Page 20 of Hard Rock Tease

"Here. Like this." I put my hands to the keys and began playing, softly at first, then with more passion. I hit the keys harder as the bridge came to an end and exploded into the chorus. I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me. I could see the color of the notes in my mind's eye, could taste the flavor of them on my tongue. All my senses were engaged.

The song came to an end with a clash. I opened my eyes slowly and found myself breathing heavily from the exertion. That often happened when I played, when I lost myself to the music. I hadn't let it happen in front of Noah yet. I looked down at my hands and flushed, uncomfortable with how I'd gotten carried away.

"Like that," I said quietly.

"Shit."

I cringed. Noah hated it. Of course he hated it. I shouldn't have even tried. Now I'd embarrassed myself in front of him. He was going to realize I had no idea what I was doing.

"That was fantastic."

I glanced at him, surprised. "Really?"

His eyes burned with intensity. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Doubt yourself like that."

"Noah, come on. You'reyou, and I'm me. You don't have to lie to stroke my ego."

His narrowed his eyes at me. "You think I care about stroking anyone's ego?"

"No. I guess not."

"So quit it. If I say you're talented, you're talented."

My spirits lifted a little. Whenever Noah Hart said it, I couldn't help but feel that maybe he was right.

"Move. I'm going to try it that way."

Noah took his place again and tried to repeat what I'd played. My mouth twisted in contemplation as I listened. When he finished the song he sat there, still and quiet.

"That was…" I trailed off.

"It was trash," he said flatly.

"A little."

"Shit."

Noah buried his hands in his hair and stared blankly at the piano. "I can't do this. I'm never going to be able to write this goddamn song and make it not sound like garbage."

"We just need to keep working on it."

"August composes entire albums in days. I've had months. I can't fucking do it."

Despite the pain in his eyes, a small part of me was thrilled. Noah was slowly opening up to me. Instead of frustration and irritation, he was beginning to show his insecurities. His vulnerabilities.

"Yes you can. We've only been working together for a short time. We just need more inspiration. It's like I said before. If I keep on learning more about you, we'd have a better chance of writing the perfect song."

"You go first," he said grudgingly. "I shouldn't always be the one spilling my guts."

I paused, thinking about what to say.

Noah gave me a pointed stare. "And tell me something real. I don't care what your favorite instrument, or your favorite color, or your favorite food is."

I wanted Noah to open up to me. If I wanted him to share something real, I supposed I would have to be willing to, as well.