night, they came back to the loft for a coaching session. Quinn assumed his customary position on the futon while Shan stood in front of a mic stand with her hand on her diaphragm. He watched her mouth formation as she began the scales.
As her lips shifted position with each note, he noticed again how lush and sensual they were. Watching them positioned against the cylindrical mic led him to idly wonder how they’d feel pressed against another cylindrical piece of equipment.
His erection was instantaneous. And obvious, he realized with dismay. If she happened to glance up, she couldn’t help but see that he was standing at full attention.
Abruptly, he rolled over on his stomach and tore his gaze away from her mouth. Instead he concentrated on her breathing. It was a hot night and she was dressed in a cropped white tank that stopped just above her navel. Her hand was resting over her diaphragm and, with each breath, the thin material tightened over her chest.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Suddenly his jeans felt two sizes too small. He had to get out of that stifling little room before he grabbed her and let her have it, right there on the convenient futon.
Shan broke off in the middle of a ti note. “Are you all right?” she asked, with some concern. He’d broken out in a sweat and his face was flushed.
“Fine.” He rolled off the futon and scrambled to his feet.
“Are we stopping?” she asked as he stalked into the living room.
“Yes, we’re stopping,” he said testily, snatching up a stack of sheet music and positioning it strategically in front of his groin. “I’m done coaching you. I have better things to do than listen to you sing the goddamn scales.”
Shan drew back, stung. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem is that I’m sick and tired of being cooped up in this goddamn place and I’m sick and tired of you, too.”
Shan watched, openmouthed, as he stomped out of the loft, slamming the door behind him.
Quinn was preoccupied during the subway ride from SoHo to his sublet in the East Village. When he switched to the F train at Washington Square, someone sat next to him and he didn’t even notice.
He jumped when an elbow nudged him and when he turned, he discovered his neighbor Steve Markowitz. Steve was doing his residency at a clinic over near St. Vincent’s and Quinn had gotten to know him a little when he’d gone to have a suspicious burning sensation checked out. He had an absolute horror of STDs and was relieved when Steve diagnosed a minor urinary tract infection.
“I said hi,” Steve said, “but you seemed lost in thought.”
Quinn shrugged. “Long day.” He liked Steve. During his visit to the clinic, he’d gotten the third degree regarding sexual history and the young doctor had been taken aback at the number scribbled under partners. “As a doctor, I’m appalled,” Steve had told him. “As a man, I want to know your secret.”
They both disembarked at east Eighth Street. “I’ve had a long one, too,” Steve admitted. “Think I’ll stop for a beer. Want to join me?”
He indicated a tavern on the corner of Astor Place. Two women were getting out of a cab in front. One was a tall blonde, but it was the other woman who caught Quinn’s eye—a petite brunette with curly hair almost the same color as Shan’s.
“Sure,” he said and followed Steve into the tavern.
chapter 10
Just as Shan slipped the tooter into her mouth, someone rapped on her bedroom door. She jumped, stuffing the foil back in the drawer and slamming it shut. “Yes?”
“You almost ready?” Quinn’s voice. “Time to get moving.”
“Be right there!” She waited until she heard him move away before retrieving the foil. She finished the hit, then reached for a bottle of Visine to camouflage the redness in her eyes.
“Just in time to watch us finish packing,” Dan teased when she came into the living room “Just leaving it to us roadies, huh?”
“She always hauls her
As her lips shifted position with each note, he noticed again how lush and sensual they were. Watching them positioned against the cylindrical mic led him to idly wonder how they’d feel pressed against another cylindrical piece of equipment.
His erection was instantaneous. And obvious, he realized with dismay. If she happened to glance up, she couldn’t help but see that he was standing at full attention.
Abruptly, he rolled over on his stomach and tore his gaze away from her mouth. Instead he concentrated on her breathing. It was a hot night and she was dressed in a cropped white tank that stopped just above her navel. Her hand was resting over her diaphragm and, with each breath, the thin material tightened over her chest.
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
Suddenly his jeans felt two sizes too small. He had to get out of that stifling little room before he grabbed her and let her have it, right there on the convenient futon.
Shan broke off in the middle of a ti note. “Are you all right?” she asked, with some concern. He’d broken out in a sweat and his face was flushed.
“Fine.” He rolled off the futon and scrambled to his feet.
“Are we stopping?” she asked as he stalked into the living room.
“Yes, we’re stopping,” he said testily, snatching up a stack of sheet music and positioning it strategically in front of his groin. “I’m done coaching you. I have better things to do than listen to you sing the goddamn scales.”
Shan drew back, stung. “What’s your problem?”
“My problem is that I’m sick and tired of being cooped up in this goddamn place and I’m sick and tired of you, too.”
Shan watched, openmouthed, as he stomped out of the loft, slamming the door behind him.
Quinn was preoccupied during the subway ride from SoHo to his sublet in the East Village. When he switched to the F train at Washington Square, someone sat next to him and he didn’t even notice.
He jumped when an elbow nudged him and when he turned, he discovered his neighbor Steve Markowitz. Steve was doing his residency at a clinic over near St. Vincent’s and Quinn had gotten to know him a little when he’d gone to have a suspicious burning sensation checked out. He had an absolute horror of STDs and was relieved when Steve diagnosed a minor urinary tract infection.
“I said hi,” Steve said, “but you seemed lost in thought.”
Quinn shrugged. “Long day.” He liked Steve. During his visit to the clinic, he’d gotten the third degree regarding sexual history and the young doctor had been taken aback at the number scribbled under partners. “As a doctor, I’m appalled,” Steve had told him. “As a man, I want to know your secret.”
They both disembarked at east Eighth Street. “I’ve had a long one, too,” Steve admitted. “Think I’ll stop for a beer. Want to join me?”
He indicated a tavern on the corner of Astor Place. Two women were getting out of a cab in front. One was a tall blonde, but it was the other woman who caught Quinn’s eye—a petite brunette with curly hair almost the same color as Shan’s.
“Sure,” he said and followed Steve into the tavern.
chapter 10
Just as Shan slipped the tooter into her mouth, someone rapped on her bedroom door. She jumped, stuffing the foil back in the drawer and slamming it shut. “Yes?”
“You almost ready?” Quinn’s voice. “Time to get moving.”
“Be right there!” She waited until she heard him move away before retrieving the foil. She finished the hit, then reached for a bottle of Visine to camouflage the redness in her eyes.
“Just in time to watch us finish packing,” Dan teased when she came into the living room “Just leaving it to us roadies, huh?”
“She always hauls her
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