Let's go.

Part 13: The Record Store

We enter the record store and Layne waves to a young man standing behind the cash register. Layne hands him the Sharpie and says, "Hey, thanks for letting me borrow this."

"Sure, Layne, anytime," the young guy replies excitedly. He clearly knows who Layne is and is trying to be cool. Layne interlaces his fingers with mine and we go in search of "rougher music," his words, not mine.

He begins sifting through the metal section. He snickers when he comes across one album, lifts it to show me then does an impression of the singer.  He acts deflated when I don't recognize who the band is and don't know the singer he is making fun of. 

"Darlin' you need a modern music lesson just so you can be impressed at how good I am at making fun of these nerds," He says to me and shakes his head in mock disappointment.

"I think you are adorable and I don't need to know who these guys are to think your impressions are cute," I explain and nuzzle into his side as he continues to flip through the selection.

As we move over to the industrial music section he says under his breath, "fuck, am I gonna have to fight that guy?" He puts his arm around me and plants a possessive kiss on my mouth then squeezes my ass.

After he breaks the kiss and I can suck air back into my lungs, I say, "What are you talking about? What guy?" And begin looking around the store.

Layne laughs and says "Don't act so excited!"  Then he mumbles under his breath, "That old dude over there by the back office hasn't stopped staring at you since we walked in."

"He probably just recognized you and didn't realize how handsome you are in person," I say and pinch his butt through his jeans.

He chuckles and says, "You have a crush on me." I nod and press my breasts into his arm.

He smiles down at me and says, "Keep it in your pants, I am almost done here then I can do you." 

I giggle and squeeze his arm then scan the room for the back office where this man is supposedly staring at me. I find the back office and my eyes connect with the venue owner my firm works with.

"Oh, Layne that's just one of my clients," I say to Layne and wave to the man. He waves back to me and begins to walk over toward us.

"I don't like him," Layne mumbles under his breath.

"Don't be possessive, you don't even know him," I murmur back to Layne. 

The venue owner joins us and I introduce him to Layne. Layne is respectful but he stands to his full height when he shakes the venue owner's hand.

"It's nice to meet you," the venue owner says to Layne.

Layne nods then leans lazily against a record display and stares back at the venue owner with an easy confidence.

"You look familiar?" The venue owner says to Layne. 

"Oh, Layne is the singer for the band Alice in Chains that you booked last year," I explain.

"Oh, so you are one of her clients too?" The venue owner pries, trying to figure out our relationship. I will admit that in theory and in the eyes of my clients, Layne and I kind of make an odd pair. The rockstar and the tight-laced attorney. My clients have only seen me in my tailored suits, starched blouses and my hair tightly confined in a professional style. I am always behind a desk with a sprawling view of the city below me, not cozied up to a handsome man in a record shop. But here, with Layne, I am free to wear my hair loose and long, my face is free of makeup and my clothes are more revealing. I know why he was staring at me: with Layne, I am a woman, not a robot.