Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I took in a large inhale, my vision clearing as I now watched him. He was in the middle of the elevator and as what would have been the drum solo came up, he started playing the air drums furiously, closing his eyes and bobbing his head to the beat, biting his lower lip. This couldn’t be real. I had passed out and was having some strange out-of-body experience.
“You’re motoring! What’s your price for flight? In finding Mr. Right? You’ll be all right, tonight.”
I couldn’t help it, I let out a very small laugh. When he heard it, his eyes snapped open and he looked up at me, and relief washed over his features before he grinned. It was the same grin that had almost knocked me on my ass when he gave it to the old woman. It was real. And maybe my mind was still oxygen deprived, but in that moment, something told me that even though he smiled an awful lot, a genuine one from Carson Stinger was rare.
His expression turned serious and he walked toward me singing slowly, “Babe, you know you’re growing up so fast. And Mama’s worrying that you won’t last to say, let’s play.”
As he finished the last few words, he held his fist up to his lips, pretending it was a microphone and then he thrust it in front of my mouth.
I blinked momentarily, but now adrenaline was racing through my body at the sweet relief of air flowing freely into my lungs, and so I did something I’d never, under ordinary circumstances do: I grabbed his fist and sang into it, “Sister Christian, there’s so much in life. Don’t you give it up before your time is due, it’s true.” Then he leaned in and we were both singing together, “It’s true, yeah!” He jumped back and played more air drums before jumping forward again and singing into his fist with me. “Motoring! What’s your price for flight? You’ve got him in your sight. And driving through the night.”
Our faces were mere inches apart now, and I could smell his minty breath as he sang with me: “Motoring! What’s your price for flight? In finding Mr. Right? You’ll be all right tonight.”
He stepped away from me again and, this time, mimicked the electric guitar solo, moving his hips forward with every pretend riff, swiveling them to the chords as I watched, laughing out loud now at his ridiculous antics, and the fact that he was actually good, and we were singing at the top of our lungs in an elevator wedged between floors in a luxury hotel on the Vegas strip.
He grinned at me as he continued singing the chorus a couple times over. Then as the song slowed, he started walking slowly to me again singing, “Sister Christian, oh the time has come. And you know that you’re the only one to say, okay. But you’re motoring. You’re motoring, yeah.” He trailed off as we both stood staring at each other, his breathing harsher than mine now from all the furious air playing. I was breathing steady even as his chest quickly rose and fell. The bizarre nature of the situation rolled over me again and I burst out laughing, and then so did he. As our laughter faded, he tilted his head to the side and said, “If you wanted to hear me sing, buttercup, you could have just asked.”
I let out another short laugh, but it quickly faded. I looked at him seriously for several moments. “Thank you for that. Who knew Night Ranger could cure a panic attack? But it worked. Thank you.” I took a big, deep breath. “Thank you, Carson.”
He smiled and then did a slow bow that was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the phone.
__________
“Hello!” Carson said after he’d grabbed the receiver from its box. I stared, my hands pressed together in the prayer position. After listening for a minute, he groaned. “That long?” he asked. My hands dropped. Damn. “Isn’t there anything that can be done to get that part here more quickly?” He listened for another minute. “Yeah, okay. Keep us updated, all right?”
“What’d they say?” I demanded after he’d hung up.
“Well, the good news is that they know we’re in here, they know the problem, and the part to fix it is on its way. The bad news is that it’s two hours away.”
“Two hours?” I screeched. I took a deep breath. “Two hours?” I said, more calmly. “We have to sit in here together for two hours?”
“Afraid so,” he answered, walking to the wall and sliding down it to sit on the floor with his feet drawn up and his forearms resting on his knees.
I stared at him for a minute and then walked to my side of the elevator. I sat down on the floor as well, bending my knees to the side, glancing over at him and pulling my sundress down over my legs, all the way to my ankles. When I glanced up at Carson, his eyes lifted from my legs to my eyes. I saw the small frown on his face right before his expression went blank and he raised his eyebrows, smiling suggestively. “A lot of things to do in two hours, buttercup. Any ideas?”