I stood for a moment, taking her in. Although she wasn’t dressed any better—and her hair was a freakin’ mess—she was beautiful in her creative process. She seemed to shine, as though something was lit within her—likely the fire I didn’t have anymore. I wondered if I’d be able to rekindle the flame if I watched her long enough.
Doubtful, I decided. It wasn’t that easy.
Since she didn’t want to be bothered—and I was loath to pull her out of her work anyway—I left the bag of food in the kitchen and went upstairs for a quick shower. When I came down topless—since I refused to admit I’d made up the need to air-dry my chest hair to annoy and fluster her on the first day—she was still hunched in the same position, her fingers moving methodically.
“No, you can’t do that,” she said suddenly.
Huh? What did I do?
“What are you talking about? How could you think I did that?” she said. “You knew…”
I crossed my arms and watched, finally understanding. Maybe her hero didn’t perform well enough. The heroine didn’t lose count of the number of orgasms.
“Oh, shut up, Molly. You knew this was coming.”
I leaned my shoulder against the wall and watched Emily. She was cute when she got emotional over her characters and started talking like they were real people.
“Yeah, yeah, bite me. Write your own book, Ryan.” Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. “Ah-ha! I knew it!” Fist pumping in the air, she jumped around in a circle like she’d just won history’s biggest jackpot.
My lips twitched with amusement. She must’ve had a breakthrough.
She stopped abruptly and blinked at me. “You.” The word vibrated with shock and embarrassment.
“Yep.” I smiled, my amusement intensifying at the flush coloring her pretty face. “Me.”
“How long have you been there?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Five minutes?”
Her cheeks turned pinker. “You should’ve said something.”
“Why? It was great watching you. Besides, you told me to be quiet.”
“I did not.”
“The note outside…?”
“I meant for you not to interrupt my flow. I didn’t mean to spy on me.”
“Spy on you?” I laughed. “To what end? You were on your computer the whole time.”
“I know.” Her lips pursed. “Did you, um, notice anything else?”
“You mean like you muttering to yourself?”
She rolled her eyes, but from the way she fidgeted, she was slightly embarrassed. “Don’t act like it’s weird. It helps me think.”
“You think with your mouth?” I said, highly entertained. Being with her took my mind off the failed ice cream shopping and the fact that I couldn’t come up with anything for the band’s next album. She made me focus on the present.
“I think with my brain and mouth. You should try it. Might work better than doing it with your big head”—she pointed at my skull—“and the small one down there.” She gestured at my crotch. Then she frowned a little, like she was slightly annoyed.
Probably because she’d realized how wrong she was. I cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know it’s quite large.”
Her gaze stayed on my eyes. “Not as large as your brain.”
I pretended to consider, setting my features into an expression I’d seen on a neurologist in London who was studying my MRI. Emily kept staring at me like I was being nonsensical. Maybe she shouldn’t have said what she said about my dick. “Large enough, and it has never failed to rise to the occasion. Unlike my brain, which faltered a few times in trig class.”
That got a laugh. I smiled too. As I took her in, in her work environment with her laptop, I grew a little wistful about not being able to drum away. But since she’d gotten a ton of writing done, maybe she’d take mercy on me now. “But you know, I obviously don’t want to overwork my dick. So I usually think with my brain, and drumming really helps.”