Taking the papers in hand, I bid Frank good-bye as he exits on the third floor and I continue my walk upstairs. If there is a new cello instructor, I will have to sit in on the class. I’ve been sitting in on many classes, seeing what is working and what does not. Next week, I’ll have a one-on-one meeting with all the teachers and go over the points I have for each of them.
My feet carry me up the stairs to the fourth floor. I swing open the heavy wooden door and am instantly hit with the melody of a cello, obviously Crystal’s. The rooms are soundproof so the door to her classroom must be open.
I take a few steps toward Crystal’s room and see the door is, in fact, open. There are people standing in the entrance, longingly looking toward the front of the classroom, entranced in the melody that is being played.
Tapping someone on the shoulder, I ask if I can squeeze in past him. He moves to the left so I can walk into the room, but there are more people than I thought standing in here, coupled with the chairs filled with students and their instruments. I hope this isn’t against fire code.
Dancing through the people to get to my office, I get to the middle of the crowd and am surprised to see Crystal standing in the back. She catches my puzzled expression and looks back at me as if asking “What?” I look back at her in confusion. If she’s not playing, than who is?
Then I see what everyone is staring at. Asher. He is wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up. The tie and suit jacket rest on a folding chair beside him.
His strong thighs are wrapped around the cello. The neck of the instrument is in his left hand as his right strokes the strings with a bow. And it’s not just the beautiful man who is playing the instrument that causes you to stop and stare. It’s the way he plays.
His eyes are hooded, feeling every note his delicate hands are eliciting from the heavy wooden instrument. His body is strong yet moves ever so slightly in a beautiful dance with the instrument.
A wave of chills run up my spine, and my body ignites in a force of electricity I’ve come to expect whenever I’m in the same room as him. I’m sure others feel it too. He is magnetic and intoxicating—the most sinful sight the eyes have ever indulged.
Yet for me it is more than what my eyes are seeing. It’s what my body is feeling—because unlike the people around me, I know what it’s like to be in between that man and the instrument he is playing.
My eyes are fixated on Asher and, damn it, I hate that he makes me react this way.
His fingers work the strings of the fingerboard and the neck settled further into his shoulder as he takes the song into a wolf tone. With each pluck of his fingers, the strings vibrate, moving the air around it.
Instinctually, my body moves with his and again we are one with the song.
Loud beats.
Resonating sounds.
Bowed and plucked.
Like the strings of my heart.
Asher dives deeper into his performance and if I weren’t paying close attention I would have missed the startle of his muscles, the jolt in his shoulders at the very second he realizes I am standing right here.
His face rises and I am hit with intense emotion. Every feeling he has at this moment is being projected to the back of the room with a look of remorse so powerful I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.
He continues to play. He continues to feel. And he continues to keep his hold on me. The connection is too powerful, too much for my damaged heart. I can’t let him pull me in further. I’ve been down that rabbit hole and almost didn’t make it back up.
I excuse myself from the crowd around me, pushing past the ones in the doorway and make my way into the hallway. The air in here is too stuffy; I can’t find my breath. Running, my feet charge down the hallway and through the heavy doors to the stairwell, leaping down the four flights and through the lobby. I leave the building as quickly as possible forgetting my coat and regretting it as soon as the afternoon chill hits my bones.
And my bag? I left my damn bag upstairs!