drunk with my roommate and stayed that way all day, marinating in my despair. Jaime never asked what was bothering me, because she's awesome that way. She knew I'd tell her when I wanted to, when I was ready.
I wasn't ready.
So now, with my first shift halfway through, I was a mess. I was cranky, bitchy, and off my game.
Jeff was setting up the speakers and mixer board while I sorted CD's and song books.
He was holding the speaker above his head with one hand and trying to spin the knob to tighten it in place, but it wouldn't catch for some reason, and he was getting frustrated. Those speakers are heavy, remember. Most people can't lift them above their head with one hand. Jeff's a beast like that. I watched him, grunting and sweating as he fiddled with the knob, his habitual long sleeve T-shirt falling down around his forearms.
I suddenly realized how attractive Jeff really was. Maybe it was my raging libido or desperate need to get off, but right then, with his face contorted in irritation, his muscles bulging against the fabric of his shirt...he'd never been sexier to me.
Sure, I'd noticed in an off-hand way that he was attractive, but I'd never considered him before, and I suddenly wasn't sure why not.
"Anna, give me a hand, will you? This thing is stuck." Jeff's voice snapped me out of my rumination.
He put both hands to the speaker and held it while I got the knob to work. He was inches from me, the musk of male sweat in my nostrils, the heat of his body radiating into me. So close, yet so far.
I had a sudden, crazy desire to press my body into him, to see what his arms felt like around me. I was leaning, shifting my weight...and then he was gone. His eyes were on me, though, and I knew he'd felt it.
I shook my head. What the hell am I thinking? I couldn't afford distractions, not with Jeff. He was my partner, my business friend. Nothing else. It couldn't work.
Plus, he just wasn't Chase.
Yeah, but he's not far behind . My libido was piping up now, telling me what it wanted. And it wanted a taste of Jeff, a look at him without his long sleeve shirt, to feel his hands on me.
Jeff stood around six feet tall, maybe an inch less, but bulky. Where Chase was a toned, proportionate specimen of male perfection, Jeff was more naturally powerful, heavy upper body and thick, muscular legs, all padded with a layer of softness that belied the power of his body. I'd seen him in action, breaking up fights in the bar, lifting hundred-pound speakers easily. He had short, thick brown hair, expressive dark brown eyes, almost black, and a broad, attractive face. He wasn't a handsome man, not classically beautiful like Chase was, but rather rugged, attractive in a rough-hewn way. Jeff wasn't much for words, but he managed to express a huge amount with a simple look, a quirk of the eyebrow, a small smile, a narrowing of the eyes.
We got the equipment set up, got the first songs worked through and adjusted the quirks in the mix. Jeff and I did our first number together, "Summer Nights" from Grease . We always killed that one. Everyone loves that song. It's catchy, fun. The older crowd knows it from when the movie first aired, and the younger ones either know it or just like the poppy tune. Jeff's high, clear tenor suits the male part, and I can push my voice high enough to fit the female thread.
But the spark, the heat and tension driving that drove my performance with Chase...that wasn't there. It was just missing, and I couldn't sell the performance like I usually did with Jeff.
He noticed.
When we took our break in the closed, darkened bar kitchen, he followed me with a pair of Jaeger shots.
"You were flat at the end," he remarked, handing me my shot.
I downed it and gave him the rocks glass back. Jeff was blunt, and he always had been. I knew it, and it didn't usually bother me.
"Well, awesome," I snapped, feeling a sudden rush of irritation. "Thanks for that."
Jeff gave me a puzzled look. He tells me when I'm flat; I
I wasn't ready.
So now, with my first shift halfway through, I was a mess. I was cranky, bitchy, and off my game.
Jeff was setting up the speakers and mixer board while I sorted CD's and song books.
He was holding the speaker above his head with one hand and trying to spin the knob to tighten it in place, but it wouldn't catch for some reason, and he was getting frustrated. Those speakers are heavy, remember. Most people can't lift them above their head with one hand. Jeff's a beast like that. I watched him, grunting and sweating as he fiddled with the knob, his habitual long sleeve T-shirt falling down around his forearms.
I suddenly realized how attractive Jeff really was. Maybe it was my raging libido or desperate need to get off, but right then, with his face contorted in irritation, his muscles bulging against the fabric of his shirt...he'd never been sexier to me.
Sure, I'd noticed in an off-hand way that he was attractive, but I'd never considered him before, and I suddenly wasn't sure why not.
"Anna, give me a hand, will you? This thing is stuck." Jeff's voice snapped me out of my rumination.
He put both hands to the speaker and held it while I got the knob to work. He was inches from me, the musk of male sweat in my nostrils, the heat of his body radiating into me. So close, yet so far.
I had a sudden, crazy desire to press my body into him, to see what his arms felt like around me. I was leaning, shifting my weight...and then he was gone. His eyes were on me, though, and I knew he'd felt it.
I shook my head. What the hell am I thinking? I couldn't afford distractions, not with Jeff. He was my partner, my business friend. Nothing else. It couldn't work.
Plus, he just wasn't Chase.
Yeah, but he's not far behind . My libido was piping up now, telling me what it wanted. And it wanted a taste of Jeff, a look at him without his long sleeve shirt, to feel his hands on me.
Jeff stood around six feet tall, maybe an inch less, but bulky. Where Chase was a toned, proportionate specimen of male perfection, Jeff was more naturally powerful, heavy upper body and thick, muscular legs, all padded with a layer of softness that belied the power of his body. I'd seen him in action, breaking up fights in the bar, lifting hundred-pound speakers easily. He had short, thick brown hair, expressive dark brown eyes, almost black, and a broad, attractive face. He wasn't a handsome man, not classically beautiful like Chase was, but rather rugged, attractive in a rough-hewn way. Jeff wasn't much for words, but he managed to express a huge amount with a simple look, a quirk of the eyebrow, a small smile, a narrowing of the eyes.
We got the equipment set up, got the first songs worked through and adjusted the quirks in the mix. Jeff and I did our first number together, "Summer Nights" from Grease . We always killed that one. Everyone loves that song. It's catchy, fun. The older crowd knows it from when the movie first aired, and the younger ones either know it or just like the poppy tune. Jeff's high, clear tenor suits the male part, and I can push my voice high enough to fit the female thread.
But the spark, the heat and tension driving that drove my performance with Chase...that wasn't there. It was just missing, and I couldn't sell the performance like I usually did with Jeff.
He noticed.
When we took our break in the closed, darkened bar kitchen, he followed me with a pair of Jaeger shots.
"You were flat at the end," he remarked, handing me my shot.
I downed it and gave him the rocks glass back. Jeff was blunt, and he always had been. I knew it, and it didn't usually bother me.
"Well, awesome," I snapped, feeling a sudden rush of irritation. "Thanks for that."
Jeff gave me a puzzled look. He tells me when I'm flat; I
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