Free Zipless by Diane Dooley Page B

earlier that she was welcome to crash at his place and stay in New York a little longer. He’d mentioned it oh-so casually, so she wouldn’t think he was asking her to move in or something. He’d told her he was sick of his suite at the Chelsea and had been thinking of buying a big old brownstone, then soundproofing one of the rooms so he could rehearse and write in it. He wondered if she’d help him out by maybe looking at places with him, perhaps, if she wasn’t too busy? She hadn’t said yes. She hadn’t said no. She’d just shrugged and smiled a mysterious smile.
    But as Chris listened to the words of her song, he knew what her answer was. She launched into the chorus, taking the crowd with her. Her voice full of longing and desire. “So tired of all the boys and immature men. Don’t want to be zipless ever again.”
    No one in the audience knew exactly what she meant. They knew she wanted something so badly it was making her voice soar in hope, was making her guitar ache and moan. But he knew what she was saying. He knew who she was saying it to. The label dude was shaking his shoulder, asking him to make sure he got to meet Lou after the show.
    But Chris barely heard him.
    All he could see was Lou. Up there on the stage, singing her hard little heart out at him. Wearing him across her chest.
    “Don’t wanna be zipless…” She played the final notes on her guitar, then went a cappella. “Ever…” She paused, letting the silence fill the studio. She ended it on a soft, sad whisper that could be heard in the farthest row. “Again.”
    Silence. He stared at Lou and she stared back. Then, as the applause exploded out of the audience and filled the space, he found himself walking towards her. His Maggie May. His Jolene. His Lou. His muse. His love.
    And then she was in his arms, kissing him—and the applause grew even louder.
    * * * *
    Lou leaned against the bedroom door and gazed around the suite. It was scattered with guitars, take-out containers, empty wine bottles, picks, condom wrappers, and a few more guitars. Zippy was sleeping. She smiled, remembering him last night, drunkenly playing his mirrored guitar, wearing his thong and jumping on the bed. She remembered how she’d confiscated the guitar, removed the thong with her teeth and shoved the lovely man down on the bed and thoroughly exhausted him.
    Five days since they’d last left the suite, four nights since her appearance on Music After Midnight, one day before she was meeting with the label to go over her recording contract. In that time, they’d written five songs and made hot, sticky, wonderful love more times than she could count. She’d never been so happy. Ever.
    Zippy slouched through the bedroom door and wandered into the kitchenette, naked. “Got a call. We’re being evicted, darlin’. Can’t say I blame them.” He glanced up at her as he bent and reached into the refrigerator, digging around until he found the carton of orange juice. “Wanna come look at a brownstone with me?”
    “I suppose I can help you out,” Lou replied, smiling. “Anything else you need?”
    He approached and tipped the carton up to her mouth, helping her take little sips. “Need to keep your strength up,” he muttered, his other hand encircling her waist. “Because, yes. There are other things I need.”
    She swallowed her juice. “And what might they be?”
    He kissed a dribble of juice off her chin. “Oh,” he said nonchalantly. “Just everything.”
    She sighed, then kissed him back. “Be more specific, please.”
    He nuzzled her neck. “Was planning on buying something pretty big.” He grinned lopsidedly. “Wouldn’t wanna get lonely.”
    Lou smiled inwardly. She was going to make him tell her exactly everything he wanted. She could guess it. And she knew what she would say. She giggled softly. “Yes, I’ll move in. What else do you want?” She heard him sigh happily.
    He looked at her, more seriously. “The music, Lou. We…fit.