Love has never mattered to Morgan. A musician with a burgeoning career, she’s never found the time for relationships. But she starts feeling lonely, so despite being busy with her latest film-scoring job, she joins a community choir in the hopes of meeting someone special.
Enter Lane, the mysterious butch in the alto section who scandalizes her first performance by showing up in a tuxedo. Lane is the talk of the choir, and her bold statement leads more LGBTQ people to join.
Morgan finds herself spending a lot of time with Lane and her friends ... and falling for Lane. Is Morgan brave enough to go after what she truly wants?
I love the way she moves. I love the way she feels. I love the way she smells.
So here we are: so close I can smell the intoxicating mixture of her shampoo and sweet-tart sweat, our bodies moving in perfect time together. I don’t know much about lesbian culture, but I imagine that Lane must be the kind of girl who this kind of thing comes naturally to. She probably finds herself in this position with a different girl every week -- after all, she’s the kind of girl who inspires an entire film score just by existing.
But this week it’s me. I’m the one who’s lucky enough to be dancing with her, and suddenly I don’t care that my sexuality remains a question. I want her, perhaps more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Adrenaline surges in my veins and a delicious ache makes itself known in my pelvis; I vow to stop overthinking it as she runs a hand through my hair, sending tingles of pleasure over my scalp and down my spine. Her lips seem to inch closer to mine -- but it could just be my imagination.
Just kiss her already.
I bite my bottom lip, the anticipation of the moment dancing on my skin. With a strong hand on my lower back, Lane pulls me just a little closer and leans in.
It’s time to take a shot.
“Cutting in!”
Jill wedges an arm between us. Startled by the sudden interruption, I stumble back a couple of steps as Lane and I lose our hold on each other. Visibly drunk, Jill takes my place, wrapping herself around Lane. She tosses her hair flirtatiously to one side and then the other, but then trips over her own feet and falls forward into Lane, who wraps her arms around Jill’s waist to keep her from falling and pull her upright again.
Lane looks bewilderedly over Jill’s shoulder at me. I shrug as she mouths sorry.
“You okay?” Max asks, coming up behind me.
“Uh ... sure?” I reply.
“Don’t worry about Jill,” he says, throwing a friendly arm around me. “She can be a messy drunk.”
Jill has her back to me as she dances Lane away from Max and me, but we both hear her unmistakeable voice, at full opera diva volume, cut through the din of music and chatter: “Is she even gay?!”
Max looks at me like he’s reading my face, trying to figure out if I’ve heard her.
People Also Bought:
