“I said breast, Sewanee, breast.”
“You said breath, Nick, breath.”
“I did not! I said–”
Cosmo punched in. “Scusa, but you say breath. No breast. In Italy, we know the difference.” His laugh was cut short when he released the button.
Nick threw up his hands. “Well, maybe we should change it! I never liked the word breast anyway. I don’t even like saying breast. It makes me think of chickens.”
Sewanee guffawed and Nick chuckled. He tried to take a sip of water, but they weren’t done laughing yet and he almost spat it out, which made Sewanee laugh harder and she felt like they were back in the Venetian casino pushing each other into the chairs in front of the slot machines.
Cosmo came over the God Mic. “I think maybe I record this, eehh?”
“No, no, sorry, Cosmo,” she said. “We’ll get it together.” She caught Nick’s damp eyes and they smiled at each other.
He cleared his throat. Sniffed. Cleared again. “Okay, Cosmo. I’m ready.”
“Rrrrrolling.”
“I flipped my hand over and gently squeezed her breast.” Sewanee saw his jaw tick, the only tell that he’d almost lost it. But he carried valiantly on. “So perfect. Perfection matched only by the soft moan that escaped her. ‘There?’ I asked.”
“I want,”
“She panted,”
“I want . . . you to undress me. Just my blouse. And bra. I want my skirt on when you take me the first time.”
“My erection was immediate.”
Sewanee’s laugh was so loud and so directly on-mic that Nick jumped back as if it were a physical thing he could dodge, a bee or a shoe or a fist. He was still whipping the headphones off his head when she bleated, “Sorry!” and covered her mouth.
Nick glared playfully at her. “What are you, twelve? It’s just a word! Erection!”
She dropped to the floor in hysterics.
“Oh, come on,” Nick groaned.
“Signore,” Cosmo interjected.
“I’m sorry, Cosmo, I’m gonna need a minute. I’m dealing with a toddler here. She–”
“Si, but the last thing you say, erection? Eh scusate, but I think I read something different.”
Before Nick could respond, Sewanee weakly reached a hand straight up and tapped the tablet on her music stand.
Nick looked down at his. “Ah. ‘Reaction.’”
Sewanee fell back into a pile of laughter.
With all the mature dignity of a tuxedoed man-of-distinction fixing his bow tie before a night at the opera, Nick settled the headphones back on his ears. He stared down at the laugh-puddle in mocking reprimand, the imperious duke of a thousand Romance novels. “Would you care to take a break, Ms. Chester?”
“No,” Sewanee wheezed.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“Just give me a . . .” She stood up unsteadily, a newborn foal in an uneven pile of hay. She reached over to the table between them and cracked a fresh water bottle. Drank. Breathed. Blew her nose. Had more to drink. Pulled some lip balm out of her pocket, applied it. Cleared her throat. Inhaled. Exhaled.
She didn’t dare look at Nick during her recovery. Only when she was sure she was ready did she glance over at him. He was staring at her, a mien of pleasure and puzzlement on his face. She simply nodded and said, calmly, “I’m good.”
“Good.” Grinning, Nick centered himself back at the mic. He pointed to Cosmo, and they heard “rrrrrolling,” and then the pre-roll, and then Nick said, “My reaction was immediate.” And Sewanee pressed her lips together so tightly, they retreated into her mouth. “I could envision it all and I wanted it. I ached for it. And she’d said, ‘when you take me the first time.’ Implying . . . well. My fingers went to the buttons on her blouse as I said, ‘There’s nothing more attractive than a woman who knows what she wants.’”
This was the sort of section where Brock McNight shone, all by his lonesome, setting the scene. The undressing, the worship, the interiority of a hero’s desire. Sewanee kept her interjected dialogue as unobtrusive as possible （“yes,” “there,” “just like that”） within his ruminations about the perfection of her body, her response, how wild she was driving him.
He performed well. As Alessandro performed well, she supposed. It worked for him here, in these sections. But when the character required connection, struggle, relationship, that’s when she saw his limitations. When she got past that smoke screen of a voice, there was nothing behind it. Like the buildings on a movie set: a beautiful facade, but in reality, nothing but 2x4s propping it up. Was he holding something back on purpose?