for sure.
"Here we are," Eddie said, pushing open a thick black door and waiting for her to enter. "This is where most of our songs are born. A lot of late-night sessions happen here." He walked over to the sound board and pushed a couple buttons, then flicked a switch on the wall, illuminating another room beyond the glass window above the board. Instruments were neatly arranged on stands around all sorts of microphones, and the room was carpeted all the way up the walls. Holly smiled. A room like this would be really handy for that scene where--
"Earth to Holly. Come in, Holly." The gentle teasing brought her out of the fantasy, and she gave the man beside her a grin.
"Sorry," she said. "I must have got caught up in a daydream for a minute." She'd learned long ago not to talk about her books while she was working out the plot. What people thought were helpful observations tended to confuse her process.
He smiled. "A good one, I hope. Was I in it?"
She shrugged, shooting him a coy look. "Maybe. Will you sing me a song?" She batted her lashes, not quite sure when she'd become such a flirt. He shrugged, opening a door to his right and gesturing for her to go in.
"I think I can handle that," he said, closing the door behind them with a heavy click. "If you swear you're not a journalist, I'll share part of the new song I've been working on. It's a little slower than our normal stuff, but I think it's pretty good."
Holly shook her head. "I swear I'm not a journalist," she said, thankful he hadn't specified writers. "And I'd love to hear what you're working on. I'd be honored, actually." She looked around the room for a seat. An old olive-green couch sat against one wall, stuffing poking out of the cushions and one leg missing so it listed to the right. Eddie's deep chuckle sent shivers up her spine as he stood behind her.
"That couch is the only thing I had when I came out here from Madison, Wisconson. I bought it at a garage sale there for five bucks when I was a college student, and have been dragging it around with me since that day. Call it my thinking couch - for when I'm stuck on a piece or just need to work stuff out."
Holly nodded, understanding completely. Her overstuffed brown chair-and-a-half at home was well loved and used, though not nearly as old.
"What a wonderful story," she said, walking over and taking a seat on the low side. "All of your history in one piece of furniture. My kind of scrapbook."
Eddie took an acoustic guitar from one of the stands against the wall and sat beside her on the couch. Positioning the instrument on his knee, he began to play a few chords. When he started singing, Holly leaned back and closed her eyes, the haunting melody and sad story of a lost love coursing through her body. When he finished, she didn't want to open her eyes. The couch shifted a little, and reluctantly she peered out under her lashes. Eddie was there, leaning over her, but not touching her, his hot breath fanning her cheek.
"I really want to kiss you again, Holly," he whispered, bracing an arm on the other side of her body. His lips were only a few short centimeters from hers. Finally, thank god.
"Then do."
Enjoy this installment? Try Desert Heat, available now at:
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Diesel | All Romance
**Please
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new comments. If this is your first time posting, your comment will be
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Ch.1|Ch. 2|Ch. 3|Ch. 4|Ch. 5
Falling in Public
Chapter 6
Holly followed Eddie up the stairs, her heart racing as she tried not to oogle his butt in those jeans. He'd released her hand when they'd started up the steps, and her palm was still warm from his touch. As they walked down a plush hall decorated in warm green tones, she considered what she'd be doing at home right now. Checking her watch, she realized it was already well past midnight, and wondered just how long she'd stood outside that club. Longer than she'd thought, for sure.
"Here we are," Eddie said, pushing open a thick black door and waiting for her to enter. "This is where most of our songs are born. A lot of late-night sessions happen here." He walked over to the sound board and pushed a couple buttons, then flicked a switch on the wall, illuminating another room beyond the glass window above the board. Instruments were neatly arranged on stands around all sorts of microphones, and the room was carpeted all the way up the walls. Holly smiled. A room like this would be really handy for that scene where--
"Earth to Holly. Come in, Holly." The gentle teasing brought her out of the fantasy, and she gave the man beside her a grin.
"Sorry," she said. "I must have got caught up in a daydream for a minute." She'd learned long ago not to talk about her books while she was working out the plot. What people thought were helpful observations tended to confuse her process.
He smiled. "A good one, I hope. Was I in it?"
She shrugged, shooting him a coy look. "Maybe. Will you sing me a song?" She batted her lashes, not quite sure when she'd become such a flirt. He shrugged, opening a door to his right and gesturing for her to go in.
"I think I can handle that," he said, closing the door behind them with a heavy click. "If you swear you're not a journalist, I'll share part of the new song I've been working on. It's a little slower than our normal stuff, but I think it's pretty good."
Holly shook her head. "I swear I'm not a journalist," she said, thankful he hadn't specified writers. "And I'd love to hear what you're working on. I'd be honored, actually." She looked around the room for a seat. An old olive-green couch sat against one wall, stuffing poking out of the cushions and one leg missing so it listed to the right. Eddie's deep chuckle sent shivers up her spine as he stood behind her.
"That couch is the only thing I had when I came out here from Madison, Wisconson. I bought it at a garage sale there for five bucks when I was a college student, and have been dragging it around with me since that day. Call it my thinking couch - for when I'm stuck on a piece or just need to work stuff out."
Holly nodded, understanding completely. Her overstuffed brown chair-and-a-half at home was well loved and used, though not nearly as old.
"What a wonderful story," she said, walking over and taking a seat on the low side. "All of your history in one piece of furniture. My kind of scrapbook."
Eddie took an acoustic guitar from one of the stands against the wall and sat beside her on the couch. Positioning the instrument on his knee, he began to play a few chords. When he started singing, Holly leaned back and closed her eyes, the haunting melody and sad story of a lost love coursing through her body. When he finished, she didn't want to open her eyes. The couch shifted a little, and reluctantly she peered out under her lashes. Eddie was there, leaning over her, but not touching her, his hot breath fanning her cheek.
"I really want to kiss you again, Holly," he whispered, bracing an arm on the other side of her body. His lips were only a few short centimeters from hers. Finally, thank god.
"Then do."
Enjoy this installment? Try Desert Heat, available now at:
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords | Diesel | All Romance
**Please
note - comments take a few moments to appear. Refresh the page to view
new comments. If this is your first time posting, your comment will be
moderated.
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