booking once we got a big enough following from bar gigs, and then we got a contract and a manager, so I wasn’t ever involved with that.”
My grin grows even wider. “Lucky for you, I have connections.” My brain is already whirring, sorting through the various concert promoters I’ve worked with in the past. Who would most likely help me put this show together?
Setting aside my guitar, I almost miss the way Alexis goes nearly cross-eyed at the sight of my bare torso and the semi still taking up space in my gray sweats when I stand to get my phone and reach out to the most likely candidates. Almost.
But I let it go. Because I have more important things to worry about than my effect on Alexis’s libido. And the way she’s been holding out all this time, I doubt she’ll ever crack. But a performance where people buy tickets to hear me play? That requires immediate attention.
I fire off a few texts and then an email to two more people who don’t respond to texts unless it’s related to something they’re actively working on, then set the phone on the kitchen table and turn to face Alexis, who’s swiveled around on the couch to watch me, her face hopeful.
Chuckling, I cross my arms and lean against the table. “Now we wait. But in the meantime we should put together our set lists so far and figure out what holes need filling in. We should also figure out which songs to tease on social media, because if we can get people excited about the show ahead of time, that’ll help sell tickets.”
“Definitely.” She does that bouncy-clappy thing again and lets out a little squeal. “Gah! I’m so excited by the possibilities!” She sucks in a deep breath through her nose, making her tits strain against the almost indecent neckline of her tank, and I’m praying to the universe that maybe, juuuust maybe, a nipple will peek out the top.
But no. Sadly it doesn’t. Not today, anyway.
“I know, I know,” she says, and I blink in surprise. Did she just read my mind? Or did I say any of that out loud?
“There’s a possibility none of this will amount to anything,” she continues, and whew, I did not share my internal monologue. Good. “But the fact that we’re even trying is exciting.”
I can’t help grinning, the simmering excitement in my belly rising to match hers. “I know. I haven’t been on stage in …” I shake my head, trying to remember how long it’s been. “Way too long.” Before Brendan started that shitty internship with the asshole producer. And that was a few years ago now.
God, I miss it. I miss the thrill and the rush of performing, of being on stage, of singing for a crowd that can’t get enough of you. That sings along with you, buoying you through the tired that pulls at your muscles by the end.
Playing and singing with Alexis has been great. Fun. But a quieter thrill than the reality of a stage performance.
And while we’re looking at small venues, it’s still a venue, an audience, a chance to play and sing with someone awesome for a group of people who want to hear us.
What more could I ask for?
A lot, it turns out.
Because somehow scantily clad Alexis on a mission to put together a concert is exponentially sexier than normal, everyday Alexis. And I really didn’t think that was possible.
She spends hours bent over her guitar, scribbling notes in her notebook, writing lyrics and chords down that I take and translate into sheet music on the notation software I have on my laptop. Which I then take and convert to tab for her.
“You should let me teach you to read music,” I grumble as I convert her latest from conventional notation to tab for her.
She lets out a laugh so full of joy that I can’t help smiling. “Or you could let me teach you to read tab.”
“I can read tab,” I tell her. “But I don’t have the software to create that from your chicken scratch.”
“Hey!” she protests, reaching over and swatting my arm as I pass her on the way to the printer. “I have lovely handwriting, thankyouverymuch.”
I give her shoulder a poke in return, the closest thing to touching we do these days—playful swats and pokes. Hugging is still off-limits, because hugging when neither of us is properly clothed is a slippery slope, and we both know it.