Page 201 of Savior
“I don’t smile?”
“You do. Now and then. Not so much, lately. I know you’ve got a lot on your mind. But I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you have a great time anywhere.”
He arches a brow at me. “I have a great time damn near every night with you, doll. All you gotta do is open up those sexy legs for me and everything is fuckin’ Aces in my world, baby.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re such a rogue.”
“And a scoundrel.” He bumps me gently with his body.
“You said it, buster.” I turn off the faucet and grab the towel hanging from the oven handle to dry off my hands, shifting to look up at him. “Last time you brought me here, I saw an old record player and a box of records in the closet. Does it work?”
“It did thirty years ago.”
“Can you get it to work?”
“Maybe.” He looks at me suspiciously.
“Music is magic. It has its own way of clearing away negative energy, too. It really has powerful influences over people and atmospheres. The vibrational energy alone, is able to clear away negative vibes in a space.”
“Oh… Is that your plan?” the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly.
“Part of it.” I say, walking over to the small hall closet and opening the door to pull out the old Victrola. “I plan to combine a few practices to fix this place for us.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll see.”
His eyes slightly squint at me. “We’re gonna do what we did at the beach to get rid of Lucinda, aren’t we? Some Devil shit.”
I can’t help but chuckle at his words. “Make this work.”
“I’m not a magician.”
“You’re a mechanic. That’s close enough for me.”
Dean tries to suppress a smile. “Motorcycles and antique record players are two very different things. You may think my hands are magic, but they aren’t capable of everything.”
“I have faith in you. Can you get that box of records down for me?”
Dean obliges my request, pulling the heavy box down into the crook of his strong arm. “Where do you want them?”
“Living room.”
He carries them, though a bit reluctantly, into the room, placing them down beside the fireplace on the floor as I walk back into the kitchen.
“Would you like a drink?” I ask with a flirtatious smile, taking the bottle of Jameson out of the cabinet.
“No.” Dean says, walking slowly back over to the record player.
“Why not?” I ask, “You need to relax. Doesn’t this help?”
“I only drink whiskey when I’m in a dark place… And since you’re trying so hard to undo that here, I’d better not.” He sighs. “Besides, after what you’ve instigated in the past, I’ve got a pretty good idea what your phase two might entail, and whiskey dick is a thing, doll. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
My laugh at his reply brings a slight smile to his face. “Okay. Another beer, then?” I offer. That will take longer, but so be it. He already has an idea about what I’m up to, anyway.
“Alright.”
I crack open a bottle and bring it over to him on my way into the living room. Sitting down on the floor near the box, I watch him tinker with the record player for a moment, before I open it up.
