Even though I’m staring at the reflection of a woman who looks a great deal like my mother, I can’t help but think of Nana and how when she was alive, our house was full of music. It was what helped me to moved past the devastation of losing my parents.
She taught us everything she knew about playing the piano—about timing and feeling. She showed me how to pour my pain into the keys.
Music might not have fixed what was broken inside me when my parents died, but it was the balm that soothed the wounds.
When I meet the guys in the lobby to head to the meeting with Ms. Lantram, neither of them hides his reaction to me very well.
It’s not like I usually perform in sweatpants or anything, but I’m dressed a little more provocatively than usual. My dress is short, my heels are high, and I worked for half an hour on getting this smoky eye done right. The black dress with tiny white skulls looks more like a shirt with a belt than an actual dress and the McQueen ankle boots with skull zippers I bought at a yard sale are much racier than my usual flats or boots.
Dallas is on his phone and frowns his disapproval but says nothing to me, causing me to once again be grateful that he thinks I’m in a highly hormonal state.
Gavin’s reaction is more what I was going for. Because I don’t want him to just agree to our one night, I want him to look forward to it. To be counting the time, measuring the moments and heartbeats until we’re alone, just as I am.
The frustration rolls off him in waves as I step between him and my brother. His hands are fisted at his sides and I watch him swallow three times more than is necessary.
Finally. He finally sees me. He glances down, his eyes meeting mine and reflecting the painful need I’ve shouldered alone for so long.
“You didn’t bring Oz?” Dallas finally says after he’s ended his call.
I force my eyes reluctantly away from Gavin’s. “Are we not going to have time to come back here after the meeting?”
Dallas sighs as if I have asked the world’s dumbest question. “I don’t know, Dix. But I’d prefer to be prepared just in case.”
So much for having it together for a change.
“I’ll grab him,” Gavin volunteers, reaching his hand out for my key. “I left my extra set of sticks, too.”
I’m not sure if he’s just trying to make me feel better or what, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to my room right now. Though I do appreciate that he called Oz a him and not an it.
“Um, actually I need to grab a few things if we’re not coming back here. I’ll hurry.”
The lyrics I’ve been working on are out in plain sight and they’re about him. My bras and underwear are strewn around the room— though that last one shouldn’t matter so much if I’m going to let him see everything Friday night anyways. Anticipation rolls over my stomach at the thought and threatens to pull me under.
“Grab what you need and let’s get moving. I don’t want to be late.”
Gavin and I nod at my brother’s command. The two of us head to the elevator and I avoid looking at him because, once again, Dallas has reduced me to the kid sister who forgets and needs reprimanding.
Gavin presses the button for the elevator and I catch myself watching his hand, his fingers long and masculine and graceful. They gripped me so hard when we kissed that I should’ve checked for bruises on the back of my thighs.
Dear God in Heaven, give me strength.
I want him to bruise me in a passionate lovemaking, fingers-denting-flesh-hard-enough-to-hurt-while-I-scream-his-name sort of way.
There’s a ding and we wait for a few guys in reggae getup to exit the elevator before we step inside. Alone. Our arms brush and this is so the wrong time to be fantasizing about Gavin holding me hard enough to hurt.