“Well?” Adam asks when Paul comes back into the recording booth. He glances at the window where Lewis sits in front of the control panel, already fooling with the tracks, and then turns his back to the glass, as if Lewis won’t be able to hear him if he can’t see his lips move.
“He likes it,” Paul tells them.
Mike whoops and Trace beats out a quick drum roll, ending with a flourish of cymbals. Adam grins at them, and when he turns toward Paul he ducks his head in a suddenly shy gesture that wrings at Paul’s heart. Damn, Paul thinks. This next week will be fun.
But hard. Lewis has done this before, not signed someone because he thinks they need work, and Paul can understand that. But simply looking at Adam turns Paul on. Those eyes bore into him now, that smile melts his soul, and he can’
