Dirty Laundry (Get Dirty 2)

Elise laughs, going along with me, but not before teasing me back. “And what happens in thirty—twenty-nine—minutes?”

I let the smile drop off my face, the dark need shining through. “In twenty-nine minutes, I’m shoving you face down in this bed, grabbing your arms behind your back, and taking you again, banging your hips so hard your ass will be bright pink when you leave. Next question?”

I see her shudder, the heat rising between us already, but she rallies, pulling herself together. With a quick reset of the recorder between us, she starts.

“Okay, history . . . check. Performance . . . check. What about your personal life? What do you do when you’re not on stage and not driving me crazy with want?”

I stutter, trying to figure out how I’m getting out of this when she’s hitting too close to topics I’d rather leave alone. “What do you mean? Are you already turning stalkery on me?”

She laughs, shaking her head and pushing at my chest playfully. “No, but like, take me through a typical day, a typical week in the life of Keith Perkins. What do you do all day, all night?”

I hesitate, quickly trying to edit my day to leave out any mention of Carsen. “Well, I get up, get coffee, and run errands like everyone else. I normally work out just before lunch, and I spend a big chunk of the afternoon writing songs, playing music. I don’t know, just usual stuff, I guess.”

Elise is scouring my face, and I wonder if she can see through me. It has to be the biggest gap-filled schedule in history. I mean, seriously? I gotta figure out a hobby to throw in or something.

“Wow, that’s really . . . boring,” she says before laughing self-consciously. “What do you do that your fans would be surprised about or would like to read about? Hobbies, activities? Any secret fetishes?”

Whew, I guess I dodged that one a little. “If there was, I’m pretty sure that’d fall under our previous agreement about not being in the article,” I say with a wink.

Elise grins, biting her lip even as her nipples crinkle at the meaning of my words. “Fair enough . . . thought I’d just slip that in there for my own curiosity. But really . . . hobbies, activities?”

I try to think of something. In the few seconds that I have to consider, I throw out a lot of ideas. Star Wars? Too nerdy. Pro wrestling? Please. Baseball cards? Where’s my collection? I’m stumped and stumble for anything. “Well, not really a hobby, I guess, but I like being outside. I try to go camping, hiking, fishing, and hunting occasionally, that sort of thing. I’ve got a couple of ATVs and a parcel of land out in the mountains. I like to escape out there. No TV, phones, or Wi-Fi. It’s just nature, clean air, and waking up with either the sun or my own body’s needs. It helps me recharge away from everything. I always do that before and after summer tours, catch the spring blooms and the fall leaves turning colors. Makes everything else seem a little less impressive when you see the things Mother Nature can do.”

I see her eyes soften as her mouth silently repeats what I just said, and I know she’s mentally making a note for another quote. I like that she hears something important in the things I say. I work for days, sometimes weeks to make a song say just what I want to convey, but I rarely do that on the fly while talking to someone.

But somehow with her, it comes easily. I just open up, and what comes out seems to be right.

“Okay, my turn,” I say, picking up a pepperoni and chewing it thoughtfully. “Why aren’t you seeing someone?”

Her jaw drops, and she glowers at me, mock-outraged. Okay, maybe not quite mock. “That’s not fair! I asked you an easy one and you’re coming back with the big guns.”

I flex my biceps at her, deadpanning. “Damn right, they’re big guns.”

She groans at the cheesy joke but turns thoughtful as she ponders her reply. “Okay, if I want honesty, I’ve got to give honesty. Just know that I’m already ready with my next question, Mr. Perkins.”

I smile but gulp, glad that I’ve got a few moments to figure out how I’m going to get out of answering what she wants to know. I knew it was a risk, but I really do want to know the answer. Elise is so gorgeous, smart, and funny, I don’t understand how someone hasn’t snatched her up and slapped a ring on her finger.

“Well, I grew up an only child,” she starts, looking shy again, “so initially, I was a little socially awkward. I had a good family, I told you about Grandma, but still, I was a little awkward at first. By high school, I’d figured out how to fit in, but I suspect that had a lot more to do with how I developed physically than emotionally.”