Page 57 of Strings

“No. No Bella. Just you.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’d rather dance with an untalented child?”

“You’re not a child. You’re all woman and I’d rather dance with you than anyone. I simply wish you’d stop being so difficult and let yourself feel the music.”

“Feel the music? I’m moving. I feel it.”

“Do you?” he asks. “Close your eyes.”

“No.”

He sighs and squints at me.

“Fine.” I close my eyes.

“Put your head on my shoulder.”

I open my eyes. “Are you trying to get my boobs up against your chest or something? It’s a pathetic move, even for a player like you.”

He stares at the ceiling for a moment. “If I wanted to feel your breasts, this isn’t how I’d do it. And if you mean aviolinplayer, then yes I am. It’s theonlyplayer I am. I want you to lean on my shoulder so you feel stable with your eyes closed. Moving without stability lessens the chances of you becoming one with the sound.”

I scrunch up my face in disbelief.

“Oh, for the love of fuck, forget it!”

“Fine. Geez, Seb-ass-chin. Don’t have a cow.” I close my eyes for him to see and place my head on his shoulder.

“Now listen. Don’t talk.”

I don’t recognize the song, but I hear a saxophone and a keyboard. The melody is soothing and with my eyes closed, I focus on my other senses.

I relax into his shoulder and realize how safe I feel with his arms around me. He smells… divine, and he’s holding me tightly in place. Being this close to him, I can feel how strong his arms and back are. I squeeze my hand slightly around the muscle of his triceps. It’s impressive.

“What do you feel?” he whispers, turning his mouth into my hair then against my ear.

“I… I don’t know.”

He leans his head against mine and we dance, slowly, neither of us saying a word. He releases my hand from his and places both arms around me. I slide my hands up the muscles of his back. We’re pressed together and for some reason, it seems right. As the song ends, we slowly pull apart.

“Did you feel that?” he asks in a whisper.

“Yes.” It’s all I can say. I feel fuzzy.

He pushes a piece of hair behind my ear. “Are you still talking about the music?”

His arrogance snaps me out of whatever moment I was lost in. “Of course I am.”

“What if I wasn’t?” he asks, lowering his head a little and lifting my chin with his finger. “What if what I meant is did you feel that—between us?”

I can’t look at him. Yes, I felt it. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? Why is my heart pounding in my chest? I force myself to look up into his eyes and he runs his tongue against his lips. Is he going to kiss me?

This isn’t real. He’s messing with me again, just like on the couch. I can’t let him scam me. Quickly, I step back and away from him. “What was the name of that song? I didn’t recognize it.”

He clears his throat. “It’s older, before your time, but still a classic. Kenny G, ‘Sentimental.’”

“Huh,” I say. Things got awkward fast. “Do you think we can go now? It’s getting late and I’m tired.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yes. You’ve done enough. I think it’s definitely time to go.”