Our neighborhood’s not the safest, but in daylight it’s fine. I don’t notice any of it this morning on my way to Vanier. Instead, I’m thinking ofAnnie.
Beck’s right. The past tense feelings are blurring with the present tense ones. The more I talk to her, the harder it gets to convince myself there’s nothing betweenus.
But just because I’m attracted to her doesn’t mean I’d jump into a relationship with her or that she would withme.
I have to think twice before letting someone in again. I fucked up my career when I moved to New York last fall and spun out, and while some of it was about what happened with my dad? A lot of it was abouther.
I can’t afford to set myself up for thatagain.
I head to school, and an hour later, I’m in the rehearsal room running my audition song when a knock comes. I get up from my stool, guitar in one hand, and open thedoor.
My breath sticks in mythroat.
Annie’s dark hair is piled up on her head, a few pieces loose from the bun I want to tug out just to see it fall in waves around her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s wearing leggings and a denim shirt with the top two buttons undone, and the way her backpack straps tug on the fabric reveals a tantalizing glimpse of the curve of her breasts. A chain disappears beneath theclothes.
I want to follow it with mytongue.
“There’s a price to enter,” I say, my voice remarkablylevel.
She angles her chin up. “I’m not going to blowyou.”
All the blood in my body goessouth.
I take back every thought about wanting to rewind time, to get back the girl I knew a yearago.
I wantthisAnnie Jamieson, the one with dancing eyes who says she’s not going to blow me as if she’s actually considered letting me stick my cock between those beautifullips.
As if the right circumstances might make her consider itagain.
Oblivious to my thoughts, she holds out one of two coffees. “My finaloffer.”
I take one with my free hand and let herin.
She crosses the room, dropping onto the piano bench. “I thought we could pause the competition thing for an hour. I could play my piece, and you could play yours. You know, give each othernotes.”
I shift onto the stool. The rooms aren’t big, so I’m only a few steps away from her and thepiano.
“Deal,” I say. “Youstart.”
She turns to the piano and begins. The melody is pretty, but her voice grabs me and won’t letgo.
I’m glad she’s facing away because I don’t need her to see what her art does tome.
And it is art, what she creates. Every note and inflection, every breath, all of it spills between us, shapes something new and magical I couldn’t resist if I wantedto.
“Those words,” I say when she’s done. “I recognize some of them from the pictures in yourroom.”
Annie shifts on the bench. “I decided I might as well use them forsomething.”
“It’s a goodsong.”
“But it’s not right.” She grabs her lower lip in her teeth. “Let me hearyours.”
I hesitate only a moment before picking out a song on myguitar.
It’s not the one I’ve been rehearsing, but somethingnew.
Annie leans closer, listening. “I likeit.”