Thomas & January (Sleepless 2)

“I doubt it,” I smirked as we came to a still before the empty revolving carousel. “We were called The Ivories.”

Her mouth dropped open and she blinked lazily.

“What?” I asked.

“No, you weren’t.”

“Okay, I wasn’t.”

“Shut the hell up! You were not part of The Ivories.”

“I was,” I laughed.

She cleared her throat and her face burnt a bright red. I got it just then. Her face would always betray her. I tried not to do a little dance at that new development. “You guys were, uh,” she swallowed, her face burning even brighter. She gently stamped her foot in frustration at the giveaway. “Amazing,” she finished. “Really,” she said, turning my way and looking me dead in the face. “I seriously loved the hell out of your music. I was so disappointed when I heard you disbanded.”

She shocked me at that profession. “How did you even know about us?” I asked in disbelief.

A smile turned up at the corner of her mouth before she looked away then at the ground. “I made it my job to know good music, Tom. It’s why I’m here...with you.”

She made me smile but I turned away so she couldn’t see.

The revolving carousel was now full of suitcases but we hadn’t been paying attention.

“Let me know which one’s yours,” I gently commanded.

“All right,” she conceded easily.

My duffel came into view and I reached to grab it, tossing it near our feet.

“That one,” she said, pointing to another canvas duffel almost identical to mine but in a paler shade of green.

“Cool,” I said.

An unguarded smile spread across her beautiful face and my hand slid slowly to my chest as a crackling feeling set deep within began to pop and shiver, another icy layer melting away.

January was like the freaking sun.

Chapter Four

Kiss With a Fist

Thomas

The label had a car waiting for us courtesy of a driver carrying one of those absurd signs with our names on it. Overkill. There was no one else around, but the guy held the sign up as we approached him like his job depended on it.

“Mister Eriksson?” A boy probably not much older than January dressed in a black suit asked in the thickest Irish brogue I’d ever heard.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Hi!” January exclaimed jauntily, reminding me she was definitely from Texas. She stuck her hand out, surprising the boy. “So nice to meet you!” she added.

The boy’s face turned from surprised to exceedingly pleased as he drank her body in. He shook her hand vigorously. “A pleasure, miss. Here, let me,” he said, dropping her hand and grabbing her bag.

I narrowly avoided a facepalm. Bug to a zapper.

“They’re so nice here,” she said to me under her breath as the boy led us to the car.

“Yeah, that’s why he’s being so nice,” I said, but she didn’t catch the sarcasm.