Chapter 4

4

TREY

G etting ready for work usually involves me rolling out of bed, showering, grabbing the first clean thing I see from the closet and making coffee while still in a mental fog. This morning I'm actually perky. I shave, use conditioner for the full three minutes and hunt about until I find my nicest navy blue t-shirt.

Then I sit down to google the Jones family, and breathe a sigh of relief. I don't need to read about all of their business, but knowing that Electra is twenty-two is critical.

As I drive to the hardware store, I realize this is the only client I've ever been genuinely excited to see.

I walk into Sandersville Hardware and wave to Louis, the owner, who's sitting behind the counter with his nose in the local paper. I pick up everything I need for the repair, including several cards of white paint chips. This job should be fairly straightforward as long as I stay focused on the work, not my beautiful assistant.

"Since when do you work on Saturdays?"

I turn as Dean Owens claps me on the shoulder. He's another local electrician who apprenticed with his father. These days he does a lot of work for Marty McGee, the busiest contractor in town.

Without telling my dad, I've quietly helped Dean out on several big jobs when he needed an extra pair of hands. Marty agreed to keep it on the down-low, understanding that my father doesn't need to know when or where I pick up extra work.

"It's a special job. I'm going to get the entire thing done by Sunday afternoon." I describe it briefly without mentioning names, as Dean smirks.

"Ah, so it's personal. Okay, keep your secrets. I'll get it out of you at the pub on Thursday."

"Maybe…if you're buying."

I bring my cart to the counter, and Dean leans over to scan his seventy cent pack of screws so that it'll be on my bill. He elbows me in the ribs and takes off, while Louis laughs loudly. "Such a rascal, that one."

As I head to Electra's house, I try not to think about how sexy she looked yesterday with that ice cube on her lower lip. My only focus should be to find evidence of this spark I feel between us before making a total ass of myself.

Oh yeah, and the job itself. That'd help.

Electra flings open the door before I can even knock. "Perfect timing! The coffee just finished. How do you like it?"

It's an effort to keep my eyes from bugging out cartoon-style. She's wearing her hair half up in a wine colored fluffy hair tie, which brings even more focus to those huge, gorgeous eyes. She's wearing a bit of eye makeup today, too. Is that a good sign?

"Black is fine, but a splash of milk is even better."

Dahhmn . How am I supposed to focus on work when she's sashaying down the hall in faded, paint-splattered jeans that stretch across that perfect peach of an ass? Her soft gray oversized t-shirt is also covered in black and blue paint stains, I notice.

We pause in the kitchen, and she pours my coffee into a massive Las Vegas mug. "Thanks. Do you paint often?" I ask.

She grins. "Used to. For a while I wanted to be a full time artist."

"Cool. Have you shown your work anywhere?"

"I've always just given paintings away. Two years ago I did a series of animal paintings for the children's wing of the hospital, and some abstracts for a yoga studio. I did get paid for a series for a café that Dad's friend owns." She grins. "Well, my payment was free coffee for a year. But honestly, it's the process I love, not sharing the finished product with the world."

Nodding slowly, I'm hypnotized by the light in her eyes. "I can understand how you might not want fame."

As she nods, a tendril of hair drifts near her cheekbone. If I weren't holding a mug and a toolbox, I'd have to touch her.

"It's more than that," she says softly, leading us through to the studio. "I don't want anyone judging my work. Ever." Her tone suggests it's a sensitive topic.

We enter the studio and turn on the lights, and I see that she's pushed a few of the amplifiers aside, and wrapped everything in plastic sheeting.

"Fantastic. You've already started the housekeeping portion of our program." I sip the hot brew before setting it down. "This coffee is amazing, by the way."

She grins as I get my tools organized. "Many people use cinnamon and nutmeg, but they use too much and turn it into flavored coffee. I prefer to use just enough to bring out the… Is coffeeosity a word?"

"It is now." Smiling at Electra makes my heart sing. I run out for another box of supplies, then check to make sure there's not a hint of damp left in the drywall. When I hand her the flashlight, she's close enough that I can feel her warmth.

I've never seen a woman who was so effortlessly sexy. She's also a great assistant. Wherever I point, she locks the flashlight beam in place and doesn't move it one bit.

While I'm up on a stepladder to seal the leaks in the ceiling above, I take a good look around the studio. It's definitely lived in. The kind of place people would comfortably hang out for weeks at a time while working. "I guess the lights are all on dimmers here to give it kind of a living room vibe?"

Electra rolls her eyes. "Yeah. Plus they don't want any concept of day or night while they're in the zone. "

I chuckle. "Can I ask about the names CC and Ryl?"

She snickers, grinning up at me. "I guess Carol and Darryl didn't sound very Nashville."

"Ugh. And rhyming names. Yeah, that's almost as bad as Ray and Trey." I raise an eyebrow. "So, how do you really feel about your parents?"

Her sparkling laugh rings out around us. " They think they're great musicians and amazing parents. Me, I give them an B+ and a C+, respectively."

"Their music isn't to your taste?"

She hesitates, clearly wanting to be diplomatic. "I'll admit, it's well done. It fits perfectly with all of the commercials and movies it's ended up in. It's just not really my style."

"Fair." I cap the caulk and climb down as she snaps off the flashlight. "It's not my business, but why were you working here in the studio at all? Shouldn't you be…what's the opposite of a musician? An accountant or lawyer or something?"

I double check that the current is off before starting to replace the wiring. Electra turns the flashlight back on, knowing instinctively where I need the beam trained. Her little black sneakers shuffle slightly as she hesitates.

"Never mind – sorry I asked," I say quickly. "It's none of my business."

"No, I want to tell you." I look up and catch her beautiful shy smile. "It's just… I haven't told anyone else. Not my coworkers, not my friends. Like, nobody."

"We just met, but I swear I'll keep your secret."

"I can already tell you will." She steps closer, biting her perfect bottom lip for a second. "I'm making a five-song demo."

"Wow." I snap a connector in place, then glance over at her sweet, hopeful face. Having Electra this close to me makes my entire body thrum. "The record companies are going to snap that up in a second."

"No!" It's the first time the flashlight beam has wavered. "It's not for them."

"Oh – you're going to release it independently? Just put it up online?"

"Not even." Her head shakes. "Just for me. I've written dozens of songs over the years, but these five are the ones that have always struck me the hardest. I need to get them down correctly."

She's so earnest. That hits me as much as her beauty. And this closeness is driving me wild. Every single detail about this gorgeous girl makes me need to reach out and hold her.

"I get it." Dropping to one knee, I begin attaching new wires to the outlet. "You've been surrounded by musicians your whole life, analyzing each other's work and picking things apart. Me, I have an entire town full of people expecting me to be exactly like my father. So I can imagine that everyone would compare your songs to your parents' work. Compare your voice to your mom's. Compare your guitar style to your dad's."

She sighs with relief. "You understand."

I look up at her again. "I think so. Assuming you even play guitar. For all I know, it's flute and accordion music. Or maybe the triangle?"

Her giggle rings out like a bell. "It's kind of mellow rock 'n' roll, with grungy, processed guitars, ambient background keyboards, and… Well, I was hoping for crystal clear vocals."

The outlet snaps into place, and I go to the panel to click the breaker back on. The meter confirms that the wiring works; the current and ground are perfect. I set the tool down and turn to her. "And since they're gone this weekend, this was your chance to be here in the studio alone, and to do everything your way."

"Exactly."

My hand reaches out of its own accord, and my fingertips drag along the back of her palm. "I'm sorry that Murphy's Law kicked in and ruined your plans."

Her bottom lip trembles. Am I making her nervous? I step back and remove my hand. "Sorry," I murmur.

Her tongue dashes across her bottom lip, and her luscious mouth stretches into a smile. "It's okay," she breathes.

I wipe my hands on my jeans. "Hey, how's your lip?"

Her chin tips up as her mouth falls slightly open. "You tell me."

I'm not imagining it. She's asking for a kiss. My heart pounds as she stares at me expectantly. Stepping closer, I keep my movements very slow as one hand circles her hip, the other cupping her face as I run my thumb gently across her lower lip.

"I don't think it's swollen. But then, I didn't see you before it happened." Her long lashes move slowly as she blinks, her breath unsteady as she moves her mouth slightly toward mine. "The only way to know for sure, is…"

Electra stretches up the last quarter inch to press her mouth to mine.

It's not an electrical shock, rather a series of slow, gradual explosions flooding my bloodstream and setting my nerves on fire. I pull her body to mine, clasping her firmly against me as the kiss deepens. She kisses me back with just as much passion, as her fingers caress the close-cropped hair at the back of my neck.

This is it. This is the connection I've been looking for my entire life.

Grounded so deeply that the current flows right through me.