by Lynda Aicher
He’d done it now. This was where she’d bail. Not a surprise. A nice girl like her wouldn’t want a guy with his reputation.
He settled back, hands folding in his lap. He was a pro at handling endings. Especially ones that’d never really started.
Chapter Six
Jacqui wasn’t sure how to respond. Was he expecting a reaction? Obviously. But what? Her stomach churned around the food she’d just consumed as she tried to figure him out. Maybe he was playing her. But why?
“Is that supposed to impress me or scare me away?” There. She put it back on him since she had no clue what he wanted and she really didn’t want whatever this was to end.
He ducked his head, eyes closing for a long moment before he puffed out a soft laugh. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. His eyes were dark when he raised his head. “Maybe I was hoping for neither of those.”’
Her heart did a little hitch and stutter that overtook the jumble of nerves fluttering through her chest. He was possibly the worst guy for her to get involved with—not that she was getting involved—but she didn’t want to walk away from him. Not yet, at least.
“Do you have plans after this?” she asked, going on impulse.
“No.” He wet his lips. “Not ’til four. And that’s flexible.”
“You do now.” She set her napkin on the table and reached for her bag. “Are you done?” She nodded at his unfinished lunch then dug out her phone to look up the school’s practice room schedule.
He flagged down the waiter and requested the bill. I guess that’s a yes.
She hesitated. “Unless you’d rather leave. That’s cool too.” Not really, but she wouldn’t force him either.
“No. It’s good.” His smile was real when it slowly edged up his face, the Cupid’s bow flattening out until only a small dip remained. Maybe it was the softness of them, compared to the rugged hardness of the rest of him, that intrigued her.
“Okay.” Her smile flowed out from the warmth growing within her. The multiple sides of this man continued to fascinate her. And that smile—that real one that lit up his eyes and lightened everything about him—was one she wanted to see again.
He took care of the bill while she scanned the app for an open room. There should be one free at this time of the day. Her silent plea was thankfully answered. She claimed the room before tucking her phone in her hoodie pocket.
“Do you mind walking over to the school?” The rain had eased to a light sprinkle and the walk wasn’t too far.
He glanced out the big front window. “My car’s close.”
“Parking’s expensive near the school unless you have a student pass.”
He arched a brow, and she heard what she’d just said. Right. Money probably wasn’t his concern.
“Did you bring a jacket?”
“I’m good.” He slid out of the booth, her coat in his hand. “We can walk.”
It was on her tongue to argue, but why? His black sweater looked warm enough, and it was a crap-shoot if they’d find a parking spot any closer without a student sticker. He held up her jacket, and she slid into it. Manners. He had them in spades. Something a lot of the men she met lacked. Especially at school, where most of the guys were years younger than her and more boys than men.
“Let me.” He motioned to her backpack, and she was too impressed to say no.
Did chivalry still exist in modern men? Her brothers still tried to baby her, but they knew her history. Their offers to carry things always felt like coddling and drove her nuts. But Henrik had no idea about her past. He was simply being nice, and she really liked it.
“So, Henrik,” she said once they’d hit the sidewalk, her backpack slung over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be busy with hockey? Doesn’t the season start soon?” Her brothers still circled opening day on the family calendar like it was a national holiday. To her, it’d always signaled the end of her rights on the family’s sole TV. Hockey dominated the viewing schedule from October to May. Thankfully she’d had her music to entertain her during those months.
“Preseason started last week.” He tucked a hand in his jean pockets, the other gripping the strap of her backpack. He didn’t slouch though. No, he carried his height with pride. “The season opens next week.”
“And you’ve played here for how long?”
“Six years.”
“Can I ask how old you are?” She hadn’t bothered to check when she’d searched on him the other day. Despite his flexing tentativeness, he had a maturity she guessed put him closer to thirty than twenty.
“Twenty-nine.” He eyed her. “And you?” There was a slight hesitancy in his voice.
She chuckled, dodging around a few pedestrians. Was he afraid she’d get mad? “Twenty-five. I started college a year late and then went part-time for a few years.” The additional explanation was tacked on automatically. Most people were usually nosy enough to ask why she was still in school, and it was just easier to get it out there.
“Are you from around here then?” He tugged his hand out of his pocket to circle her shoulders as he navigated her through a busy crosswalk. Not overbearing, but courteous.
A warmth spread from her chest down to her abdomen before her stomach did that crazy flip thing again. A part of her wanted to curl up to his side and absorb his strength, something she hadn’t let herself want from a guy since she’d kicked her last round of cancer.
She made a dodge around a slow-moving couple, deftly shifting away from his touch. “Born and raised,” she answered when she was at his side again, picking up their conversation. “What about you?”
Tiny water droplets stuck to the ends of his thick hair. Kind of long on top, it swept away from his face in a side part that swooped back to curl around his ear. Styled but not.
“Boston.”
“Is your family still there?”
“Yes.”
The clipped note had her wondering, but they’d reached the campus building, so she left it alone. Henrik moved quickly to open the door for her, ushering her inside. She could get used to being treated like this.
“What are we doing?” He followed her down the hallway as she scanned the practice rooms.
She found the one she’d reserved and yanked the door open, grinning. “We’re going to play.” The familiar scent of polish and wax hit her nose before she flicked the light on.
“We’re what?”
The questioning doubt in his voice had her glancing back. “You know—” she motioned around the practice room. “Play. Music.”
He was shaking his head before she’d finished, stepping backward. “I don’t play in front of others.”
“Well, I’m not others.” She brushed off his denial and strode across the room to open the large cabinets on the far side. “I’m Jacqui.” A glance back showed a stoic face. “Your friend.”
“Friends can be others.”
Bingo. There were two guitars in the cabinet, there for anyone to use. Good. She grabbed the acoustic one, swinging around to hold out her prize. “You can pretend then.” Determined now—and more than a little excited—she walked back to him, guitar extended. “Pluck out the notes you know as I play.” She’d bet money that any man who owned four guitars knew how to do more than “pluck out a few notes.”
He held her stare for a few tense moments. This close, she caught the clean scent of the rain heavy with the deeper hues of his cologne. A faint shadow of whisker stubble tinted his cheeks, and his eyes held a mix of indecision and doubt. Finally he reached out and accepted the instrument.
Relief hammered through her heart, but she hid it behind a confident smile and prayed this didn’t blow up in her face. He was free to walk out at any time. And why did the thought of him doing that have her stomach churning? She was going to need a box of antacids if this kept up.
He was just a guy. A new friend. A fellow music lover.
She repeated that mantra despite its ineffectiveness as she removed her coat and situated hersel
f behind the piano. The keys flew under her fingers in a quick scale, notes soaring into the sound-proof room. She transitioned into a modern rock song and snuck peaks at Henrik as she played.
He set her backpack on a chair, ran a hand through his damp hair. His sweater clung to his shoulders in a way that had her gaze lingering on his chest and biceps. He’d be fit and toned. And how would all that power feel beneath her? Around her?
She hit a wrong key, the sour note clashing in her ears. Damn. His lip quirked, and she jerked her focus back to the keys, even though she could play this song in her sleep.
“Come on,” she urged over the song. “What will it hurt?”
His shoulders shook in a laugh she couldn’t hear. “You’re persistent.”
“I thought determination was admirable.”
He moved closer, his smile warming. “Aren’t persistence and determination different things?” He hooked the guitar strap over his head, his left hand naturally wrapping around the neck to rest on the strings.
She shrugged. “Tomato, Tamahto.”
He plucked at the strings, head tilting to catch the tone before he adjusted a peg. Every action was automatic, not that of a novice. Did he even realize he was doing them?
She transitioned into another song, nodding encouragingly for him to join in. She had no doubt now that he’d be able to. Even if he didn’t know the song, she’d up her bet that he could pick out accompanying notes without difficulty.
She was halfway through the second song before the guitar notes filtered in to mesh with hers. Her smile was instantaneous, her heart lifting with it. He was focused on the instrument, his expression loosening as he swayed to the beat. He picked out the chords in a telling visual of his skills.
She kept her observation to herself though and simply enjoyed the freedom of playing with him. One song merged into another at her lead, and he smoothly transitioned with her. They found a rhythm that skilled musicians had to bounce off each other, blending techniques and strengths.
It took a few songs for him to loosen up and find his comfort zone, but once he did, Henrik was exceptional. No hesitation or easy harmonizing for him. He moved with the music, expression switching from focused at more complicated sections to joyous grins at simpler ones.
Her attention was pulled between watching him and her own keys. She caught his lips moving a few times, the song lyrics flowing silently from him. Could he sing too? She was okay at it if forced, but him…a deep baritone? Full and smooth tenor?
Another thing she’d have to coax from him.
On the next song, she switched to one of her own. It was a tune she’d been working on for part of her senior recital. It was a bit edgy and a better fit for the keyboard, but she was curious to see how he’d respond.
He stalled for a few bars, frowning as he listened. He quirked a brow at her, and she shrugged in response. She was into the refrain when he jumped in, finding chords that enhanced hers without overpowering.
Chills raced down her spine, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. It was one of those moments when everything jived and the notes connected. It flowed deeply into her, heating and firing her blood with life. This was music at its purest.
She was completely lost in the beauty that was the music swirling around them when a hammering knock rang out on the door. She jerked and cut the song, gaze flying to the clock on the wall. Her heart raced, skin buzzing with the high that’d filled her.
Their time was up. It’d gone by way too fast.
Henrik halted his play, the last notes floating away as he stared at her. His lips were parted, chest rising and falling with his quick breaths. His hair fell across his forehead in a loose cascade to brush his brow, a wild yet calm sense emanating from him. Like he could pounce at any second or simply fade away without a word.
Her emotions rushed up to choke her, words becoming impossible. Did he feel this too, the pounding harmony that wove around them? Connected them right then? Would he think she was crazy if she vaulted around the piano to claim his mouth like she’d been thinking of doing since she’d met him? The desire to wrap herself around him and let go of the pent-up lust burning inside her was barely contained.
Another quick knock broke the strange lock that’d entrapped her. She jolted up, rubbing her hands over her jeans to stretch her fingers and dry her damp palms. “Our time’s up,” she told him, her voice not even close to controlled.
His gaze held the intensity of before, along with a questioning…doubt. Was that it? Want mixed with hesitation?
She held out her hand and managed to resist the urge to rub her palm up his arm, feel all those muscles bunched beneath his sweater. “I’ll put it back.” A short nod at the guitar had him hitching the strap over his head.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
He shook his head, eyes sweeping up to catch hers for a heated instant before he turned away. “That was nice. Thank you.”
Nice. What an understatement.
She put the guitar back, her nerve endings pinging in total awareness of him when she slipped her coat on. Henrik was waiting at the door, her backpack slung over his shoulder. And there her stomach went again, twisting around with the kick to her heart.
Maybe she should have that checked out—right along with her next blood test. And that was the dose of reality she needed.
An impatient guy shoved away from the wall when they stepped into the hallway.
“Sorry,” she offered. “Lost track of time.”
“It’s all right,” the guy mumbled before rushing inside.
Henrik watched the door close then frowned. “Is it always like that?”
“Like what?”
“People waiting around just to play for an hour?” He glanced up and down the hall. “Aren’t there enough rooms for everyone?”
“It’s a music school.” She laughed and headed for the exit. “There are never enough rooms.”
“Can you practice at home?”
“Yes. I have a keyboard that lets me play with headphones so I don’t bother anyone.” A very generous gift from her brothers a few Christmases back.
“It’s not the same though.” He held the door open for her. The fact that she kept noticing said exactly how unused to it she was.
“It all depends on what you’re looking for,” she countered. “That last piece is pretty damn cool on a keyboard. Plus it would’ve recorded the changes I made to the music as I played.”
He stopped, frown deepening. “You made changes?”
“After you joined.” She tried to sound casual and busied herself by zipping up her coat. “Sure.” The rain had stopped, but a wind swooped into its place to send a chilly breeze at them. She shivered and tucked her hands into her pockets. “Aren’t you cold?” His sweater couldn’t offer much protection. But then it hadn’t against the rain either.
His quick glance down was finished with a jerk of his shoulder. “No.” He smiled slightly. “So what’d you change?”
She stepped to the side so a couple of people could enter the building and tried to dodge his question too. “You play excellent for someone who doesn’t play for others.”
His smile dropped away and he started walking back the way they’d come. He still had her backpack, so she hustled to catch up.
“Why are you so touchy about people knowing you can play? Is it unmanly for a hockey player or something?”
“What? No.” His scowl said exactly how silly he found her comment. “Hockey has nothing to do with it.”
“Then what is it?” His skills were superior to a number of students she played with at the school. “Shy?” That didn’t fit his public image at all. “Worried about what people will say?” That most definitely didn’t mesh with his gruff, who-gives-a-shit persona. Although he wasn’t so gruff right now.
He hadn’t been at all when he’d been lost in the music either.
“What the heck?” He stopped to stare down at her. “What does it m
atter to you?”
Her pulse fluttered and took off as she met the challenging question in his eyes. She wasn’t backing down though. “Because it’s important.” She believed that. Sensed it in him too. “You obviously love it. To hide something that means that much to you must hurt.”
He didn’t respond for a long beat. A harsh gust of wind pelted her side, shoving her hair across her face that she impatiently brushed away. She caught his deep swallow before he started walking again.
Well that conversation had gone well.
“Can I have my backpack?” she called, unwilling to chase him even if her heart was kicking at her to do so. Her car was parked in the other direction.
He stopped, head dropping. “Right.” His chin was up when he turned around, her bag held out in his big hand. “Thank you for meeting me for lunch.”
So they’d returned to formal. It had her missing the slightly bumbling, softer side of him. “Thanks for playing with me.” She nodded toward the practice building, taking her backpack from him to hook it over her shoulder.
He eyed her again, a deep perusal that never left her face. She shifted, uncomfortable under his steady intent. Yet she held his gaze, waiting him out. He had more. “I’d really like you to be my date on Saturday.”
Saturday, Saturday, Saturday…what was Saturday? She backtracked through their discussions to remember his first invite. The team party. Right. “No.” Visions of cameras and gossips and too much glitz had her sprinting away. “I told you I have to work.” And she did. She could trade the hours with someone, but not for an event that would most likely be way out of her comfort zone. It didn’t matter how much she’d like to see him again, the party wasn’t happening.
“I have a C. Bechstein B 212 grand piano at home.”
Her chuckle jerked out on a short breath. Where’d that come from? “That’s nice?” In truth, it had the green monster of envy banging against her chest. The hand-crafted German-made piano was an absolute dream instrument. But much like the hockey blurt, how was she supposed to respond?
“Would you like to see it?” His brows rose with the hope in his voice.
