Play Me (14 page)

That thought, as well
as many other more vivid and naughty ones, was what I kept replaying
in my mind instead of listening to Mark drone on and on about all the
mistakes I had made in my last performance. Every so often a few
words would break through and I’d hear that he was bitching
about my being too “emotional” or “bombastic.”
Screw you, Mark, I thought, amazed by how liberating it was to ignore
him. I had decided that after this competition was over—whether
or not I won the mentorship— I was finding a new teacher. Mark
might be the best teacher in San Francisco, but I’d much rather
find someone with less technical skill who treated me like a human
being with feelings than put up with his arrogance and criticism. How
had I allowed him to treat me this way for so long?

The sad thing was, I
knew exactly how. Every guy in my life had made me feel like there
was something wrong with me. And I had believed them because I felt
like they must be right. Because someone like Mark, handsome and
talented, had to be right about all my flaws. But it only took one
man—Jake—to make me question that.

Standing in the wings,
the usual feelings of panic rose inside of me. My heart was racing,
my palms damp. But I tried to remember what Jake had said to me.
“You’re amazing,” he had told me. Yeah, at that
point he was probably referring to other, more intimate things we had
done together, but I couldn’t deny that it had given me a
thrill to hear that.

And now, for a brief
moment, I felt okay. Not calm or normal, but not like I was going to
faint or puke or fall to pieces. I still felt uneasy, still wanted to
run home and hide under my covers—especially if Jake was
there—but this time, when I told myself it was going to be
alright, that it was all going to be over soon, I seemed to actually
believe it.

Then my name was called
and the panic returned. I swallowed the lump that was rising in my
throat and wiped my hands on the sides of my dress. My fingers grazed
my garters and my skin went warm, but this time it wasn’t from
nerves. I was thinking about Jake and how he had looked at me when I
played for him. Using that memory to propel me, I walked onto the
stage, my steps more confident than I felt. I could do this. And I
wanted it. More than anything.

I bowed to the judges
and took my seat at the piano and thought about Jake. About how he
had kissed me, his tongue hot and wet in my mouth. How he had
carefully taken the pins from my hair and let it fall loose on my
shoulders before burying his hands in it. How he had run his hands
along my legs, up beneath my dress and taken those gorgeous, talented
hands and made me pant and shudder in his arms. How I had felt him
hard and throbbing beneath me, but when I had told him about the
competition, he had merely kissed me on the forehead and gone home,
even though I knew that he had been left wanting. And I thought about
how badly I wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given me. And
how once I finished playing today, I would be free to do that.

That’s what I was
thinking about as I lowered my hands to the keys and played Chopin’s
Piano Sonata 3 in B minor Opus 58 better than I ever had before.

Ella

My fridge had never
been described as well-stocked, but after everything that had
happened in the past week, I found myself ravenous all the time. I
had developed a taste for brownies, specifically Jake’s
brownies. But since I didn’t have any, I took to filling my
fridge with Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie, but found
it empty by the time Monday came around.

I
didn’t mind the distraction of going to the store, especially
since it was Jake’s day off and I hadn’t heard from him.
Nor had I seen him around the building. Was he so intent on avoiding
me that he had completely vanished? I couldn’t understand it.
Had I misread the situation so terribly? Had he only been in it for
the sex and when he didn’t get that, he just lost interest? But
he had told me he could wait, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t
initiated our last kiss—I had.

I tried not to be
disappointed, but I felt like a complete fool. This is why you don’t
do things like this, I told myself. You don’t know what you’re
getting into. Maybe Mark was right. Maybe you’re too emotional.
The thought made me sick, especially after how he had reacted to my
performance at the competition. He had been thoroughly horrified,
while I had been quite proud of my showing. Now I was starting to
question my eagerness to disregard his tutelage.

I had resigned myself
to an afternoon of practicing when I headed home, arms full of ice
cream, and promptly ran into Dakota on the stairs outside my
apartment.

“Ella!” she
called out before I could duck inside.

“Hi.” I
gave her a small smile. “I was just about to—”

“I was hoping I
would see you.” She looked pretty tired. “I tried to get
your apartment number from Jake but he’s been pretty out of
it.”

That got my attention.
“Out of it?”

“Yeah.” She
ran a hand through her hair. “He’s had the flu since
yesterday—kept insisting he was fine.” Dakota rolled her
eyes. “Men.”

“Is he okay?”

Dakota shook her head.
“He’s got a fever and he’s pretty useless. He
managed to come out of it long enough to tell me that I needed to
contact you, but then passed out before I could ask which apartment
was yours.”

At least that explained
why he hadn’t called. I began to regret all the ice cream I had
eaten in my disappointment. Well, not
all
the ice cream. I was
still enjoying this newfound appreciation for sweets, regardless of
everything else.

“Does he need
anything?” I asked Dakota. She was rubbing her eyes, which
seemed to be bloodshot. On second glance, she looked less tired and
more upset. Had she been crying? “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah.”
But the minute she looked up at me, her face crumpled and she threw
herself into my arms and started sobbing.

I didn’t know
what to do, so I just held on to her and my ice cream and patted her
back in a way I hoped was comforting. After a few minutes of crying,
she pulled back, looking both miserable and embarrassed.

“I’m
sorry,” she sniffed, pulling out a tissue from her pocket. “I’m
not usually like this.” She glanced at my shoulder and the
tears started up again. “And I ruined your shirt and it’s
so pretty too.”

It was one of my new
ones and sure enough it was now smeared with mascara.

“Don’t
worry about it,” I told her earnestly. “What happened?”

“Some guy.”
She threw up her hands. “It’s always some guy.”

I nodded, thinking how
if it weren’t for Jake, I could have gotten a gold medal for
attracting real jerks. I could still probably claim silver. Mark had
just been the latest in a long line of bad choices. Jake was
definitely my first nice guy.

“I have such bad
taste in men.” She began shredding her tissue, raining down
little white pieces on the hallway floor. “But this one really
takes the cake.”

“Do you want to
come in?” I asked. “I think I have some tea, or
something.” I peered into my grocery bag. “Ice cream?”
I offered.

“Tea would be
great.” Dakota gave me a watery smile.

Thankfully tea was the
one other thing I kept stocked. I started the kettle as Dakota
examined my piano.

“This is
beautiful,” she told me.

“Thanks.” I
got the cups and teabags ready. “I’m sorry I don’t
have many places to sit.”

“It’s
fine.” Dakota waved off my apology. “I shouldn’t
stay long anyways—I need to go get some food for Jake.”

“Do you want any
help taking care of him?” I asked, as if I had any experience
taking care of a grown man who was sick.

But Dakota’s eyes
lit up. “Would you mind?” There was definitely some
exhaustion visible under her sadness. “It’s my only night
off and I am in desperate need of some sleep. I can come check on him
tomorrow if you could watch over him tonight. Bring him some soup
maybe?”

“Of course,”
I told her as the kettle began to whistle.

“That would be
amazing.” Dakota grabbed a sheet of paper from my counter and
scribbled something on it. “Here’s my number. You can
call me if you need anything.”

I pocketed the piece of
paper, wondering if this was a bad idea. Maybe he’d be too out
of it to notice me bringing him canned chicken noodle—the only
thing I was really capable of making.

I handed Dakota her
tea.

“Thank you,”
she sighed and took a sip. “I feel so stupid. I’m not
really the type to start crying in front of someone I barely know.”

“Sounds like you
had a rough day,” I offered.

“You have no
idea.” She took another drink and gave me a wry grin. “I
don’t suppose you have anything stronger to spice this up?”

I shook my head,
thinking that a bottle of whisky would probably be a good addition to
the apartment, as well as the tea.

“Probably better
this way.” Dakota stared down at her cup. “Bad enough to
be sad and alone. Being sad, drunk, and alone is definitely worse.”

“Do you want to
talk about it?”

Dakota was silent for a
moment, but then took a deep breath. “He was married,”
she told me. “The guy I had just started dating, who I was
really falling for, he was married.”

“Oh, no.” I
couldn’t imagine how terrible that must have been for Dakota to
find out.

“His wife called
me.” Dakota shook her head, the embarrassment obvious. “He
told me they were divorced. They weren’t.”

I winced.

“She was actually
very nice, all things considered.”

“I’m so
sorry,” I told Dakota.

“Thanks.”
She gave me a half-hearted smile. “I’ll get over it.
Nothing a batch of brownies and a bottle of tequila can’t fix.
It’s not my first time at the Heartbreak Rodeo.” She
finished her tea. “One of these days I’ll find a nice
guy. One that doesn’t tell me I’m fat, or cheat on me, or
lie about being married.”

“They’re
out there.” I tried to be encouraging.

“Oh, I know they
are.” This time her smile was more genuine. “And one of
them is upstairs waiting for the girl he likes to bring him some
soup.”

After Dakota had fixed
her makeup and finished off another cup of tea, I walked her out and
went to the grocery store to get supplies for Jake. I stocked up on
the basics—Nyquil and tissues—and bought several cans of
Campbell’s soup to feed him.

Balancing the bag of
groceries on my hip, I somehow managed to get Jake’s door
unlocked—with a key borrowed from Dakota—with hardly any
trouble. The room was dark when I entered, the curtains all drawn,
but I could still make out Jake’s enormous bed and the figure
in the middle of the rumpled sheets.

Be cool, I told my
hormones, already starting to heat up. He’s sick, I reminded
myself. This is no time for more piano bench-style action, no matter
how much you want it.

“Dakota?”
his voice was raspy from sleep and sickness.

“It’s
Ella,” I told him, putting the groceries down on the counter
and coming around to the bed. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, so I
could see him more clearly. His hair was adorably ruffled, his cheeks
shadowed with several days worth of scruff, and he was not wearing a
shirt. His sheets were tangled around his hips, so I got a pretty
great view of all of his tattoos. And this time I was ready for them.
Or, as ready as a woman could be, confronted with a chest that
perfect.

I sat down on the edge
of the bed, not exactly sure what to do. Dakota had said the worst of
it was over, and that his fever was down and he just needed some bed
rest. He wasn’t contagious anymore, but even if he was, I was
glad I had gotten the flu shot a few weeks ago.

Though I was starting
to feel a little feverish. Jake had no right to look as good as he
did, being sick and all. Maybe what
I
needed was some bed
rest, as well, though what I wanted to do to Jake in his bed was
nowhere near restful. What was under those covers, I wondered? I
couldn’t imagine he would mind if I took a little peek.

Oh. It was getting
really, really hot in here.

His hand reached out
and without hesitating, I took it. His skin was warm, but not
alarmingly so.

“Ella,” he
murmured.

“Hi.” A
thrill ran through me as he linked his fingers with mine.

“I was supposed
to call you,” he said sleepily, his face half buried in the
pile of pillows around him.

“You’re
sick,” I reminded him. “It’s okay.”

“I wanted to
call,” he insisted.

“Dakota told me.”
I patted his hand. “She also told me that you need to be
resting.”

“I am resting.”
His voice was muffled.

“Do you want some
soup?” I asked, not really wanting to let go of his hand, but
trying to remind myself that the reason I had come up here was to
make him feel better, not to gape at his gorgeous body. But how could
anyone resist. Even in the semi-darkness of the room, I could still
see the outlines of the tattoos covering his chest. The “Lucy”
tattoo, of course, but now I got a good glimpse of the others—of
the intricate shapes that took over his entire left arm, starting
with a large, almost flower-like geometric shape that extended up
across his shoulder and just slightly on to his chest. I knew I had
heard about this style somewhere—maybe Buzzfeed or someplace
like that—sacred geometry, I think it was called. Either way,
it was gorgeous and more than a little sexy.

“Checking out my
ink, huh?” Jake’s husky voice interrupted my observation.
He was watching me through barely parted eyes. “Ladies love the
tats.”

I blushed. “You’re
supposed to be quiet,” I told him, trying to hide my
embarrassment at being caught.