I’d never been able to convince Morgan to come. The closest I could get her to watching rugby was the film Invictus, and only because it had Matt Damon in it.
Once again, I kicked myself for not seeing the warning signs earlier with her. Thinking with my cock instead of my brain was never a good idea. At least I didn’t have that issue with Tara.
Well, not completely. We didn’t fuck in the traditional sense, yet there was a ton of heat and sex between us.
But there was also the lie. I’d been told to stay away from the blindfold club. I couldn’t claim ignorance if I admitted I knew she worked there, and I didn’t know how she’d react when she found out I’d been her customer once. What had she thought about that night? Was I just a faceless john to her, or had there been a connection even then?
There was a black ledger in a drawer in her apartment that could tell me.
Curiosity killed the cat, remember?
I wasn’t going to do that to Tara.
If Morgan had wanted to post her nudes to Reddit or some porn website, I probably would have been fine with it. The worst of her betrayal was the invasion of our privacy. She hadn’t asked before inviting strangers into the intimate side of our lives. She’d taken that choice away from me, and I still struggled to move past it.
The restaurant was only a few blocks over from the stop, and I found Tara at the bar like she’d said, a mostly empty drink in front of her. She looked so happy to see me, I couldn’t help but wonder if she thought I wasn’t going to show.
“Big surprise, Erin’s running late,” she said. “We should get a table now. She promises to be here, like, eventually.”
We didn’t have to wait long to be seated, and after I’d ordered a drink, Tara folded her arms and leaned on the table, crushing the menu beneath her elbows.
“Did you get a copy of the piano recording? Francine sent one to me, but—”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“It sounds great, right?” Her anxiety over her sister’s arrival seemed to be forgotten, because Tara was full of bubbly energy. “How’s your part going?”
“Fine,” I said quickly.
She bobbed her head. “Awesome. Elena can fit us in on Monday, the same time as before.”
“This Monday?” Unease twisted my gut. I wasn’t ready to perform the piece for anyone, let alone her, but pride made it impossible to say that out loud. “With training and my match today, I haven’t had a lot of time to practice.”
Her energy deflated somewhat. “Oh. Yeah, I know it’s not a lot of time, but the audition is in two weeks.” She forced a carefree smile. “If you don’t think you have time and it’s easier, let’s just do the Coldplay song. It’s not a big deal.”
There was no way I was letting her down. “No, I’ve got it. I can’t do Monday, though, I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Fredrick.”
“The repair guy? Is something wrong with your cello?”
“No.” My voice was tight. “It’s nothing. I wanted some help with my technique.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re taking lessons?”
“Like, one lesson,” I mumbled.
She looked stunned, and for a moment, she was speechless. Was she even blinking? Her voice was just loud enough to hear over the din from the rest of the tables around us. “You’re taking lessons . . . for me? You didn’t have to do that.”
I drew in a deep breath. “I want it to be perfect.”
Her eyes went soft and warm. She was moved. But before she could say anything else, her expression shifted and her shields went up. A woman came to the table and hung her purse on the back of the empty chair beside me.
> “No, don’t get up,” she said as Tara made a move to stand. “Sorry I’m late.”
Tara’s older sister wasn’t a hugger, it seemed. The resemblance was clear, but Erin was a brunette, and it was like someone took all of Tara’s features and dialed them up to ‘severe.’ Her nose was sharper, her shoulders wider, her face gaunt. Her blue eyes were dull and shrewd.
“Hi,” she said, glancing from Tara to me. “Who’s this?”
“Grant Kruger,” I said, holding out my hand.