Page 35 of Sing Your Secrets
“I’ve heard stories about rogue splinters traveling all the way to your heart, slowly poisoning you before it wrecks shop in your vital organs.”
Her plump, pale pink lips are so close…
Too close…
“That’s shrapnel, Reese. Not splinters.” I immediately sit up, freeing myself of the momentary spell she had me under.
She disposes of the splinter in the kitchen trash and then returns to hover over me. She has an expectant smile on her face as she touches her earlobe with the pad of her thumb. “It’s late.”
“Past midnight,” I add.
“You must be tired.”
I shrug. “It’s been a long day. I’m ready to turn in if you are.”
Reese gives me a pointed stare as she yanks out the band around her ponytail. She shakes her head a little, letting her blonde curls fall over her shoulders. “This is a one-bedroom apartment.”
“Oh,” I say. “I’m fine on the couch.” She scrunches her face. We both know I can’t sleep comfortably on this two-cushion loveseat. My neck and my back are already aching from when my legs were dangling over the armrest while Reese played sexy nurse for an hour. She’s got a stiff-looking turquoise chair in the corner that looks even more uncomfortable. “Or the floor.”
“Miles, I have a King-sized bed. Can we please just be mature adults about this? We’ll sleep in the same bed and build a barrier with my stuffed animals and fuzzy pink throw pillows.”
I snort in laughter. A comfortable bed sounds so inviting at the moment…even outside of the sexy blonde that has been sending clear signs that she’d like to—how do I put this delicately?—get dicked down.
“Thank you, for everything. You saved my ass tonight. You’re a sweetheart,” I say.
“A word that has literally never been said about me before,” she says as her hand finds her hip. I like that snarky, sassy smile she always seems to be wearing.
“I’m serious, cool girl. I see right through you. You’re nice.”
She winks. “I’m nice to the nice ones.”
We both pause for a moment, caught up in the tempting energy between us. If I’d met her in L.A. even two months ago, we’d already be on round two. The scratches on my back would be from her nails, not construction work. I’d run through my entire stockpile of condoms on a girl like Reese, but…
She’s not just a fucking firecracker looks-wise…
She likes the music I like.
She’s been making me laugh all night.
Reese scooped me up off the side of the street, fed me, doctored me up, and somehow didn’t make me feel like a pathetic loser in the process. I don’t want to treat her like she’s easy. I can’t offer her anything. I’m not even sure if I’ll be here in a few weeks. She’s not the kind of girl I want to play the hit it and quit it game with.
“Would you mind if I took a shower?”
She raises her eyebrows in surprise and I know what’s on her mind. “Sure?” It comes out as a question.
“You probably have nice sheets and I’ve been sweating in a grimy building all day. I want to rinse off at least.”
“Follow me.” Reese leads me down the short hallway to her bedroom. Opening the door, my jaw drops. The entire back wall of her bedroom is lined with three giant media racks—filled with hundreds—no, that’s got to be at least a thousand CDs.
“Goddamn, Reese.” I make myself right at home and admire the racks up close. I chuckle as I pull out a few CDs from their neat individual compartments and realize I own most of these too. I certainly don’t have a collection like this. “What do you do with all these? Do you seriously own a CD player?”
“Um, hell yes,” she responds with wide sparkling eyes. “I listen to iTunes, Pandora, and Spotify like everyone else. These are just…memories I couldn’t get rid of. I miss the days of CDs.” She points to the top row. “Nineties.” She gestures to the middle three rows. “2000 to about 2012.” She squats down and slides her finger across the row of the most colorful-looking CDs. “All my mixtapes,” she says as she narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t worry—all burned legally. iTunes now owns what should’ve been the start of my 401k.” She points down to the row at the bottom. “And Usher.”
I squint at her. “What? There are at least fifty CDs down there. That can’t all be Usher.”
“Every studio album, single, bonus track, compilation, collabs, my mixtapes, and basically every song he’s ever been featured on—it adds up to about seventy or so.”
I turn my head and lock on her eyes. Her cheeks flush a little. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen Reese Reyes just a tad embarrassed. “Stalker,” I say with a pretend horrified expression.