time unmistakable. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers, and he kissed her.
*****
She kissed him, sex-starved tart that she was.
Right there on the editing console.
Jake was a good ten inches shorter than Simon, so their parts didn't quite match up. She was tottering on her tiptoes, arms twined around his neck, and he hopped her up onto the edge of the console.
The room was quiet and dim. It felt surreal--like they were about to make love in the womb. A bizarre thought, one that would likely put her into therapy for the rest of her life.
Jake was all raw nerve endings, every part of her screaming "yes, yes, yes!" like some shampoo commercial. Under Simon's right arm she could feel what she presumed was a gun in a holster. She could also feel his lips starting to move down from her mouth, and his hands gravitate upward from her waist...
He must have felt her freeze up and lifted his lips from the notch at her throat. " What? " he whispered hoarsely. " Did you hear something? "
That was as good an excuse as any. She nodded, struggling for breath, and for an irrational second she thought that maybe all the air had been sucked out of the sealed room.
" Are you okay? " Simon asked. He took a step back, and she slid off the console and turned away from him, feeling like an idiot.
Much as she wanted it, much as she wanted him, it was way too complicated. A bad idea on a lot of fronts. She almost giggled at her own joke. Then he'd really think she was nuts. " I’m sorry. I’m okay. But we can’t do this. "
" No, I’m sorry. This was inappropriate. Here in your office. Us working together. " He seemed to be fishing, trying to pin down exactly what had caused her reaction.
Jake knew she should explain, but then he'd just be embarrassed or even repelled. Whichever, better to end this now and save them both the trouble .
She wet her lips and , as Simon took a step toward her , put up a hand . " Listen, it's fine. I kissed you, or if not-- " she held up the hand again, as he started to interrupt, " it was certainly mutual. This...it ’s just not such a good idea. "
Simon raised his hands in surrender. " Okay, message received and understood. " He picked up the tapes she’d given him. " I hope you’ll still give me a hand with these if I need it. " He studied her face. " During the day. With the door open. "
Jake smiled, wondering which of the mixed messages she was sending he understood. " Deal. "
Simon started out the door with the tapes, and then turned. " I lied before. "
" Lied? "
" I’m not sorry. I enjoyed every second of it, appropriate or not. "
Same here, was what she thought.
" Goodnight, Simon, " was what she said.
Chapter Seven
The next day was Sunday and for Simon that meant church, or more precisely, church choir. The choir was singing in the ten o'clock service and Simon got there at quarter to, just in time for warm-up. The choir director at St. Joseph’s was a short balding man, with the biggest, whitest teeth Simon had ever seen. His name was Ryan Orwell, and Simon considered him a friend. He also considered him gay, though he wasn’t absolutely sure.
" Simon, " Orwell greeted him, " I’m glad you’re here. We’re short baritones today. "
Simon pulled on his choir robe and looked around. He didn’t see any baritones at all, with the exception of himself. " Don’t tell me I’m the whole section again. "
Orwell smiled at him from behind the piano. " Simon, old man, you're all I want. "
It was Orwell's stock line, invariably delivered with a quirk of one eyebrow.
Simon was capable of carrying the baritone part himself and didn’t half mind doing it, even if he pretended he did. In fact, one of the reasons he liked St. Joseph’s choir was that it was small--twenty people at full strength, and they were never at full strength. In Ryan’s choir you had to be able to sing, had to be able to read music, and had to be able to carry your part alone if need be. In that
*****
She kissed him, sex-starved tart that she was.
Right there on the editing console.
Jake was a good ten inches shorter than Simon, so their parts didn't quite match up. She was tottering on her tiptoes, arms twined around his neck, and he hopped her up onto the edge of the console.
The room was quiet and dim. It felt surreal--like they were about to make love in the womb. A bizarre thought, one that would likely put her into therapy for the rest of her life.
Jake was all raw nerve endings, every part of her screaming "yes, yes, yes!" like some shampoo commercial. Under Simon's right arm she could feel what she presumed was a gun in a holster. She could also feel his lips starting to move down from her mouth, and his hands gravitate upward from her waist...
He must have felt her freeze up and lifted his lips from the notch at her throat. " What? " he whispered hoarsely. " Did you hear something? "
That was as good an excuse as any. She nodded, struggling for breath, and for an irrational second she thought that maybe all the air had been sucked out of the sealed room.
" Are you okay? " Simon asked. He took a step back, and she slid off the console and turned away from him, feeling like an idiot.
Much as she wanted it, much as she wanted him, it was way too complicated. A bad idea on a lot of fronts. She almost giggled at her own joke. Then he'd really think she was nuts. " I’m sorry. I’m okay. But we can’t do this. "
" No, I’m sorry. This was inappropriate. Here in your office. Us working together. " He seemed to be fishing, trying to pin down exactly what had caused her reaction.
Jake knew she should explain, but then he'd just be embarrassed or even repelled. Whichever, better to end this now and save them both the trouble .
She wet her lips and , as Simon took a step toward her , put up a hand . " Listen, it's fine. I kissed you, or if not-- " she held up the hand again, as he started to interrupt, " it was certainly mutual. This...it ’s just not such a good idea. "
Simon raised his hands in surrender. " Okay, message received and understood. " He picked up the tapes she’d given him. " I hope you’ll still give me a hand with these if I need it. " He studied her face. " During the day. With the door open. "
Jake smiled, wondering which of the mixed messages she was sending he understood. " Deal. "
Simon started out the door with the tapes, and then turned. " I lied before. "
" Lied? "
" I’m not sorry. I enjoyed every second of it, appropriate or not. "
Same here, was what she thought.
" Goodnight, Simon, " was what she said.
Chapter Seven
The next day was Sunday and for Simon that meant church, or more precisely, church choir. The choir was singing in the ten o'clock service and Simon got there at quarter to, just in time for warm-up. The choir director at St. Joseph’s was a short balding man, with the biggest, whitest teeth Simon had ever seen. His name was Ryan Orwell, and Simon considered him a friend. He also considered him gay, though he wasn’t absolutely sure.
" Simon, " Orwell greeted him, " I’m glad you’re here. We’re short baritones today. "
Simon pulled on his choir robe and looked around. He didn’t see any baritones at all, with the exception of himself. " Don’t tell me I’m the whole section again. "
Orwell smiled at him from behind the piano. " Simon, old man, you're all I want. "
It was Orwell's stock line, invariably delivered with a quirk of one eyebrow.
Simon was capable of carrying the baritone part himself and didn’t half mind doing it, even if he pretended he did. In fact, one of the reasons he liked St. Joseph’s choir was that it was small--twenty people at full strength, and they were never at full strength. In Ryan’s choir you had to be able to sing, had to be able to read music, and had to be able to carry your part alone if need be. In that
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