Page 5

five

Elsy

The bistro pub is a casual, trendy place close to the symphony hall. On a street lined with more upscale restaurants, this one seems more low-key. The lighting is low, but still bright enough I can see the menu, and the music is enough to drown out the noise of the other diners without being so obnoxious we can’t talk.

Anastasia stands as I approach, giving me a smile. “You made it.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Being new in town is hard.” Her smile turns sympathetic. “If I didn’t have my partner, I don’t think I’d have survived the transition.”

“Oh? Where did you move from?”

“Dallas by way of Scottsdale,” she says. “I’ve been here for six, no, seven years now. Been with the symphony for five.” Anastasia laughs and shakes her head, her chestnut hair bouncing. “I’m finally getting a feel for the place.”

The waiter comes by, and since she orders a glass of wine, I order myself a cocktail, too. I rarely drink two days in a row—especially after drinking a bottle of wine alone on my couch last night—but I could use the social icebreaker right now. We don’t actually know each other.

She leans forward, like she’s going to tell me a secret. “How do you feel about barbecue?”

My stomach twists. “It’s… fine.”

She laughs, clearly amused by my lack of enthusiasm. “Uh-huh.”

With a sigh, I explain, “My cousins are all from Kansas City, so I grew up eating Kansas City barbecue, and it’s just not my favorite. But I know Texas barbecue is supposed to be different, so I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“It’s on every street corner,” Anastasia says. “You won’t be able to get away from it.”

Looking over the menu, I’m not surprised to see barbecue on the list, but the dishes all seem to be modernized, hipster versions of the classics, knife and fork entrées with that signature Texas flare.

A shadow falls over us, and I expect it to be the waiter, lingering awkwardly.

Instead, it’s Wyatt, grinning at me like he’s a leopard with prey in his sights.

I think I’m supposed to be the prey in this scenario, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that he can’t prey upon me. I won’t make that mistake twice.

“Eleanor,” he sings, a bright smile stretching across his face.

“What are you doing here?” I grind out.

“Henry and I are here for dinner.” It’s only then that I notice the other tall, wide, devastatingly handsome man behind him. “He’s taking me on a tour of the city.”

“Great. Then continue your tour somewhere else.”

The waiter hovers. “Is there a problem here?”

Wyatt grins toothily at him. “Do you mind if we combine the tables? You don’t mind, do you,” he says to Anastasia, who looks confused and possibly a bit concerned.

“I mind,” I tell him.

“Great, perfect,” Wyatt continues, ignoring me. He and Henry maneuver their table until it’s joined next to ours. He slides the chair over and slips in beside me, Henry across from him.

His buddy reaches over the table to offer his hand. “Luke Henry. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ah, one of the infamous Henry brothers, then.

“Elsy. I’ve heard of you.” I keep my expression neutral. Mitch is not a fan of his. Something about a woman they both dated who cheated on them with a third guy.

Unwanted butterflies flutter low in my stomach as he aims his bright hockey smile my way, missing tooth and all. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Not exactly.”

Henry shrugs. “You win some, you lose some.” He turns to the woman beside him. “I’m Luke.”

She eyes his hand like someone might a snake. “Anastasia.”

“How do you guys know each other?” Wyatt asks, putting his arm on the back of my chair. I shove it off.

His citrus-and-cloves cologne is intense. I should be used to it by now, but when he sets his arm on my chair again and I’m treated to another wave of his intoxicating scent, it’s more difficult to push him away again. Why does he have to smell so damn good? It should be illegal.

“We’re in the symphony together,” she clips out.

Henry looks between us curiously. “Is this, like, a date? Did we interrupt your first date?”

“I’m married.” The ice in her tone could freeze Texas.

“Cool,” Henry says.

Anastasia raises her eyebrows. “Cool?”

“Yeah. Monogamy is neat. Not for me,” he adds. “But the concept in general is sweet. My brother loves being monogamous with his girl. I don’t have to want it for myself to recognize why other people might.”

Wyatt shifts in his seat. “How was your day?” he asks me.

I glare at him. “You don’t care.”

His eyes lose some of their brightness. “You’re right. I’m just making conversation.”

“My day went fine.” I reached out to a few music schools about signing on as teaching staff. So far, they’ve all said no, but I’m sure I’ll find something. “I put up some flyers in coffee shops about music lessons.”

“I can see if any of the guys have kids who want to learn,” Wyatt offers.

“No offense, but I don’t see a three-year-old interested in learning to play the violin.” Experts advise starting after the age of five, and usually after piano lessons to learn to read music. I can teach piano, but it’s not my specialty.

Wyatt frowns as he breaks off a hunk of bread, setting a piece on my plate before pushing the basket toward Anastasia. “I think some of them have older kids.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” I shake my head, tossing my hair over my shoulder. It smacks Wyatt on the shoulder, and he flinches. “Besides, I’d rather not have any involvement with your team.”

Henry lifts his eyebrows. “Why not? The team is awesome.”

Most people are champing at the bit to get closer to the professional athletes in my social circle. And yeah, some of them have egos bigger than the solar system. But when you spend time with them, you realize they’re actually normal human beings who don’t want to be celebrities. Nine guys out of ten only want to play hockey, regardless of the money or fame that comes with it.

Anastasia looks between them. “What team?”

“We’re on the Austin Aces,” Henry explains. “Whitney and I are hockey players.”

“Oh.” Her mouth turns down in distaste. “Sports.”

The hurt look on Henry’s face makes me laugh. “Not everyone is obsessed with you hockey players,” I tease him. “Some of us have lives outside of watching other people chase a puck.”

“Oh, like your patrons?” Wyatt cuts in. “You’re performing, same as we are. The only difference is you wear a gown and your violin when we have skates and sticks.”

I frown. I can’t read his tone. Is he teasing, friendly, or is he taunting, mean-spirited? I hate that I can’t tell with him.

The waiter interrupts, at long last bringing our drinks, while Henry and Wyatt order their own, along with our food. I suppose there’s no getting out of eating dinner with them.

Wyatt reaches across me for Anastasia’s menu, his arm brushing featherlight across my breast. He goes still, his face red.

Fireworks light up my body at the innocent contact. Inside my bra cup, my nipple pebbles, and heat flares through me to coil deep in my belly. At least I’m wearing a cardigan over my blouse. Hopefully, nobody will see it.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

I try to pretend like I’m unaffected. “What’s a boob graze between enemies?”

His face falls. “Is that what we are?”

“Well, it’s not like we’re friends,” I point out.

Wyatt doesn’t look happy about that, either. A muscle clenches in his jaw. “So you default to enemies?”

How do I tell him I have every reason to despise him? I honestly can’t decide which part makes me hate him more: that he was an insensitive asshat while publicly discussing our sex life, or that I was so meaningless to him he couldn’t remember who I was.

It’s not like the sex was life changing. It was good. He was attentive and took care to ensure I had a good time. Multiple times, if I remember correctly.

But the cruelty of his comments the next morning wiped away anything good about our night together. And that, I can’t forget.

Maybe one day, I’ll be able to forgive, but I won’t forget.