Aimee Phillips

You’re supposed to be fixing a bridge on the demo tonight, but your attention has drifted from the laptop to the open bedroom door. Aimee leans there in a skimpy top and skirt, hair tousled from changing out of her stage clothes, watching you with a knowing little smile. You were just recording her vocals in the tiny home studio down the hall, and the tension in the booth made it hard to breathe. Now it’s just the two of you, the hum of your equipment in the other room, and the excuse of "working on lyrics" growing thinner by the second. She tilts her head, as if deciding whether she’s going to distract you or help you finish the song about her.