Sad_Girl
Blue Crack Supplier
Well, it's not the sequel to SFTT, (although I am brainstorming that one) this is my latest idle musing brought on by U2 and this forum 
Touch (U2 Singles)
Thank-you, don't mention it.
I'm pleased to meet you.
I don't think I'm very good at this Let me show you, I just wanna know, I just wanna know.
Touching you, touching you...
Disclaimer:
the following is a work of fiction, none of which ever occurred or will occur outside of the imagination. The people represented here are either completely fictional or inspired by people whom the author has no direct knowledge of and should not be considered an accurate or truthful representation in any way. (For the alternate reality setting of this fiction, all 4 of the characters inspired by U2 are to be considered single and unwed, for both plot reasons and out of respect for the real-life counterparts wives/girlfriends and the author’s absolute inability to write about them)
*************************************************************************
Torture. It was as simple as that, as far as Ceili was concerned. Sure it paid well, and it wasn’t a lot of work. She got to travel to places she’d never seen and would never have seen otherwise. When she had taken the job, these were the things she’d been thinking of. She’d had no idea there was one major catch. She had trained originally in massage therapy but had grown tired of people having twisted ideas of what her job entailed. Most people seemed to think massage therapists were not far removed from strippers or prostitutes.
She’d gone back to school and become a Doctor of Chiropractic, a fact of which she was very proud even if she didn’t get the credit most Doctor’s received. People seemed to think that Chiropractors were not real doctors, even though they were subjected to seven to ten years of schooling.
It didn’t matter to her, because she had achieved her goal of helping to alleviate people of their pain with her own two hands rather than prescriptions or expensive machines.
When she’d found out from a friend of a friend that there was a rock band that was looking to hire someone to travel with them on their world tour, she’d wondered why they didn’t simply make use of the masseuse services available in most of the high-end hotels where they would be staying. Then she’d felt guilty for being of the same mind set as those people who had driven her back to school in the first place.
As it turned out, the demands of performing on stage every night took their toll on the bodies of the four men known collectively as U2. She could see why, after having caught bits and pieces of concerts which had been recorded. They had the vivacious energy of twelve year olds; the type of children who made their parents hair gray long before their time.
She had thought it would be a downright pleasant job, at first. When she’d been introduced to the first two members, Adam Clayton and the man everyone referred to as ‘The Edge’, she’d been downright excited about the job. They were two of the quietest, most polite clients she’d ever cared for.
Then the lead singer had strutted into the room they’d set aside with the massage table and she knew there were going to be more complications to this job than she had anticipated. He flashed a brilliant smile at her and she knew instantly why so many people crowded into the arenas and stadiums every night, pushing and shoving to get the chance to maybe meet his eyes and experience the magic of that smile firsthand.
“Hi, Dr. Jordan?” He greeted her as she stared blankly for a moment, her mind having wandered away from the rest of her senses. As she realized he was offering her his hand to shake, she jumped slightly, shrugging out of her daze.
“Call me Ceili, please.” She greeted him, feeling her little hand enveloped in his. She’d never known a man who wore more than one ring before, but this man wore several, as did his companions whom she’d already seen. She could tell she was in a whole new world, and it was going to keep her on her toes. Especially when he smiled like that.
“You can call me Bono.” He informed her, his hand releasing hers and moving to unbutton the mauve shirt he wore (which had only been buttoned half way in the first place, she noted). She turned away as the soft material slid off his shoulders and exposed a broad chest underneath a layer of dark hair. If there was one thing she had learned today, it was that these men weren’t particularly shy. Not only was this man undressing within seconds of being introduced, without waiting to be asked, but Adam earlier had surprised her much the same way by immediately stripping off every last stitch of clothing. Most people usually asked how much they were supposed to remove, the first session at least.
“So you’re familiar with my therapy? I mean, you know that I’m both a Chiropractic Doctor and a masseuse, right?” She was asking him as she watched him climb up onto the table out of the corner of one eye. She was grateful to see he had opted to leave his underwear on; it was always a little awkward for her to manipulate a completely naked man. She was professional, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t human, and shyness was her biggest obstacle in life.
“Right, that’s why we went with you. Most of us need just the basic massage to keep us limber, but occasionally a little more will be required.” He was telling her as he stretched out on his belly. “Larry has chronic back problems, though, he’s the one who really most needed a regular therapist.”
“I saw his file already, he’s had quite a time of it.” She agreed as she draped a clean cotton sheet over him for modesty’s sake. Her own modesty, more than his. She started in the small of his back, massaging the tension from the muscles and getting more familiar with the alignment of his spine.
“He didn’t have a proper stool with his first drum kit, never learned to sit right. I don’t know if that’s part of what makes his style unique or what, but he’s really suffered for it.” He was telling her, going on about his own theories of why his friend and the drummer for the band had recurring back pain which on rare occasions had incapacitated him. It was clear this man like the sound of his own voice, and Ceili smiled softly to herself, breathing a sigh of relief. If he liked to talk so much, he wouldn’t expect her to talk more, and the time would go much faster.
She held her hands against the mans hips firmly and pushed, realigning the lowest vertebrae with a loud pop. He stopped talking long enough to moan slightly and then started in again. He would ask questions but give her no time to answer them before he would begin to theorize out loud on the subject.
All she ever really had to say was ‘mm-hmm’ or ‘Oh, yeah?’ and he was content. She thought with a smile that perhaps she should have gotten her degree in psychiatry as well.
Once he’d dressed, he sauntered across the hotel room and sank down into a soft armchair, looking completely relaxed and happy. He slung one leg over the arm and rested sideways in the seat, chewing unconsciously at his thumbnail.
“So you’re from Wisconsin?” He asked and she nodded, leaning one hip against the wall.
“Yeah, about an hour north of Green Bay.” She replied.
“Is that on Lake Michigan?” He asked, and she was surprised that he would know anything at all about Wisconsin. It would’ve been one thing if it were California or New York, but the mid western states tended to all sort of blur together in most peoples minds. Americans, had trouble with the geography, let alone people born and raised in other countries.
“Yeah, that’s right.” She told him, setting him off on a series of stories based on lake Michigan near Chicago, and then in Chicago. Soon enough she had no idea whatsoever where they had started, but knew they were a far cry from the original subject. Ceili couldn’t help but be entertained, but she was beginning to worry he would never leave when there was a knock on the door. What she saw when she opened it might as well have been the Loch Ness Monster or an angel complete with halo and wings for the shock of surprise it sent through her.
She blinked up at the tall man in disbelief. She’d never been struck dumb by a man’s looks before, but for the life of her she could find no words as she stared up into this face. The man scowled down at her, his silver blue eyes cutting right through her. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing around as if looking for someone else. Anyone else.
“Can I help you?” She finally asked, her own voice sounding foreign in her ears.
“I’m supposed to see Dr. Jordan.” He told her dryly, and she had to wonder why his accent sent shivers through her when she’d not had such a reaction to any of the others.
“That’s me.” She told him, her heart growing heavy as she saw the way his brows drew together in concern at this news. “You must be Larry.” She said, spinning on her heel and leading the way back into the hotel room which served as her office.
Larry followed the woman slowly, his eyes washing over the little red-head with apprehension. She was not exactly what he’d expected. This woman was going to be touching him just about everywhere, on a daily basis? He didn’t consider himself particularly old fashioned, but it made him uncomfortable to have a strange woman’s hands all over his body. She cleaned the table quickly and went to retrieve a fresh sheet, leaving Bono and Larry alone for a moment.
“She’s a doctor?” Larry asked, his eyes still on the door through which she had disappeared.
“She’s got the touch, Lardence.” Bono told his friend with a wink. “Magic hands.” Larry scowled at his friend who smiled broadly at him. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a professional and I’d rather have her massaging me than some great big Norwegian named Lars or that hundred and fifty year old woman with the lazy eye.” Bono teased.
“I guess.” Larry grumbled, slipping his white T-shirt off over his head.
“Oh, I get it. You’re afraid you’re going to like it too much.” Bono teased, the mischief dancing in his eyes. He knew when he was getting under Larry’s skin.
“Fuck off!” Larry told him, tossing his shirt over Bono’s face and kicking him firmly in the ass. Bono chuckled and tossed the discarded shirt onto the chair he’d vacated before moving to leave.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Lar. I’m sure she’s had that reaction out of her share of male patients. She probably won’t even notice, with you.” Bono teased on his way out the door and he laughed when he heard the thud of one of Larry’s shoes hitting the door as it swung shut behind him.
When Ceili entered the room again, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the shirtless man seated on her table. A gold chain with a cross pendant dangled around his neck, and he had shed his shoes and socks as well, but his jeans remained on. He might as well have been stark naked and posing for her, if you could’ve judged by the reaction her body had to the sight. Heat flushed through her, her heart sped up and her palms grew sweaty.
She had never met a man she would consider perfect. Or, rather, she had not before this moment. Had she seriously been thinking it was hard to remain professional with the other three? They were all very nice looking men, in much better shape than the type of clientele she usually took care of back in Wisconsin. But they were just men, nothing special compared to this man. How was she supposed to remain professional while touching this man?
Meanwhile he was eyeing her over as if she were the hunchback of Notre Dame. She moved quickly across the room, casting her eyes down onto the carpet. She could feel him watching her, judging her. She cursed her dark red hair and too pale skin, just as she had since she was a child. Her mother had cooed over it and told her how beautiful it was, while everyone else made fun of her for it. No one else had blood red hair against milky white skin, their faces peppered with so many freckles their siblings threatened to use them to play connect-the-dots. Her nose was small, a little too round in her opinion, and her eyes were gray. She’d always wanted baby blue eyes or maybe honey brown, but her eyes were the color of forged steel.
As if her coloring hadn’t caused her enough discomfort as a child, when she’d hit puberty she’d developed large round breasts which made her stand out even more. Her curves were another curse her mother had seen as a blessing. She’d never understood that Ceili didn’t want to stand out from the other girls. She wanted to be judged on what she had inside of her, the thoughts in her head and the emotions in her heart. Now, at age thirty, although she had begun to make some leeway toward that goal, she occasionally still felt like that awkward fifteen year old who the girls scorned and the boys teased.
“Go ahead and lay down, put your face in the hole at that end of the table.” She told him as professionally as she could muster. She tried not to watch the muscles in his back ripple as he moved, nor the way his upper arms bulged as he lowered himself to the table. She stood beside him, her hands hovering over his skin but not touching for a long moment.
Finally she drew in a deep breath and reminded herself that she was, in fact, a professional. She felt him stiffen beneath her touch as her hands met his skin, every muscle tightening in his already tense back. She felt him flinch in pain and her concern for his well being kicked in.
“You need to relax.” She told him softly. “You’re keeping your muscles so taut it’s no wonder you’re in pain.” She pushed harder against his skin in deep, firm circles. He didn’t relax. She scowled at him, glad he couldn’t see how he was irritating her. He was more of a challenge than she’d even expected. She wasn’t used to patients working against their own pain relief this way.
“Larry, right?” She asked and he grunted in affirmation. “How long have you had this back pain?” She continued, hoping that if she could just get him to start talking he would relax.
“I dunno.” He mumbled. She repressed a sigh and grasped his hips, adjusting his lower spine with a series of crackling sounds. He moaned out loud despite an effort not to do so, and the sound hit her in the gut like a sucker punch. It brought to mind a completely different situation which would involve such a noise, bare skin, and ideally, this man and herself. It certainly wasn’t something she’d be able to charge him for, either. She grinned at the thought even as her cheeks flushed.
“Why do you keep doing it? I mean, if playing the drums causes you such pain, why not retire? God knows you guys have enough money to last you.” She pressed.
“It’s not about money.” He told her, and she paused, hoping he would continue.
“What’s it about then?”
“Music is a driving force for all four of us. It’s like… life. Creating music is like creating life. It’s powerful and intoxicating. It’s indescribable.” He replied, and she could almost feel his love for his job. He didn’t need to have the right words, his enthusiasm alone was enough. “And it’s about us. The four of us have been together since we were teenagers.”
“You’ve lasted longer than most marriages.” She quipped. “Sit up.” She ordered him, and he did as she asked. She leaned one knee up on the table as she stood behind him, her hands sliding up along the side of his face and her breasts pressed up against his back. He jerked in surprise.
“What are you…?” He started to ask but then he felt her twist his head sharply to one side, half a dozen vertebra in his neck and upper back popping back into place.
“How’s that feel?” She asked, stepping away from the table and trying hard not to watch as he stretched. Not watching turned out to be an impossible task; he was mesmerizing.
“Better.” He told her, obviously surprised. He turned those silvery eyes on her again and she smiled shyly, one hand moving up to smooth back her hair in a sign of self-consciousness. “Thanks.”
“That’s my job.” She told him with a little shrug as he slipped his shoes and socks back on. “Same time tomorrow afternoon?” She asked, trying not to seem too hopeful. He slid his T-shirt back on and she moved to gather the used sheet in order to be doing something other than standing there staring at him.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He said, pausingly. He seemed to feel as if he should say something more, but had no idea what. When he finally turned and slipped out the door, Ceili leaned back against the wall and slid slowly down to the floor. With a deep sigh she closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the wall. She drew a deep breath to try and steady her trembling nerves, but wound up with his scent filling her nose and making her skin tingle at the memory of touching him. It was her first day on what was supposed to be her dream job, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive another like it. Fortunately, she not the type to give up. She was in over her head? She’d just have to learn how to swim.
Touch (U2 Singles)
Thank-you, don't mention it.
I'm pleased to meet you.
I don't think I'm very good at this Let me show you, I just wanna know, I just wanna know.
Touching you, touching you...
Disclaimer:
the following is a work of fiction, none of which ever occurred or will occur outside of the imagination. The people represented here are either completely fictional or inspired by people whom the author has no direct knowledge of and should not be considered an accurate or truthful representation in any way. (For the alternate reality setting of this fiction, all 4 of the characters inspired by U2 are to be considered single and unwed, for both plot reasons and out of respect for the real-life counterparts wives/girlfriends and the author’s absolute inability to write about them)
*************************************************************************
Torture. It was as simple as that, as far as Ceili was concerned. Sure it paid well, and it wasn’t a lot of work. She got to travel to places she’d never seen and would never have seen otherwise. When she had taken the job, these were the things she’d been thinking of. She’d had no idea there was one major catch. She had trained originally in massage therapy but had grown tired of people having twisted ideas of what her job entailed. Most people seemed to think massage therapists were not far removed from strippers or prostitutes.
She’d gone back to school and become a Doctor of Chiropractic, a fact of which she was very proud even if she didn’t get the credit most Doctor’s received. People seemed to think that Chiropractors were not real doctors, even though they were subjected to seven to ten years of schooling.
It didn’t matter to her, because she had achieved her goal of helping to alleviate people of their pain with her own two hands rather than prescriptions or expensive machines.
When she’d found out from a friend of a friend that there was a rock band that was looking to hire someone to travel with them on their world tour, she’d wondered why they didn’t simply make use of the masseuse services available in most of the high-end hotels where they would be staying. Then she’d felt guilty for being of the same mind set as those people who had driven her back to school in the first place.
As it turned out, the demands of performing on stage every night took their toll on the bodies of the four men known collectively as U2. She could see why, after having caught bits and pieces of concerts which had been recorded. They had the vivacious energy of twelve year olds; the type of children who made their parents hair gray long before their time.
She had thought it would be a downright pleasant job, at first. When she’d been introduced to the first two members, Adam Clayton and the man everyone referred to as ‘The Edge’, she’d been downright excited about the job. They were two of the quietest, most polite clients she’d ever cared for.
Then the lead singer had strutted into the room they’d set aside with the massage table and she knew there were going to be more complications to this job than she had anticipated. He flashed a brilliant smile at her and she knew instantly why so many people crowded into the arenas and stadiums every night, pushing and shoving to get the chance to maybe meet his eyes and experience the magic of that smile firsthand.
“Hi, Dr. Jordan?” He greeted her as she stared blankly for a moment, her mind having wandered away from the rest of her senses. As she realized he was offering her his hand to shake, she jumped slightly, shrugging out of her daze.
“Call me Ceili, please.” She greeted him, feeling her little hand enveloped in his. She’d never known a man who wore more than one ring before, but this man wore several, as did his companions whom she’d already seen. She could tell she was in a whole new world, and it was going to keep her on her toes. Especially when he smiled like that.
“You can call me Bono.” He informed her, his hand releasing hers and moving to unbutton the mauve shirt he wore (which had only been buttoned half way in the first place, she noted). She turned away as the soft material slid off his shoulders and exposed a broad chest underneath a layer of dark hair. If there was one thing she had learned today, it was that these men weren’t particularly shy. Not only was this man undressing within seconds of being introduced, without waiting to be asked, but Adam earlier had surprised her much the same way by immediately stripping off every last stitch of clothing. Most people usually asked how much they were supposed to remove, the first session at least.
“So you’re familiar with my therapy? I mean, you know that I’m both a Chiropractic Doctor and a masseuse, right?” She was asking him as she watched him climb up onto the table out of the corner of one eye. She was grateful to see he had opted to leave his underwear on; it was always a little awkward for her to manipulate a completely naked man. She was professional, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t human, and shyness was her biggest obstacle in life.
“Right, that’s why we went with you. Most of us need just the basic massage to keep us limber, but occasionally a little more will be required.” He was telling her as he stretched out on his belly. “Larry has chronic back problems, though, he’s the one who really most needed a regular therapist.”
“I saw his file already, he’s had quite a time of it.” She agreed as she draped a clean cotton sheet over him for modesty’s sake. Her own modesty, more than his. She started in the small of his back, massaging the tension from the muscles and getting more familiar with the alignment of his spine.
“He didn’t have a proper stool with his first drum kit, never learned to sit right. I don’t know if that’s part of what makes his style unique or what, but he’s really suffered for it.” He was telling her, going on about his own theories of why his friend and the drummer for the band had recurring back pain which on rare occasions had incapacitated him. It was clear this man like the sound of his own voice, and Ceili smiled softly to herself, breathing a sigh of relief. If he liked to talk so much, he wouldn’t expect her to talk more, and the time would go much faster.
She held her hands against the mans hips firmly and pushed, realigning the lowest vertebrae with a loud pop. He stopped talking long enough to moan slightly and then started in again. He would ask questions but give her no time to answer them before he would begin to theorize out loud on the subject.
All she ever really had to say was ‘mm-hmm’ or ‘Oh, yeah?’ and he was content. She thought with a smile that perhaps she should have gotten her degree in psychiatry as well.
Once he’d dressed, he sauntered across the hotel room and sank down into a soft armchair, looking completely relaxed and happy. He slung one leg over the arm and rested sideways in the seat, chewing unconsciously at his thumbnail.
“So you’re from Wisconsin?” He asked and she nodded, leaning one hip against the wall.
“Yeah, about an hour north of Green Bay.” She replied.
“Is that on Lake Michigan?” He asked, and she was surprised that he would know anything at all about Wisconsin. It would’ve been one thing if it were California or New York, but the mid western states tended to all sort of blur together in most peoples minds. Americans, had trouble with the geography, let alone people born and raised in other countries.
“Yeah, that’s right.” She told him, setting him off on a series of stories based on lake Michigan near Chicago, and then in Chicago. Soon enough she had no idea whatsoever where they had started, but knew they were a far cry from the original subject. Ceili couldn’t help but be entertained, but she was beginning to worry he would never leave when there was a knock on the door. What she saw when she opened it might as well have been the Loch Ness Monster or an angel complete with halo and wings for the shock of surprise it sent through her.
She blinked up at the tall man in disbelief. She’d never been struck dumb by a man’s looks before, but for the life of her she could find no words as she stared up into this face. The man scowled down at her, his silver blue eyes cutting right through her. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing around as if looking for someone else. Anyone else.
“Can I help you?” She finally asked, her own voice sounding foreign in her ears.
“I’m supposed to see Dr. Jordan.” He told her dryly, and she had to wonder why his accent sent shivers through her when she’d not had such a reaction to any of the others.
“That’s me.” She told him, her heart growing heavy as she saw the way his brows drew together in concern at this news. “You must be Larry.” She said, spinning on her heel and leading the way back into the hotel room which served as her office.
Larry followed the woman slowly, his eyes washing over the little red-head with apprehension. She was not exactly what he’d expected. This woman was going to be touching him just about everywhere, on a daily basis? He didn’t consider himself particularly old fashioned, but it made him uncomfortable to have a strange woman’s hands all over his body. She cleaned the table quickly and went to retrieve a fresh sheet, leaving Bono and Larry alone for a moment.
“She’s a doctor?” Larry asked, his eyes still on the door through which she had disappeared.
“She’s got the touch, Lardence.” Bono told his friend with a wink. “Magic hands.” Larry scowled at his friend who smiled broadly at him. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a professional and I’d rather have her massaging me than some great big Norwegian named Lars or that hundred and fifty year old woman with the lazy eye.” Bono teased.
“I guess.” Larry grumbled, slipping his white T-shirt off over his head.
“Oh, I get it. You’re afraid you’re going to like it too much.” Bono teased, the mischief dancing in his eyes. He knew when he was getting under Larry’s skin.
“Fuck off!” Larry told him, tossing his shirt over Bono’s face and kicking him firmly in the ass. Bono chuckled and tossed the discarded shirt onto the chair he’d vacated before moving to leave.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Lar. I’m sure she’s had that reaction out of her share of male patients. She probably won’t even notice, with you.” Bono teased on his way out the door and he laughed when he heard the thud of one of Larry’s shoes hitting the door as it swung shut behind him.
When Ceili entered the room again, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the shirtless man seated on her table. A gold chain with a cross pendant dangled around his neck, and he had shed his shoes and socks as well, but his jeans remained on. He might as well have been stark naked and posing for her, if you could’ve judged by the reaction her body had to the sight. Heat flushed through her, her heart sped up and her palms grew sweaty.
She had never met a man she would consider perfect. Or, rather, she had not before this moment. Had she seriously been thinking it was hard to remain professional with the other three? They were all very nice looking men, in much better shape than the type of clientele she usually took care of back in Wisconsin. But they were just men, nothing special compared to this man. How was she supposed to remain professional while touching this man?
Meanwhile he was eyeing her over as if she were the hunchback of Notre Dame. She moved quickly across the room, casting her eyes down onto the carpet. She could feel him watching her, judging her. She cursed her dark red hair and too pale skin, just as she had since she was a child. Her mother had cooed over it and told her how beautiful it was, while everyone else made fun of her for it. No one else had blood red hair against milky white skin, their faces peppered with so many freckles their siblings threatened to use them to play connect-the-dots. Her nose was small, a little too round in her opinion, and her eyes were gray. She’d always wanted baby blue eyes or maybe honey brown, but her eyes were the color of forged steel.
As if her coloring hadn’t caused her enough discomfort as a child, when she’d hit puberty she’d developed large round breasts which made her stand out even more. Her curves were another curse her mother had seen as a blessing. She’d never understood that Ceili didn’t want to stand out from the other girls. She wanted to be judged on what she had inside of her, the thoughts in her head and the emotions in her heart. Now, at age thirty, although she had begun to make some leeway toward that goal, she occasionally still felt like that awkward fifteen year old who the girls scorned and the boys teased.
“Go ahead and lay down, put your face in the hole at that end of the table.” She told him as professionally as she could muster. She tried not to watch the muscles in his back ripple as he moved, nor the way his upper arms bulged as he lowered himself to the table. She stood beside him, her hands hovering over his skin but not touching for a long moment.
Finally she drew in a deep breath and reminded herself that she was, in fact, a professional. She felt him stiffen beneath her touch as her hands met his skin, every muscle tightening in his already tense back. She felt him flinch in pain and her concern for his well being kicked in.
“You need to relax.” She told him softly. “You’re keeping your muscles so taut it’s no wonder you’re in pain.” She pushed harder against his skin in deep, firm circles. He didn’t relax. She scowled at him, glad he couldn’t see how he was irritating her. He was more of a challenge than she’d even expected. She wasn’t used to patients working against their own pain relief this way.
“Larry, right?” She asked and he grunted in affirmation. “How long have you had this back pain?” She continued, hoping that if she could just get him to start talking he would relax.
“I dunno.” He mumbled. She repressed a sigh and grasped his hips, adjusting his lower spine with a series of crackling sounds. He moaned out loud despite an effort not to do so, and the sound hit her in the gut like a sucker punch. It brought to mind a completely different situation which would involve such a noise, bare skin, and ideally, this man and herself. It certainly wasn’t something she’d be able to charge him for, either. She grinned at the thought even as her cheeks flushed.
“Why do you keep doing it? I mean, if playing the drums causes you such pain, why not retire? God knows you guys have enough money to last you.” She pressed.
“It’s not about money.” He told her, and she paused, hoping he would continue.
“What’s it about then?”
“Music is a driving force for all four of us. It’s like… life. Creating music is like creating life. It’s powerful and intoxicating. It’s indescribable.” He replied, and she could almost feel his love for his job. He didn’t need to have the right words, his enthusiasm alone was enough. “And it’s about us. The four of us have been together since we were teenagers.”
“You’ve lasted longer than most marriages.” She quipped. “Sit up.” She ordered him, and he did as she asked. She leaned one knee up on the table as she stood behind him, her hands sliding up along the side of his face and her breasts pressed up against his back. He jerked in surprise.
“What are you…?” He started to ask but then he felt her twist his head sharply to one side, half a dozen vertebra in his neck and upper back popping back into place.
“How’s that feel?” She asked, stepping away from the table and trying hard not to watch as he stretched. Not watching turned out to be an impossible task; he was mesmerizing.
“Better.” He told her, obviously surprised. He turned those silvery eyes on her again and she smiled shyly, one hand moving up to smooth back her hair in a sign of self-consciousness. “Thanks.”
“That’s my job.” She told him with a little shrug as he slipped his shoes and socks back on. “Same time tomorrow afternoon?” She asked, trying not to seem too hopeful. He slid his T-shirt back on and she moved to gather the used sheet in order to be doing something other than standing there staring at him.
“Yeah. Thanks.” He said, pausingly. He seemed to feel as if he should say something more, but had no idea what. When he finally turned and slipped out the door, Ceili leaned back against the wall and slid slowly down to the floor. With a deep sigh she closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the wall. She drew a deep breath to try and steady her trembling nerves, but wound up with his scent filling her nose and making her skin tingle at the memory of touching him. It was her first day on what was supposed to be her dream job, and she wasn’t sure she’d survive another like it. Fortunately, she not the type to give up. She was in over her head? She’d just have to learn how to swim.
