Page 166 of Bridesmaid By Chance
That brings a satisfied smile to her lips. “Oooh, that’s a crown I like wearing.”
“Good.” I move my thumb over her cheek, her pretty eyes sparkling under the dim light.
“Now that we established that you’re not old, possibly a little pervy with the mouth fucking, and that I’m the best that you’ve had your dick in, not to mention that you seem to enjoy calling mebabeevery now and again, I want to know more about you, like…what’s your favorite band, music… Do you even listen to music?”
“No. Don’t like music.”
She raises herself up, her expression clearly disturbed. “What kind of psychopath are you? Who doesn’t like music?”
I chuckle. “I’m kidding. I like pretty chill stuff.”
“Okay.” She blows out a heavy breath. “Jesus, that was going to be a problem. What do you mean by chill? Like Nora Jones? Maybe Kenny G?”
“Christ, who likes Kenny G?”
Her mouth falls open in shock as she fully pulls away and picks up the blanket to cover her breasts.
“Uh, I like Kenny G.”
“Stop.” I shake my head and attempt to pull on her blanket because I don’t like her covering herself up, but she holds it close.
“I’m not kidding.”
“Sloane. Be serious.”
“I am being serious. Kenny G is a gift on the saxophone, an instrument that doesn’t get enough credit anymore, I might add.”
“Sloane…”
“Hudson…”
I stare at her, waiting for her to break, to tell me she’s kidding, butwhen she holds steady, I slowly realize that maybe in fact she’s not joking around.
“You really like Kenny G?”
“Yes, and I find it incredibly insulting that you think I was joking.”
“Then prove it.”
“Prove my love for Kenny G?” she asks.
“Yeah…babe…prove it.”
Her eyes narrow and she crosses her arms, locking her blanket in place. “Okay.” She clears her throat. “Kenneth Bruce Gorelick was born June 5, 1956, and despite his clearly old age, he has mastered the electric sound of the saxophone, which he started playing at the age of ten.”Oh shit, she was serious.“Mr. G has sold over seventy-five million records globally, his 1992 album,Breathless, being his best seller, followed by his Christmas album,Miracles. Not only can he successfully blow air into a brass instrument and create music, but he’s also a producer and most notably worked on soundtracks likeThe Bodyguard. Uh yeah, you heard that right, that Whitney Houston movie. He was an early investor in the Starbucks chain, is an aircraft pilot, and is an avid golfer with a handicap of +0.6.”
I drag my hand over my cheek. “I think you know more about him than you do about me.”
“Because he actually cares to share his life, unlike you, who says you like chill music but can’t put a name to such chill music, therefore, not sharing a damn thing.”
“Okay, okay.” I rub her bare leg. “You’re getting worked up.”
“Yes, because you said you didn’t believe that I loved Kenny G and I’m not lying. I love him. I like his curly hair and the way he feels the music he’s playing and the sound of it. I love everything about him, and I wish more people would get their heads out of their asses and notice his talents, not just shuffle him away because he’s a product of the early eighties. Did you know his net worth is over one hundred million? Yeah,Hudson, one hundred million. That’s nothing to put your nose up about. So…check your attitude.”
“Okay, shhhh,” I say, attempting to calm her down. “The attitude is checked.”
“Is it though? I feel like you’re just trying to be nice right now. You know what? We’re going to listen to him, right here, right now.” She reaches over to her nightstand, where she grabs her phone and starts tapping away on it. Then she looks me in the eyes and says, “This is ‘Songbird,’ and if you haven’t heard this yet, you are dead to me. Your dick will never see the light of day in my mouth ever again.”
Jesus Christ.
