Wicked White
Page 23
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I didn’t know it at the time, but my real mother leaving me in that room was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. Sure, it was rough bouncing from home to home until Sarah took me in, but at least I got fed and finally got the chance to go to school.
My fingers pluck at the strings as I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to drift, and I’ll be damned if the very first thing that pops into my head isn’t a vision of Iris. Her soft, smooth skin and flowing, thick brown hair only heighten her exquisite face. The green of her eyes and the natural pink pout of her plump lips draw me in every time, along with her long, toned legs. That body of hers is simply banging, and I’d give anything to be able to touch her the way I want.
She’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about finding in my perfect woman, because coupled with her unbelievable beauty, she actually acts like she gives a shit about me—not my stardom¸ but about me as a person.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to whisk her into my world anyway.
Just as I begin to hum a melody that’s flowing through my brain as I’m picturing Iris, I hear the unmistakable crank of an engine that’s struggling to turn over. The racket is coming from outside, next to my trailer, which strikes me as odd because I didn’t think Iris owned a vehicle that actually ran. Every time I’ve ever seen her leave, Birdie has been driving them somewhere in her little white Corolla.
Curiosity wins out and I set my guitar down and push up off the couch. Through the small window over the kitchen sink I spot Iris’s sexy little ass as she leans over, checking the engine under the hood of what looks like a late-nineties Cavalier.
Without hesitation I take my opportunity to rescue her yet again in my lame-ass attempt to apologize for being a major asshole the last time we spoke. I’ve wanted to apologize but haven’t been able to work up an excuse to talk to her again.
I have to stop turning into a complete fucking nutcase every time the girl starts asking questions. If I were her, I’d be curious as hell about me too. After all, I did come into this small little town, where everyone seems to know everyone, as a complete stranger. I guess I’m lucky that no one other than Iris has taken an interest in getting to know me better.
The gravel crunches under the soles of my black boots as I approach her. “You need a hand?”
She turns toward me. While I expect her to point a nasty scowl that I rightly deserve in my direction, I’m surprised by a sweet smile instead. “Do you know anything about cars?”
The tension I’m carrying in my shoulders releases and they instantly relax as I take another few steps to stand beside her in front of the car. “I do. For instance, to me it sounds like you’ve got a dead battery.”
Iris rests her hip against the car as she stares up at me. “You could tell that from just listening to me try and start it?”
I smile at her and hold back a chuckle. Her lackluster knowledge of engines apparently extends to cars as well. “I could.” I glance over at my bike and then flick my gaze back to Iris’s face. “Do you have any jumper cables?”
She frowns. “I’m not sure. If Gran had any, they would be in the shed.”
Iris pulls a set of keys from her pocket and singles out one from the ring before handing it to me.
I nod and then turn and head to the small ten-by-ten blue-and-white tin shed. The door creaks on its hinges as I pull it open. As soon as my eyes adjust to the dim light, I’m shocked by what I see.
It’s not cluttered in here like I expected a shed would be. Walking in, I imagined random junk would be piled from floor to ceiling, but only the back wall has shelves, lined with boxes of items that are clearly labeled. The rest of the shed is lined with thick blankets, while a microphone rests on a stand in the middle of the small space. A karaoke machine sits on a small, wooden table.
I walk over and pick through the stack of CDs piled next to the machine, each containing music from Broadway musicals. I smile, loving the idea that Iris is into a more classic sound that focuses on the voice of the song.
“Did you find any cables?” Iris calls from the doorway.
I turn to look at her and find an odd expression on her face when she notices I’m going through her things, so I decide to just ask about what I’ve found. “You sing?”
She hesitates for a long moment and then nods. “Yes, but as you can tell, I only really sing one sort of thing.”
I hold up the soundtrack of Wicked, and she smiles as she approaches me. “That’s one of my favorites.”
The curiosity of what her angel’s voice would sound like singing flows through me, and I ask, “Would you sing for me?”
She bites her lip and the shy expression on her face causes my heart to race. Every time I think she can’t possibly be any more attractive to me, she finds a new way to surprise and excite me, making her even more beautiful. “Okay.”
She flips a couple switches, and red lights on the machine turn to green as a tiny screen lights up. “This little machine doesn’t have the best sound, but it works. Gran got this for my seventeenth birthday—back when I decided being on Broadway was what I wanted to do after I graduated from high school.”
“What happened with that dream?” I ask, trying to figure her out. “Did you ever give it a shot?”
She slides the CD into the slot and then works on selecting a track. “I did, or, well, still am, rather. I moved to New York a year ago after working for two years to save up some money, but came back here when Gran passed to get things in order.”
My fingers pluck at the strings as I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to drift, and I’ll be damned if the very first thing that pops into my head isn’t a vision of Iris. Her soft, smooth skin and flowing, thick brown hair only heighten her exquisite face. The green of her eyes and the natural pink pout of her plump lips draw me in every time, along with her long, toned legs. That body of hers is simply banging, and I’d give anything to be able to touch her the way I want.
She’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about finding in my perfect woman, because coupled with her unbelievable beauty, she actually acts like she gives a shit about me—not my stardom¸ but about me as a person.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to whisk her into my world anyway.
Just as I begin to hum a melody that’s flowing through my brain as I’m picturing Iris, I hear the unmistakable crank of an engine that’s struggling to turn over. The racket is coming from outside, next to my trailer, which strikes me as odd because I didn’t think Iris owned a vehicle that actually ran. Every time I’ve ever seen her leave, Birdie has been driving them somewhere in her little white Corolla.
Curiosity wins out and I set my guitar down and push up off the couch. Through the small window over the kitchen sink I spot Iris’s sexy little ass as she leans over, checking the engine under the hood of what looks like a late-nineties Cavalier.
Without hesitation I take my opportunity to rescue her yet again in my lame-ass attempt to apologize for being a major asshole the last time we spoke. I’ve wanted to apologize but haven’t been able to work up an excuse to talk to her again.
I have to stop turning into a complete fucking nutcase every time the girl starts asking questions. If I were her, I’d be curious as hell about me too. After all, I did come into this small little town, where everyone seems to know everyone, as a complete stranger. I guess I’m lucky that no one other than Iris has taken an interest in getting to know me better.
The gravel crunches under the soles of my black boots as I approach her. “You need a hand?”
She turns toward me. While I expect her to point a nasty scowl that I rightly deserve in my direction, I’m surprised by a sweet smile instead. “Do you know anything about cars?”
The tension I’m carrying in my shoulders releases and they instantly relax as I take another few steps to stand beside her in front of the car. “I do. For instance, to me it sounds like you’ve got a dead battery.”
Iris rests her hip against the car as she stares up at me. “You could tell that from just listening to me try and start it?”
I smile at her and hold back a chuckle. Her lackluster knowledge of engines apparently extends to cars as well. “I could.” I glance over at my bike and then flick my gaze back to Iris’s face. “Do you have any jumper cables?”
She frowns. “I’m not sure. If Gran had any, they would be in the shed.”
Iris pulls a set of keys from her pocket and singles out one from the ring before handing it to me.
I nod and then turn and head to the small ten-by-ten blue-and-white tin shed. The door creaks on its hinges as I pull it open. As soon as my eyes adjust to the dim light, I’m shocked by what I see.
It’s not cluttered in here like I expected a shed would be. Walking in, I imagined random junk would be piled from floor to ceiling, but only the back wall has shelves, lined with boxes of items that are clearly labeled. The rest of the shed is lined with thick blankets, while a microphone rests on a stand in the middle of the small space. A karaoke machine sits on a small, wooden table.
I walk over and pick through the stack of CDs piled next to the machine, each containing music from Broadway musicals. I smile, loving the idea that Iris is into a more classic sound that focuses on the voice of the song.
“Did you find any cables?” Iris calls from the doorway.
I turn to look at her and find an odd expression on her face when she notices I’m going through her things, so I decide to just ask about what I’ve found. “You sing?”
She hesitates for a long moment and then nods. “Yes, but as you can tell, I only really sing one sort of thing.”
I hold up the soundtrack of Wicked, and she smiles as she approaches me. “That’s one of my favorites.”
The curiosity of what her angel’s voice would sound like singing flows through me, and I ask, “Would you sing for me?”
She bites her lip and the shy expression on her face causes my heart to race. Every time I think she can’t possibly be any more attractive to me, she finds a new way to surprise and excite me, making her even more beautiful. “Okay.”
She flips a couple switches, and red lights on the machine turn to green as a tiny screen lights up. “This little machine doesn’t have the best sound, but it works. Gran got this for my seventeenth birthday—back when I decided being on Broadway was what I wanted to do after I graduated from high school.”
“What happened with that dream?” I ask, trying to figure her out. “Did you ever give it a shot?”
She slides the CD into the slot and then works on selecting a track. “I did, or, well, still am, rather. I moved to New York a year ago after working for two years to save up some money, but came back here when Gran passed to get things in order.”
