Smitten

I lose it. Babble. Shriek. Thank him profusely. And hug Fish like he’s just pulled me out of a stormy sea.

Reed says, “As soon as Georgie and I are back from our vacation, we’ll gear up to release the single. I’m thinking we’ll release it three weeks after we get the final video. Right around the time of the release, I’ll fly you to LA for some promo and a meeting with my team and Zeke, so we can figure out the schedule and next steps for the album. Sound good?”

“Yes! Perfect!”

“I’ll have Owen contact Zeke to find out his availability while I’m out of the country with my fiancée. Zeke is in demand and hard to pin down, but we’ll get him.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep or eat until that meeting in LA!”

“No, no,” Reed says. “Put it out of your mind for now, if you can. It won’t be for several weeks. In the meantime, relax and enjoy the calm before the storm. Because once the single releases, it’s going to be a whirlwind for you. Judging by the way the world devoured Fish singing to you, everyone is going to lose their minds over that video.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“To be clear, though, even as you’re relaxing, if any new songs or melodies come to you, jot them down. Don’t feel like you have to start writing the album yet. After our meeting, I’ll assign a couple co-writers to the project, as necessary, if we’re in a time crunch.”

“Co-writers?”

“As necessary. Nothing wrong with that, as long as we always keep in mind the most important thing is preserving your authentic voice. Your personality.”

“Okay.” My gaze meets Fish’s blazing green eyes. “So, do you think I should maybe drop my summer class and move to LA now, or . . .?”

“No, no. Finish your class. I know how much you love it. Frankly, I think that particular class will serve you very well in your future career. Relax and enjoy your vacation with Fish. We’ll talk about next steps during our meeting in LA in three weeks to a month.”

“Okay,” I say, trying not to sound a bit disappointed. But I can’t deny I’m secretly bummed about this one tiny thing. Reed is right. I love my summer class. It’s the most enthralling class I’ve ever taken—and that’s saying a lot. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was hoping this turn of events would be my excuse to drop everything and follow Fish to LA in a week.

“Time to board our flight,” Reed says. “Have a great time this week, you two.”

Fish and I thank him. We wish Reed and Georgie safe travels and congratulations on their engagement. And when we hang up, I collapse into Fish’s waiting arms and break down into sobs against his chest.

Fish strokes my hair. “Are you laughing or crying?”

I nuzzle into him, trying to understand my strange reaction. “A bit of both, I think. I’m beyond elated—absolutely euphoric—but also overwhelmed. This is life changing. My body doesn’t know how to react.”

Fish lifts my tear-streaked face and smiles down at me. “Well, lucky for you, I know how to react.” He kisses me. “Come to bed, superstar. Let me make you feel good. And after that, we’ll get washed up, and celebrate this amazing news with ‘the world’s best vegan enchiladas.’”

Thirty-One

Alessandra

“Hmmm,” Fish says, twisting his mouth in concentration. He strums his acoustic guitar and looks up at the ceiling of our hotel room like he’s hoping to find some inspiration there. “Should we try an A-minor in the pre-chorus?” He plays his idea, and I express enthusiasm, before he launches into singing, “I’m so smitten with you. I’m in love, babe, delirious. Thanks to your sexy boobies, feet, and oh so sweet . . . clitoris.”

I burst out laughing. “Give that boy a Grammy!”

We’ve been writing this song all night. Half of the time contributing serious lyrics. The other half gems like that. Actually, we’ve been writing songs all week here in Boston. After getting back from whatever fun thing we did by day, we’ve come back to our hotel room in the evenings and had a blast, just Fish and me. A tribe of two.

Besides having plenty of sex in our room during our evenings together, we’ve also enjoyed jamming and writing, watching movies, and ordering tons of room service, too. As it turns out, we’re both total homebodies, even when we’re supposedly “on vacation” together—far happier hanging out in our little room, as a simple party of two, than going out on the town.

“I couldn’t possibly top an internal rhyme of ‘delirious’ and ‘clitoris,’” I say. “You win.”

“Aw, come on. Quitting is for losers.”

“I’m not quitting. Just saying you win.”

He scoffs. “Come on. Dig deep.”

I strum and think. “I’ve got it!” I strum with gusto and sing, “I’m so smitten with you. I’m in love, babe, delirious. Once a lioness, now a sex kitten—thanks to your talented fingers, tongue ’n’ dick ’n’ have I mentioned how much I love youuu? Your wit ’n’ charm and forearms, too? It’s true, I love you, babe, and, oh, how I love to blow youuuuu.”