Smitten

“Oh. Cool.”

“You?”

“I’m a Leo. You’re into astrology?”

My cheeks blaze. Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant conversation starter. “No. Not at all. You?”

“No. I only know the basics about my sign.”

“Same. All I know is I’m supposedly stubborn. That’s supposed to be my defining characteristic, actually. But I’m not stubborn at all.”

“Taurus is the Bull, right?”

I nod. “But if I were an animal, I’d say I’m more like a dog. A really happy dog who likes chasing tennis balls and taking naps.”

She giggles. And as she does, a swarm of butterflies releases into my belly. Damn, she’s got a cute laugh.

“I’d have thought you’d say your animal is the fish,” she says.

“Clever.”

“See what I did there?”

“I do. I think the fish is for Pisces, though.”

“I thought you said you don’t know anything about astrology,” she says.

“I don’t. But, come on. Pisces is the fish. That much, I know. Probably, I should have been a Pisces. I generally like going with the flow. That’s what Pisces do, right? Given their animal.”

She shrugs. “I’d assume so. Either way, can you imagine the perfection of being a dude called Fish who’s a Pisces?” She does a chef’s kiss with her fingers, making me laugh.

“Sadly, though, life isn’t always perfect like that. It turns out I’m a Goat called Fish who’s supposed to be stubborn as a bull, but isn’t.”

She giggles again. This time, even more heartily. “Wow, Fish. Who’s the doctor who delivered you? Doctor Dolittle?” She laughs uproariously at her own silly joke, and, of course, I laugh with her. Not so much at the joke itself, but at the way she’s laughing at it. And, damn, that swarm of butterflies in my belly is turning into an entire flock of seagulls as we laugh together.

I sip my beer. “So, what’s Leo’s animal? Lion, right?”

“Correct.”

“That makes you a lion-ess named Al-ess-andra. That’d be a sick lyric.”

She nods. “Yeah, it’s got a nice little internal rhyme to it.”

“It does.”

“I’m imagining a song kind of like ‘Buddy Holly’ by Weezer. Do you know that one?”

“Do I know it?” I slap my thigh energetically. “Dude! I love Weezer!”

“So do I! They can do no wrong in my book!”

“Same!”

And that’s it. We’re off to the races, finally, babbling nonstop, without another awkward silence, about our favorite Weezer songs. From there, we talk enthusiastically about how much we both love internal rhymes in lyrics, which leads us to a discussion of the rap and hip-hop artists we revere the most for their amazing word play and internal rhymes. And, through it all, it becomes starkly clear to me this is the way to lure this shy girl out of her shell on a rocket. Get her to talk about music, dummy! How did I not realize that, right away?

I motion to the waiter for another round of drinks, and then return to Alessandra with a relaxed smile. “So, what kinds of songs do you write? Who are your biggest musical influences?”

She leans back onto her lounger with ease and confidence, before rattling off an eclectic, impressive list of bands and artists. “But I think my biggest influence is Laila Fitzgerald,” she says. “People often say I remind them of her.”

“That’s a huge compliment.”

“I agree. Laila is my idol. My songs have that same sort of jazz-infused quality to them, even though they’re foundationally ‘indie singer-songwriter.’”

“I’d be happy to introduce you to Laila tonight at the party, if you’d like.”

Alessandra’s bright blue eyes bug out. “Really?”

“Sure.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She gasps. “Thank you!” And then opens and closes her mouth in rapid succession, like she’s been rendered speechless. She reaches for my arm, like she’s going to grip it excitedly, but then jerks back suddenly. She palms her forehead. Puffs out her cheeks. And, finally, fans her bright-red face. “You know I wasn’t angling for an introduction to Laila when I mentioned her, right? I’d honestly forgotten who you are for a minute there. I’d hate for you to think—”

“I don’t.” I chuckle. “It’s all good. I swear. I only offered because Laila is a friend, and I know she’d love to meet you.” And also because I want any excuse to hang out with you at the party tonight.

“Thank you so much, Fish.”

“It’s nothing. I’m happy to do it.”

Alessandra physically shudders with excitement—a move that causes arousal to rocket into my dick. She takes a deep breath and visibly collects herself. “So, what about you?” she says. “Who are your biggest musical influences?”

I cover my growing hard-on with my forearm. “Uh. Musical influences for me, personally, or for my band?”

“Oh! I love that those are different things. For you, personally.”

I name several bands and artists, and Alessandra listens intently. She comments enthusiastically and asks multiple questions, never seeming shy or reserved in the slightest. And, again, it’s obvious: music is the key to this pretty girl’s kingdom.