Youssef
CADENZA: A point in a piece of music when an instrumentalist or singer has the opportunity to perform a solo with artistic license, often a display of skill
I getthe door of my condo open and step into the entryway, my backpack heavy with copies of the paperwork Jacob and I went over today. We’ve just got one more appointment with a lawyer tomorrow, and then I’ll be the co-owner of Schenkman Studios.
Jacob has already been complaining about how I’m destined to ruin things with my modern ideas, but I know him well enough to tell the difference between his pissed off complaining and his ‘I’m secretly very happy about this but don’t want to ruin my reputation as a hardass’ complaining.
I kick my shoes off and head into the kitchen. Sufjan meows and butts his head against my leg. I swing my backpack off and drop it on the island before giving him a scratch. I hum the latest track I’ve been mastering to myself as I grab his food bowl and get a fresh can of cat food out of the cupboard.
“You deserve a treat, Mr. Stevens,” I tell him as he claws at my jeans. “Even though you’re being an asshole right now. Today is a big day.”
It’s been three weeks since my trip to LA, and I play the final night of opening weekend at Luxe tonight. It’s my last show before the temporary hiatus I’ve announced. I know I’ll never be able to give up making my own tracks and playing for crowds; the thrill of creation and performance are too big a part of me. I need to share my music that way, but I’m happy to do it on a smaller scale, and for the time being, I’m putting all my focus into helping the studio reach its full potential.
“But tonight, we shall party,” I tell Sufjan as I set the bowl down and watch him start devouring his food.
“Okay, seriously? How have you not noticed me yet?”
I jump and make a sound somewhere between a screech and a yelp when I hear the voice from behind me. I whip around to face the rest of the apartment and find Paige stretched out on my couch.
Wearing a pair of black boy shorts.
And nothing else.
While she holds a bottle of champagne.
“Oh holy fuck.”
“I think you mentioned something about partying?” She lifts up the bottle. “Before you made that...noise. Could you do that again for me, actually? I want to record it.”
“Very funny,” I mutter as I stalk toward her.
It’s hard to focus on anything she’s saying when she looks likethat. The afternoon sun is streaming through the window and lighting up her skin like she’s a goddess blessing the earth with her presence. Every curve of her body is absolute perfection.
Her dark hair hangs loose around her shoulders, and it’s got that wavy look to it she’s been doing a lot lately. The brown streaks she got before Aaliyah’s wedding have been touched up, which adds to the sexy, tousled look. She’s been dressing different lately too, more drapey t-shirts and leather jackets instead of her constant hoodies—although she still only dresses in shades of black and grey.
I was a fan of the hoodies and sweatshirts; I’d be a fan of her in anything, but lately, she just looks so powerful—like she’s staring the world straight in the face instead of hiding herself away.
It’s hot as fuck.
However, what she has on at the moment might be my favourite look of all.
I reach the edge of the couch and run my hand down her shin. She shivers when I start massaging her ankle. I need something to keep me busy for a minute here, or I’m going to be ripping those boy shorts off with my teeth and climbing on top of her.
“Giving you a key to my apartment was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.”
She smirks. “And you said it was so I could feed Sufjan when you work late.”
“Or this.” I lower myself to my knees beside the couch and trail my knuckles all the way up her leg to her hip, where I start tracing the band of her underwear. “This works too. You should do this every day.”
She’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the way her thighs are twitching for me.
“If I did it every day, it wouldn’t be special, and today is supposed to be special.”
“Mmm.” I lay my palm on her stomach. “Remind me why again? I’m having trouble remembering anything at the moment.”
“Because...” Her voice gets more and more breathless as I start to trace a line under her breasts. “You play Luxe, and I play, you know, the pavilion outside Luxe—”
“Paige.” I go still and cut her off when I hear the self-deprecation in her tone. “You’re playing a huge gig tonight, and tomorrow you leave to do a two week residency at one of the biggest clubs in New York fucking City. I can’t believe I get to date you.”
