And it just so happens that the best thing includes eloping with the nearly-naked woman lounging on the couch.
She’s back on her starvation diet, and no matter how often I try to convince her to add a few more calories to her daily allowance, she’s determined to cut much harder than seems healthy.
I’ve been doing our weekly meal prep, the way I always do when I’m on my own, but doubling everything to include her, and most days she just has black coffee for breakfast and doesn’t eat anything until well after noon.
When I ask her about it, she shrugs and says, “Keeping my eating window small makes it easier to not overeat.”
It also makes it easy to develop an eating disorder, but I keep that thought to myself. I’m all for staying in shape, and I workout and control my diet pretty well, but she’s restricting harder than normal to make up for our splurge on our “honeymoon.”
Even as I worry about her lack of calories, I’m not immune to her skimpy outfits and the way she arranges herself as provocatively as possible when she knows I’m looking.
At first I tried to hide the boners, but as days turned into weeks, I stopped bothering, wearing nothing besides sweatpants or athletic shorts while I lounge around the house. The only time either of us get dressed is for working out, going to the grocery store, and our weekly date night organized by Delores. But the rest of the time, it’s like we’re playing a game of chicken to see who’ll flinch first.
I’d been banking on her, but so far, no dice.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Especially when we finish singing a song together that she picked out for us, and she bounces on the couch, clapping her hands, directly across from where I’m perched on the edge of the coffee table. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sway of her tits under that flimsy excuse for a top.
“Oh!” She grabs my arm, which finally has me looking at her face, my dick twitching and growing from the combination of the sight of her and now her actually touching me. Because while we might be playing this see-who-can-show-as-much-skin-as-possible-without-getting-naked game, we have an unspoken no-touching rule. So having her hands on me, even somewhere as innocuous as my forearm is … almost too much.
I want her hands in so many other places that I don’t know if I could decide where I’d want her to start.
But I finally clue in to the fact that she’s not touching me to be sexy. She’s doing it because she’s excited. And did she say something about scheduling a performance?
“What do you think?”
She blinks up at me, her face so open and vulnerable that I feel like a complete ass when I have to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch all of that.”
One corner of her mouth hitches up in a sly smile. “Uh-huh. I see.” She removes her hand from my arm and points at her face. “Can you listen to me now?”
Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yes. I’m listening. Did you say something about a performance?”
“Yes.” She crosses her legs, her hands layered on top of her knee, her posture almost prim and such a contrast to her nearly-naked form. “We’ve been singing all these duets together. I think we have enough of those for a full set. If we include solo stuff of each of us, we could put on a full concert. Don’t you think? It would be small, but we could book a venue and test some stuff out. See what people think of the new ideas.”
She turns and picks up the notebook she always has with her when we’re jamming, tapping it with her pen. “I could even turn a couple of these songs into duets too.” That hopeful look is back on her face when she looks up. “I think it would be a lot of fun. What do you think?”
Performing together? Like soon? A grin stretches across my face. “You think people would want to hear us?”
She shrugs. “I still have my social accounts. We were building a good following. While not everyone will want to hear me as a soloist, I think enough of them would. Plus, we were based here. So we had a pretty good local following. I think we could get enough people to make it worthwhile. I don’t know much about booking venues, though, or how that all works. Mia’s boyfriend took over our 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.