Sweet Little Thing(3)

I continued playing.

“Is this going to be a ballad?” she asked.

Without taking my eyes off of dipshit, I said, “No, baby, this is what’s called a funeral march.”

Chad threw his arms up and said, “I get it. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Mia asked.

“Nothing!” Chad and I both shouted.

“Let’s move on,” I said, arching one eyebrow at him.

Chad kept his eyes trained on either the ground or me through the rest of the session. He never once looked back at Mia. We managed to get down rough versions of four songs. There was one gorgeous ballad that Mia composed on the piano that had Chad’s manager doing backflips. It was heartbreaking to think such a beautiful song, written with passion and depth by a beautiful person, was going to be performed by some dweeby kid, but that’s the other side of the coin, I guess.

Mia and I had made a decision that this was what we wanted. I’d passed on my opportunity for commercial success as a recording artist. It had been one of the toughest decisions of my life. Mia had never strived for that sort of fame; she knew it came with a price. Instead, we’d found a way to still make music but maintain normalcy. The only thing that sucked was that we had to give our songs to other people, people like Chad.





Later that night, back in our apartment, Mia came skipping into our bedroom. “All right, I’ve got an idea. I think we should have everyone meet us on the Fulton Ferry Landing at one o’clock. We’ll write super simple vows. Tyler can say whatever garbage he needs to say, then we’ll kiss and be married and everyone will be happy.”

Sitting against the wooden headboard, I propped my hands behind my head. “Gosh, that is so romantic, Mia.”

“What?” she whined.

“You know there are at least five weddings happening on the Fulton Ferry Landing every Saturday?”

“The more the merrier!” she said with a cheesy grin.

“You know what, I take it back. You’re right. We don’t have to have a wedding. Christ, do you know how much it would cost to feed every member of my family? Whoever wants to come, can come out. We’ll do the vows like you said, at the ferry landing, take some pictures, go to dinner, and then catch the first flight out of here and go to the Bahamas and blow our money there.”

“That’s a perfect idea.”

“Okay, you deal with your mom, Martha, and Sheil, and I’ll deal with Jenny and Tyler. Jenny’s going to be pissed; she was looking into permits to have a fireworks show.”

We both laughed.

Mia said, “It’s funny how Jenny didn’t want a big wedding but thinks everyone else should have one. Oh, I wanted to ask you. What kind of ring do you think you would like?”

I hadn’t thought once about my wedding ring. “Should we get tats?”

“You want me to get a tattoo?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Okay.” She flashed me a small, tight smile and then began gnawing on her nails.

“Are you scared of the needle?”

“No.” She watched me as I processed her reaction.

“Do you like my tattoos?”

“Yeah, I love them,” she said passionately, and then it hit me.

“Oh, baby, I love your skin too. I love that virgin skin, and I’m not letting anyone ink it.”

“Okay, thanks.” She chewed off a hefty piece of her thumbnail. Mia hated her hands and nails. Because she played the piano with so much fervor and for many years, her hands were bulky compared to the rest of her petite features. She would gnaw on her nails because she hated the way they looked, and I think it calmed her nerves too.

“Jesus, lady, go easy. Your thumb is bleeding.” She looked down at it and shrugged. “By the way, I have a bone to pick with you.” I said.

“I despise that saying on so many levels.”

“Why?”

“Think about it. Picking bones, that’s disgusting.” She said, scrunching her nose up.

“I could make that argument about chewing on your thumbs, but I’ll let it go. I have a complaint.”

She climbed up next to me and cuddled her face up to my bare chest, then she used her index finger to trace a line down my happy trail to the belt on my jeans.

“What sort of complaint, Wilbur?” Ah, Mia’s sexy voice.

I reached down and ran my hand up her thigh. “You should not wear these pants around that horny little High School Musical kid.”

She popped up and looked me straight in the face. “He totally looks like Zac Efron, huh?”

“Mia, he practically shot off a load just staring at your ass.”

She punched me in the chest. “That is vulgar, Will Ryan.”

“It’s true. You can’t dress like that around him.” I tackled her back down on the bed and hovered over her.

“I thought you liked these pants.”

“I do.” I began kissing my way down her body. I lifted her shirt and kissed the swell of each breast before moving down the center of her body. “But you know what I like better than you in these pants?”

“Me out of these pants?”

“Am I that predictable?” I said as I quickly peeled them off her body.