Chapter 5

5

ELECTRA

I n all my years of singing, I've never perfected a throaty, breathy sound like this.

My moan makes Trey smile, as his huge, strong hands keep my body tightly against his. Wow, can this man kiss. Our mouths mold together as we breathe each other in, lost in each other, every subtle movement slow and dreamy.

Clutching the back of his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other, I can feel how solidly this man is built. Nothing like the skinny guitarists or slouchy intellectuals that my parents have pushed on me when they invite their friends' sons to visit occasionally. They're not the slightest bit subtle about it – they want me to end up with an artsy type.

I didn't know my type until now. It's Trey. Solid. Capable and strong.

There's a slight growl in his throat as he kisses me even harder, then gently pushes me away. "I don't want to stop," he pants. "But I did promise to get the studio done. Which means patching the wall right away so the first coat of plaster has time to dry."

I stick my bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, and he kisses it again. "You're incredible, gorgeous. But you're going to have to let the workman do his work."

" Fine ." He laughs at my bratty eye roll.

My heart flutters every time he smiles. His large hands are so efficient, and it's fascinating to watch him as he works at his craft. Especially when I wonder if those incredible hands might be working on me later.

He traces a template of the square he cut out of the wall, then goes outside to cut a piece of drywall to fit. Luckily, it's right over a stud… tee hee, stud …so he can easily screw it in place.

He hands me an empty large yogurt tub. "Can you fill this with very cold water, please?"

"Sure." By the time I come back, he's ready to mix the compound. "It's just like icing a cake!" I laugh, watching him work the putty knife swiftly around the edges of the hole.

"Well, I haven't tried making fancy roses yet. Maybe next time." He fills in all of the edges, then scrapes them as flat as possible. Then he smudges over the nail holes. The repair is obvious, but at least the wall is repaired.

"So after that dries, we paint?"

"Not quite. I'm doing really thin coats so it'll dry faster overall. Since people apparently bash into this wall a lot, it's going to need two coats, then sanding, then painting."

He pulls out a bunch of paint chips. "We're going to need your flashlight again to match this tint. Since the wall hanging takes up a lot of the space, and the lights are usually dim, there's a chance they won't even notice that this wall has been painted."

We compare the chips to the existing wall using the overhead light, the light from his phone, and the light from the flashlight. Luckily, one of the chips is extremely close.

"Now what?" I ask.

Trey sets the fan to blow gently on the patch. "We have several hours. May I take you out to lunch?" His smile is unbelievably sexy. "As a general rule, we're supposed to keep the client entertained and fed."

"Really? I didn't know that electricians provided that service."

"Well, it's a rule I made up just now."

"And you're just allowed to make up rules because…?"

Trey wags a finger at me. "Because I am currently the man of this house, and what I say…" He can't finish before sputtering out a laugh. "Sorry, that was awful."

I try to glare, but fail miserably. "It was. But lunch is a good idea, so I'll forgive you."

We wash up in the kitchen, then head out to the van. He takes my hand to help me up. "Sorry it's so messy."

I look around. It's certainly not dirty, just…lived in. Filled with tools, paperwork, and a beaten-up laptop.

He jumps in and starts down the driveway. "I like that your van is real. Authentic." For some reason I'm able to explain things to Trey that I've never really put into words for anyone else. "I come from a world where so much is artificial, you know? Things said for the cameras, for the media's benefit. Your life isn't like that."

He shoots me a sideways look as he heads toward downtown Sandersville. "If that's your way of saying you don't mind the dusty floor and empty coffee cups, amazing."

"Is that how your eyes became such a rich brown? Drinking so much coffee?"

He winks. "You took a good look at my eyes. Nyah, nyah, you like me."

"I never said anything of the kind," I huff haughtily, turning my head to look out the window. I manage to go almost three seconds before giggling.

"What are you hungry for? Greek, Italian, Chinese, good old burgers…" He trails off. "Miscellaneous?"

It suddenly hits me: I've never been seen in town with a guy before. Almost everyone knows who my parents are, of course, and have seen me with them. Thing is, even if she's just picking up groceries, Mom has a way of drawing everyone's attention with her overly loud voice. I've never seen anyone so desperate to make every person within half a mile notice her every move. Honestly? It's one reason I don't go out much.

"You're quiet," Trey says softly. "Are you considering this important lunch decision, or is something wrong?"

It's better to be truthful. "I just don't want to be seen downtown. Is that okay?"

He pauses at a stop sign, and examines my eyes. "I think I hear what you're not saying. Which is that you don't want to be seen with me."

" No . It's just?—"

He reaches out to squeeze my knee. "Electra. I get it. You lead a very examined life, not by your choice. If you don't want to explain yourself to strangers who might have questions about why you're having lunch with the local electrician who can't keep his eyes off you, I completely understand."

"Thank you. I'm glad you're not offended."

"Not at all. I noticed a nice back patio through your kitchen window. Takeout burritos and a picnic?"

"Perfect."

He stops by the hardware store to pick up the paint we selected, then hums to himself as we head to the burrito place. I love how he's infinitely careful taking my order so I can wait in the van. He also ends up getting apple cinnamon churros for dessert. Yep. I like this guy.

When we get back to my house, I fling a flowered plastic cloth over the picnic table, and grab some bright green napkins.

"And just like that, it's a party," he chuckles as we dig into our food.

Trey is so charming that it's defusing my usual nerves around guys. Maybe it's that he's older, and more confident. Or maybe it's that he is so open, and really listens to me.

We chat for a long time about music without once mentioning my parents, which I appreciate. It's great that we both enjoy a huge variety of genres. And I love that we both listen to different music for different activities. Ambient for reading. Dance music for housework.

"What about when you're driving?" I ask, folding up the empty burrito wrapper.

"Is it cliché if I say classic rock?"

"Well, yes. But it's also fabulous driving music."

"Just not on the highway when you're in a hurry. That's how you get a speeding ticket."

"True."

He rolls up his empty wrapper as well, and we start in on the churros. "So, you've been a painter. You're a secret musician. What other creative things do you do?"

"Well, I'm currently a part-time line cook at the Willow Hotel. I get to be creative when I'm plating things."

"Food as art. I like it."

"What about you?" I ask. "Is being an electrician your lifelong dream?"

He nods, staring into space as he ponders for a moment. "I enjoy it. And creatively, I've dabbled in metal sculpture, and play a little guitar."

My eyes fly wide open. "Really?"

He holds up his hands. "Nothing impressive. We're talking a handful of chords, and some classic country tunes suitable for campfire audiences at most."

"Still, it's always nice to have something other than your main job."

"Yeah. At first I thought I was sort of being forced into being an electrician. Turns out I love it, so why fight your basic nature?"

"I guess so."

There's a glimmer in his eye as he squeezes my hand. "Like you with your music that you don't want anyone to know about. It only makes sense: you've been exposed to music, songwriting, inspiration, and the entire recording process since you were a baby."

"That doesn't mean my stuff's any good." A hollowness fills my chest. "It doesn't mean that it has any significance at all."

"Hey now." His thick fingers thread through mine. "If it's something that you've created from your heart, it has incredible significance. Even if nobody ever hears it other than the house plants." His warm smile is making me melt again.

"Electra, you've written something that moves you. Plus, you didn't just scribble down a vague idea. You've written and recorded the songs. You've put together a small collection. That's amazing. Do you know how many people think about doing that and then never follow through?"

Holy geez. This sexy man is like a one-man cheering squad for my self-esteem. "I'm glad that you're so, um, enthusiastic."

His eyes light up. "Of course I am. Maybe if I do a really good job, you'll let me hear even…" He holds his fingers an inch apart. " This much of a song. I'm curious to hear your singing voice, since your speaking voice is so airy and soft."

Wow. Just a few days ago, I was taking every precaution to make sure that no other person would ever, ever hear my songs.

Trey has chopped through my walls just like the drywall. Run new lines of thought like he redid the wiring.

And making my feelings for him surge every single time he flashes that megawatt smile in my direction.