Free Pushing Limits by Kali Cross

and they seep over the beans and
sauce, a heady mix of yellow, red, and brown.  The cheese is melted to a
nice gooey consistency.    
    Cutting the first bite is crucial.  All elements must be on the fork
to ensure the perfect bite.  I load egg, tortilla, refried beans, and
cheese onto my fork, drag it through the enchilada sauce, and place my lips
around the morsel.  Sliding the fork out leisurely, the flavors assault my
taste buds.
    A soft gasp comes from beside me, forcing my eyes open.   Shit ! 
His eyes are bemused, but his mouth is twisted into a wolfish grin.
    “What?  I like food.  Give me a break, I’m hungover.”
    Tommy chuckles and says, “Apparently on an orgasmic level, it
seems.  Please, don’t let me stop you.  Eat more. 
It’s…umm…enticing.”  He nudges me, leering at me, and laughing.  He
says, “Wow, is it hot in here?”  Flapping the neck of his shirt open and
closed repeatedly.
    I smile and study my food, grumbling, “For your information, a plate of huevos rancheros is the perfect hangover remedy.”
    “That it is,” he agrees.  “Why are you hungover?  Did y’all hit
a club last night?”
    “No, Sally moved in last night.  She brought a bottle of Patron to
christen the room.   We didn’t even start drinking until one.”
    “Did y’all get rowdy?”  His sapphire eyes alight with mischief.
    “Not really,” I say with a sneer.  “Woke the neighbors,” shrugging
my shoulders.  “So, tell me more about you.  You’re a musician – how
many years have you been playing?”  I take a bite, hoping he will talk for
a bit, so I can finish my meal.
    “I’ve been playing for about fifteen years.  I do demos in Nashville
to try out new songs for more established singers to listen to.  That’s
really what I like.  I write some, but wish I wrote more.  It’s
harder than I thought.  Everything with music has always come easily for
me.  But writing?  I am leaving Suckville on that one…but I’m just
now pulling into Mediocre Town.  I keep pluggin’ along.  I play
around Nashville, but I prefer studio work.  I can do the spotlight, but
I’m not sure I have what it takes.  I love music, and whether I end up in
front of a mic or behind a sound board, I’m glad I
can scrape out a livin’.”
    “If you’re doing demo work, you must be good.”
    “I’m good at a lot of things.”  He locks eyes with me, letting his
words hang in the air with a devilish grin.  “But…I enjoy interpreting a
song and putting my own spin on it.  It’s cool when someone like Tim
McGraw uses your interpretation when they record the song.”
    “How many years have you been in Nashville?”
    “Oh, about three years.  I graduated, packed up my truck, hitched up
my bike, and drove straight there.”
    “You mentioned riding on the way in from the airport.  What do you
ride?”  I ask.
    “Harley…of course.  I ride a Switchback.  She’s right
outside.  How about you?  What do you like to ride?”  His eyes
get that mischievous look again. 
    Oh, he’s asking what I like to ride.   Well,
smartass, two can play that game.
    “Harley.”  I grin.  “Sportster Low.”  Lowering my voice, I
lean in closer, staring into his eyes hard, licking my lips lightly .  “It
has a wonderful vibration to it.  Horsepower is tight.  I feel it
every time I ride.  There’s nothing like a good, long ride on a powerful
machine, ya know?” 
    His eyes dart from my eyes to my lips and back again.  Ca-ching!  
I hear his breath hitch.  Soft, just a hint.  How do ya like me
now, sucker?
    “Wanna take a ride after we finish eating?” he asks. 
    Shit, he’s upping the ante.  Put up or shut up. 
    Staring into his face, my whole body tingles.  Shit, I can’t do
this .  I’m just me…I’m not Sally…shit.  I’m tempted to see
where this goes.  Sally was right about it having been a while.  But,
crap…I don’t want to look like a total dork.  Or worse,