Page 146 of Hot Mess
I’d already grabbed a coffee down the block before they got here, and while I sat at my new glass-top dining room table, trying to decide which song fromBlood Sugar Sex Magik—best Red Hot Chili Peppers album of all time—to add to my vortex playlist, Danica darted from room to room, high on caffeine.
After the delivery dudes set up my new bed and left, she buzzed around measuring walls, tapping nails into the drywall with her little hammer and hanging picture hooks.
I still wasn’t convinced she didn’t have some kind of contractor she could call in to do this shit, but if she wanted to be here herself, I wasn’t complaining.
Even if she kept trying to sing along to songs she didn’t quite know the words to.
Fortunately, she was a way better dancer than she was a singer. And as she got into her work, she started wiggling her ass as she went.
It was June and the weather was pretty gorgeous, so she was wearing cutoffs and a loose T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. She had her pretty hair up in a long ponytail with a little yellow scarf tied around it. And all I could seem to focus on were her bare neck and her naked thighs.
When she stood in front of me, sticking her ass out a bit and kinda jiggling as she hammered a nail into the dining room wall, my dick just about punched through my shorts.
I put my head in my hand and tried to focus on my phone.
Summer had already sent me a link to her vortex playlist. Leave it to her to finish her homework first.
I opened it in my iTunes. I’d listen to the playlist properly—front to back, through my headphones, and probably several times—later. For now, I put it on random and let it rip through the speakers that were connected through Bluetooth all over my apartment—pretty much the only things I’d told Danica she couldn’t move.
“Ooooh,romantic,” she teased when “Ain’t Talkin’ ’Bout Love” came on. She tossed me a bright smile over her shoulder. “Was this from the albumVan Halen? I feel like there were so many great songs on that one.”
“Yeah,” I said, kinda surprised she even knew what band it was. “Can you believe this came out in 1978? I feel like these guys were ahead of their time.”
“I feel like that was before that law was passed that every rock album had to have a killer rock singleanda killer ballad on it, or it wouldn’t get released.”
I snorted. “You mean in the eighties? Like ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ and ‘Love Bites’?”
“‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ and ‘Wanted Dead Or Alive’,” she said.
“‘Welcome to the Jungle’ and ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’.”
“‘Dude (Looks Like a Lady)’ and ‘Angel’.”
“‘Smokin’ in the Boys Room’ and ‘Home Sweet Home’.”
She cocked her head, unsure. “Van Halen again?”
“Mötley Crüe.”
“Damn. I knew that. ‘Nothin’ But a Good Time’ and ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’.”
“Oh, she didn’t just bring Poison into the conversation. You like eighties rock?”
She grinned. “I like music, period. But yeah, I’m a little sweet on the eighties. New wave, especially. But my favorite rock ballad of all time is ‘Hysteria.’ Def Leppard. Don’t make fun of me.” She made a little swoony face, then sauntered off into the bedroom.
I got up and followed. “Why would I make fun of you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, like that genuinely stumped her. “My sister just always makes fun of my musical tastes.”
“Maybe your sister should stuff it.”
She gave me a cute little smile.
“What does she listen to?” I asked.
“Hmm. Drake?”
“I rest my case.”
