Emily tried to focus on the screen, but the words seemed to slip in and out of her mind without their meaning registering. She had read the same paragraph four times, without being able to recall one word of it, or what the meaning behind the words was. She suspected she was going to need a strong black coffee to get through the afternoon. Maybe two. And it was barely past lunch. But her attention was so divided she might as well give in and go home as she was not going to achieve anything significant like this – except that Emily never gave in and skipped work. It wasn’t in her work ethic to do so. In truth, though she didn’t want to admit it to herself, she had gone home mentally weeks ago, but she kept to the routine of work because staying all day in an empty house echoing with the ghost of Owen was far worse than coming to her office and fighting her way through another meaningful day of drudgery. And every dollar she made now, would be useful for when she quit her job and moved
Emily sat in the car going through the tracks and the music, whilst Owen greeted the band members, and signed in at the door to the studio. They began to unload the van, making treks to and from with a flat-trayed trolley, collecting drums, guitars, amps, and keyboard. Every time she glanced up - they were making another trip. Owen signalled for her to join him during the last trip, and she removed the earpieces, and slung her laptop bag over her shoulder as she left the car, hearing it beep locked behind her as Owen activated the key. “This is Em,” he said to the men as they walked towards the double doors. There were only the four of them, including Owen, which made her wonder what all the extra people who had been coming and going from the house next door were there for. Owen draped his arm over her shoulders as she came to stand behind him, the action both habitual and proprietary. “Hi,” she said, uncertainly. She thought she recognized some of them from the times she had snoop
“I like her. I really like her. The opera is a unique aspect, and she fits your aesthetic better. Okay, shall we run through it again, this time recording?” “Yeah.” Owen released her and moved back to his microphone, picking up his guitar and slipping the strap over his head. Yes, Emily thought watching him, the girls were going to love him. Big, built, blue eyed, dark haired, with a face a poet would love, Owen was made to be leading man material. They ran through the song several times, and then Owen, Emily and Seb stepped out so that James and Jeremy could go through the track with just drums and bass. “Come on,” Owen caught Emily’s hand in his and led her into the control room. It was a narrow space, with a couch pushed against the back wall, and a window looking into the main room. Before the window was set the mixing desk and a chair in which one man sat. Two other men in matching branded t-shirts supervised other equipment, talking between themselves, and adjusting the mach
“It was really good today,” Owen said, thoughtfully, his mind on the band, as was so typical of him. “I think it went really well. I heard a bit of a rough playback, and it sounded really professional, even before they smooth off the edges. I can’t wait to hear the finished product.” “I am glad that you are happy with how it went.” “You saved us,” he smiled at her, his handsome face lighting up with the expression in a way that made her heart pick up a beat. “The guys were really impressed.” “I am glad I could help.” She was speaking by rote, biding her time until she got home and could have the crying jag that she knew was pressing in on her. They would have their Vietnamese take away, sex, and he would leave, and she would cry. She could almost schedule it in by the hour, she thought ruefully. “They want to ditch Cordelia and find a new back-up singer,” Owen said with deliberate casualness. “You wouldn’t be interested?” “Oh, Owen,” she sighed. She wanted to say yes, because it
Emily followed Owen up the stairs and when he paused beside the driver’s seat to take in the layout and chaos before him, she looked around him nervously. It was not a large bus, and it was very full of men, the sight was rather intimidating, although she suspected that Owen had paused in appreciation rather than intimidation. He was living his dream of touring with a rock band, after all. “Isn’t a tour bus a bit… Eighties?” She murmured. Aaron had arranged the tour bus and driver. She had not even known such a service existed, but, as she stepped up into the bus, she could see it was popular – the carpet and upholstery showed a lot of wear and there was a faint smell to it, beneath the shampoo the company had used to clean the fabrics, that was reminiscent of a teenage boy’s bedroom – old gym socks, body odour, and cheap aftershave spray. Towards the front of the bus there was a mini kitchen, very similar to a caravan from the seventies, the veneer on the doors chipped and peeling
Owen eased into the bunk, lifting himself over her so that he lay with his back against the wall. For a moment they shared laughter as they organised themselves within the narrow space, and then he lifted onto his elbow and kissed her, his kiss heavy with breath and laughter and spiced by the daring.They were going to have sex, she realised with a flare of heat, in the tight little bunk with only the curtains separating them from the other members of the band and the bus driver. The daring of it flavoured their kiss, stole her breath and quickened her heart. She met his tongue with hers, deepening and adding fire to their kiss, so that he groaned, and then laughed silently as they both paused, wondering if they had been heard.He grinned, his dimple dancing, and returned to kissing her, sliding his hand beneath her top to close over her breast. “No bra,” he breathed. “I noticed that earlier.” He grazed the palm of his hand over her nipple, and she pressed up into his touch as she sli
Megan answered on the first ring and did not bother with a greeting. “Did you get some hot ex-sex on the bus?” “Good. A bit.” Emily flushed, and shot Owen a glance from under her eyelashes, wondering if he had heard. Megan’s phone voice was strident. “He is next to you, isn’t he?” “Yes. We are at the first venue, grabbing something to eat at the bar. We have a couple of hours to eat, shower, and get ready.” “You nervous? Or did your hot ex-sex work that out of your system?” “A bit.” Emily could feel the heat burning up her face. The last thing she needed, she thought, was Megan instigating a conversation between Owen and herself that, whilst overdue, would be poorly timed, seeing as they were about to commence their first performance, on the first concert date. “This is going to be one of those conversations where I say all the words, and you answer in monosyllables, isn’t it?” Megan sighed irritably. “What do you think is sexier? Red lace, or black sheer with diamantes? Oooo, e
She stroked her hands up his chest, feeling the water gather against her palms, the firmness of his muscle under his skin, and the shift of his chest hair, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pressed her back against the tiles making her gasp at the cold, and she could feel the hot hardness of him against her stomach.“We should turn the water off,” he said against her cheek. “Or Seb might have a cold shower.”She reached out and hit the handle, shutting off the water, as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. His breath stuttered out, catching, his forehead against hers. She felt his muscles flex under her heels as he thrusted against her, and her back slipped against the tiles.“F-k,” She exclaimed, clinging to his shoulders, as he groaned.“What did you say?” He laughed out, and caught her mouth with his, kissing her breathlessly as he strained against her, pressing just in the right way to raise her blood pressure and have her tugging him closer with her legs. “Did E