[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
Keegan was sort of excited to have a girl coming to see him. She'd said she was dressing sexy, but he wasn't sure what exactly she wanted. Either way, he took his dose of Cialis before heading to the studio. You know, just in case. And if she didn't want that? Then he'd just rub one out later and call it a night.
<p>He was outside, having a cigarette. Taking a breaking, giving Ken and James's fingers a break from playing the acoustic stuff. He sat on the curb, knees bent, taking a drag and enjoying the afternoon air and people watching. Keeping his eyes out for this fan of his.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

She'd baked the peanut butter cookies herself, though she didn't know why - she could have just bought a box. But then, that would defeat the purpose, right? They actually weren't bad. Standard recipe on the jar but she mixed in peanut butter chips in hopes that they would be perfect. Then, she dressed, which was... well, more for Keegan. Now, some would call Angie a slut for wearing such a short patent leather skirt and a low cut, black shirt, but she really didn't care. She had every intention of impressing Keegan Parrish - she was still internally fangirling - and she had every intention of bedding him if he would have it. She checked her phone for the directions once more time and then decided to walk, despite the platform pumps she'd settled on. When she got close, she found her target sitting outside the building and she smiled as she approached. "I'm Angie," She greeted, standing a few feet away, trying not to squeal with excitement.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
As she approached, he extinguished the cigarette and stood, brushing his jeans. She was smoking hot. "Hey, sweetheart." He greeted, plastering his face with a friendly grin. He walked up to her and gave her a hug, glad she'd come down. He had no problem hugging fans. Especially when they were wearing something that was clearly designed to impress. "You did bring cookies, holy fuck. Ken's gonna be so happy. How are ya, love?" He tugged the studio door, motioning for her to go inside.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
And then he was giving her a hug, and Angie felt dizzy. She bit her lip as she wrapped her free arm around him, breathing in his amazingly perfect scent. Cigarettes and man. Perfect. "Of course I brought cookies, I told you I would and I always aim to please' She smiled, taking his direction and walking into the studio. "Thank you for inviting me, it really is an honour and a pleasure to meet you" She reiterated as she walked in front of him, giving him a good chance to take in her behind before turning to him again, "I can't tell you how excited I was"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"I'm flattered, sister. Thank you." He led her up the stairs to the small recording booth, and knocked on the glass. "Fatass. Cookie!" Ken, lead guitarist of his band, bolted like he'd seen the Rapture coming. "Dude loves his sweets, man. Ken. This is Angie." He intended to introduce her to his bandmates - all part of impressing a cute fan.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
Unreal. Absolutely unreal. "I made them myself, I hope they're alright," She said, having already been introduced. She couldn't stop smiling, trying to stay as calm as possible.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
She seemed to like the attention. His bandmates were just cool guys - in the studio, very relaxed atmosphere, a bunch of guys hanging out and making good music. And they liked food, and girls.
<p>"So Angie." He said, once the intros were out. "We're just sort of hanging out and writing. Not gonna be too boring for you, is it?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Of course not," She answered, smiling at him, biting her lip. Go, this was surreal. She loved all of this. Angie was a sucker for recording studios and tatted men, really. "I promise I'll be quiet" Though when there was music she had the tendency to sing. She would try her best, though.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Don't worry about it." He assured her. "We're working on an acoustic version of The Foggy Dew. Ever heard the tune? It's an Irish folk song, we're covering it." They were more practicing than actually recording it. "And did you say you were a vocalist?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"I know it, but not well. I'm sure it will be amazing" Angie smiled, excited to see them play the song acoustically. She was a Sinead O'Connor fan, actually - found her voice to be pleasing. "I'm a vocalist, yeah. Not famous by any means, but well trained."
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"You wanna practice with us? I'm always fucking off pitch, but it'll be fun. We're just fooling with the song today." It seemed like the guys were getting their instruments together, getting ready to start fooling around, checking tune. If she was a singer, she was more than welcome to come and give it a shot.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">


"I don't know it well enough to make a legitimate contribution," Angie said, timid all of a sudden about making some sort of real impact on what they were doing. She didn't want to ruin their flow.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"I'm gonna call Mac and complain about you, baby." He teased. "He taught me the words. But grab a seat over there, and you can watch from behind the glass?"
<p>He made sure she was set, along with the manager, and headed in to take his seat before the mic.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

She smiled at him as he gave her a place to settle in, and then watched as he went in to the booth. He sat down in front of the mic and she thought she might faint. She was certainly glad that she was on this side of the glass, because if she had gone in she had a feeling she would have ruined what they were about to do by not knowing the whole thing. Though she was sure it would really impress Mac if she had been really involved.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
They started in after a few moments of silence, getting the beat down. "'Twas down the glen one Easter morn..." He rasped into the song, a little off tune. As usual. But his voice was gravelly and low, and crept over the words, building higher as he sang.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

Before long they started and Angie was immediately enthralled. A little off tune, but that was the point; it wasn't about being perfect, it wasn't about being the same as some other version. She found herself humming along, a higher octave than he was singing, harmonizing occasionally, but mostly just humming along. Despite being a little off, he sounded good; men who could sing were a huge turn on. She did love talent.


</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
As they finished, he laughed. They ran through the second half of the song, and then a stanza. The guys wanted to work on the guitar music more - which was fine by Keegan. He wanted to make sure his guest was entertained.
<p>He headed to the door, pushing it open. "Well? Having a decent time?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

She was clapping as he walked back in, smiling at him from the stool she'd perched on. "A great time," She corrected, "Humming along like the little fan girl I am."


</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
He broke into a grin. "Great. Glad you're having fun. I told you I'm off key." She was adorably excited. And he was flattered. "I think they're mostly fucking with the instrumentals at this point. Mind if I sit?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

"Please," Angie smiled. "Off tune but still amazingly talented" She amended, "I was humming along, but I would have thrown you right off - I thought I knew it better than I do"


</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Thanks." He sat down with her, watching the guys work. "So, Angie. How long you been singing?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

"Since I was a child," Angie answered. "I started taking lessons when I was eight, or so. Continued through highschool, did musical theatre, and then I went to Juliard for voice." She explained. She wasn't a snob, though, as most thought she would be upon hearing her credentials. As a burlesque girl she understood that a voice was nothing without stage presence.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"No shit! Quite the resume, girl." He nodded, appreciating the work she must have put in. "So what do you do?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

She smiled, shrugging a shoulder. "I do whatever feels right," She answered, licking her bottom lip quickly before looking away from him and to the boys. It was a blatant attempt at intriguing him further, but she wasn't worried about being blatant.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Oh, yeah?" He smirked at her, looking back to the glass, and then back at her. "What are your feelings about this evening? You free to come and hang out with me and the guys, or..?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

Another smile, coy, as she looked back at him again. "Well, I was hoping that I could hang out with you for a bit" Alone. He didn't seem to oppose.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
He secretly congratulated himself on having taken the Cialis. She seemed pretty forward with what she wanted. "Yeah. Of course. Want to go out, or go back to my place, or something?" She'd said she wanted to "talk". And he was too old to play with pretenses.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

She glanced around and realized the band's manager had slipped out at some point - which was awfully convenient for Angie, and she looked back at Keegan, "Your place or mine, it doesn't really matter." She answered. She wouldn't mind seeing where he was living or staying or whatever, but she was also keen on having him in her bed - having that to brag about.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
He reached over, under the instrument panel, to massage her thigh. "You drive here?" He'd only seen her walking. "I drove. Just come to my place. Condo's pretty decent, we'll hang out. Talk music."
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">

It was a physical reaction more than anything, but Angie's thighs parted slightly. She looked down at his hand, then laid hers on top of it. "Sounds perfect." Was the only answer she could come up with as she slid his hand higher on her thigh, however surrepticiously.

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Yeah." He agreed, giving her a small squeeze, before stealing his hand back. "Let's just tell these guys we're heading out, yeah?" He had to at least open the door and say goodbye, before they headed outside.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Don't let me keep you from practising," She said hurriedly, laying her hand on his arm, "I can wait if you still have things to do"

</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
He waved off her concerns. "They needed me more earlier today. We'll be back at it tomorrow, anyway." He said, gently removing her hand. He opened the door and leaned in, letting them know he was going to take off, he'd see them tomorrow.
<p>It wasn't a lie - he was pretty useless to them at this point, without any instrumental talent of his own. He pulled his keys of out his pocket as he returned to her, twisting them around a tattooed finger. "Ready to blow this popsicle stand?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"If you are," Angie answered, finding that she was very excited about all of this. Still something to brag about, for sure. "I want to see every single one of your tattoos," She said quietly, trailing her fingers over his.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"You know, you might just get to." His eyes followed her own, realizing that they extended deep under her shirt. "I wouldn't mind seeing yours, either. Shall we?" He headed for the front staircase door, to lead her outside to his Land Rover parked in a front parallel spot.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"You're more than welcome to see every single one of mine" She smiled, walking behind him out to his car. "Nice choice. Big car are always fun" and much more fun to fuck in, from her experience. "Standard or automatic?"
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Automatic. Kind of easier to smoke and drink a coffee that way." He admitted. "Although I prefer standard if given the choice." He'd had his car detailed the week before, so it was clean, although it probably smelled vaguely of stale cigarette smoke. He clicked the locks open and opened her door, before heading to the driver's side and climbing in, revving the engine.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"I never learned to drive stick" Angie told him as she climbed into the car, leaning over the center console after they were both buckled in, laying her hand high on his thigh and gently running her fingers up and down. "Automatic is more fun" She told him. She'd given head on the interstate before, and she knew for fact that Automatic cars were better for things like that.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:350px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
"Oh, yeah?" He ran his fingers through her hair, and brushed a coarse thumb gently over her lips before taking his hand back, to start driving. He had to get her home - the girl was clearly ready to go. He mentally thanked the gods at the pharmaceutical company as he placed the car in gear, and rolled the SUV out of the parking spot.
</div></div>[/dohtml]

[dohtml]<div class='postcolor'> <center><div style="width:200px; text-align:justify; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; color:#000; line-height:100%; padding-top:2px;">
His thumb running over her lips made Angie gasp, hand clenching gently on his thigh. "Yeah, it's much more fun" She said, "One less thing to worry about."
</div></div>[/dohtml]