by Jordyn White
Push through it, I hear Professor Reinecht saying in my mind.
So I do. I get through another measure without a mistake. And another. I can’t believe I’m really doing this. It’s like I just kicked myself out of the competition on purpose.
I’m too terrified to look at the audience. I’m too terrified to look at Erik. But another two measures and I hit a place where I could fall into the rabbit hole of my own music, if I wanted to.
Fuck it.
It’s a split second decision, but in that instant I’m truly all in. If I’m going to play my song, I’m going to fucking play it.
Like it or not, these people are going to hear me.
Just like that, it’s only me and the piano and my music and I surrender to it. As the music rises to a crescendo, I’m rising slightly off the bench, letting the rapture of it come through on my face. I’m the master of those goddamned keys. I command them to bring forth the music that burns through my soul and they obey.
I play the last measures, my fingers flying across the keys, and when I play the final note I straighten and look at that magnificent piano. That’s right, baby.
The next half second takes a lifetime.
I’m back in the hall. The storm is gone. It’s only me left raw and naked on stage and—I’m certain—absolutely fucked.
It’s as if time itself has stopped. I’m stuck forever in that half-second pause between the end of a piece and the audience’s reaction.
Or maybe it’s not really a half-second pause at all. Maybe it was such a crass display of self-indulgent ego, they can’t even bring themselves to clap.
My eyes land on a woman in a flowered, satin top. Her mouth is partway open and she looks like she’s been mowed over by something. Then, like it’s all happening in slow motion, I watch as her hands float up and her face breaks into a smile.
The applause that explodes in the auditorium crashes over me like a tsunami.
I startle and time catches up again. Everyone’s clapping and cheering and... getting to their feet.
They’re getting to their feet!
I’m getting to my feet as well, but it’s not really me doing it. It’s my training taking over. I give the audience a gracious smile and a bow and the cheering swells even more. I walk off the stage, but I’m going in the wrong direction. I’m supposed to exit stage right, but I go stage left. My legs are trembling and I’m not sure I can make it.
What did I just do? What the hell did I just do? Did I really, really just do that? WHY would I do that in the middle of a competition? This was my chance to play in Lincoln Center. What the hell was I thinking?
I leave the stage and stop in the wings, not knowing where to go or what to do next. The few people on this side of the stage are either ignoring me or blinking at my dumbfounded expression. I don’t know how long I’m standing here, but soon Erik’s heading over from backstage rear—he must have gone through from the other side—and beaming at me. He takes me into his arms and spins me around. I’m too stunned to protest.
He’s laughing in my ear, all warm and rumbly. That’s what brings me back from whatever out-of-body place I’ve been. I cling to him fiercely.
He sets me down but I continue to hang on, afraid my legs are about to give out. He takes my face in his hands. “Magnificent. God, that was so fucking magnificent.”
Then just like that he’s kissing me with such gusto I can’t believe he’s doing it right in front of everybody.
I pull away, still hanging on to him. “I can’t believe I did that. What if I just disqualified myself?”
He shakes his head and holds me firmly by the shoulders. “Honey, the worst they’ll do is dock you some points.”
“That’s almost as bad. Every point counts.”
But he just smiles at me. “Oh Ashley. Promise you’ll still love me when you’re famous, okay?”
“I’m supposed to be over there,” I say stupidly, pointing to the wings on the other side of the stage. “I was supposed to play Debussy. It’s in the program, Erik. Oh God, what have I done?”
He puts his arm around me, leads me to a chair, and sits me down. “Here.” He pulls one of those mini water bottle they’ve been giving us out of his front pocket. “Drink this.”
“Is there vodka in it?”
He laughs. “Come on, honey.”
I take off the cap, my hands shaking slightly, and take a small sip.
He kneels in front of me, his hands on my thighs, and holds my eyes. “Deep breath,” he says steadily.
I take a deep breath, not taking my eyes off him. My heart rate is starting to come down some. My panic is starting to recede.
He nods in approval. “Again.”
I take another deep breath.
“Did you hear the way the audience responded to you,” he says, not as a question.
A fluttering starts in my chest. It was good. I’m starting to realize, what I just did was good.
“They were on their feet for you,” he says, smiling.
They were. They were on their feet. The fluttering in my chest swells until it feels like I have giant butterflies inside me, threatening to carry me up to the sky.
A slow smile starts to bloom on my face.
His eyes glitter at me. “Don’t you dare regret this.”
Still tentatively smiling, I say, “I played the hell out of that piano, didn’t I?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Yes, you sure did. How did it feel?”
“Amazing. Incredible. Even better than when I play it for myself.” I couldn’t say why. For most of it I forgot all those people were out there.
Not to mention the judges.
My smile fades a bit. If I’m not, in fact, disqualified, the judges are required to dock me points for switching songs. I can’t imagine the rest of my score will be high enough to make up for it. Forget coming in first, or even third. At this point I’ll be lucky not to come in dead last.
But...
My smile creeps back on my face. “I played my song for them,” I say slowly. “I really did it. And they liked it.”
He’s smiling and nods at me.
Even if I just knocked myself out of the competition, I don’t regret it. There will be other competitions, but this. This is a moment I already know has changed me forever.
There’s still a part of me that’s terrified, but this new part of me is braver than I ever thought I could be.
And I think she’s here to stay.
Chapter 19
The next weekend we’re at the Rivers Paradise Resort in Swan Pointe for our long-awaited couples trip, and it can’t have come too soon. Ever since I placed first at the regionals, just barely knocking Erik into second place, things have felt a little weird. No one was as shocked as I was when I won, but as the week has worn on, I’ve wondered if Erik’s the one who’s reeling. I don’t think he’s used to losing, least of all to me. Sometimes I think he’s bothered, but the next second I wonder if I’m just imagining things. I can use a break from it all, and hope this trip will be the perfect antidote.
Isabella and her husband, Shane, flew in from Boston for the weekend. Even though Chloe and Grayson live in Swan Pointe, they seem to be off travelling more than they’re home. They got back from a trip to the US Virgin Islands just in time to drive from their house, up the hill to the resort, and to meet us all in the grand lobby. Jack broke up with his girlfriend after a record nine days and didn’t bother finding anyone else to bring along. That wasn’t terribly surprising, but it was surprising when Sam decided to fly solo too.
“After the way things went the last time I brought some guy on a getaway with me,” she’d said wryly, “I’d rather just keep my eyes open for possibilities once we’re there.”
When we were first planning the trip, I think Chloe and Grayson suggested all of us going down the resort’s zip line just to mess with Sam—“No fucking way,” she’d said—but after the insane-sounding roller coaster zip line they did in
Florida a few months ago, I have to wonder if regular zip lines aren’t up to snuff for them anymore anyway. Just watching the video of it they put on their YouTube channel made me queasy.
Isabella and Shane don’t seem to care what we do, so long as they’re with each other. It’s heartening to see how happy they are together.
Tomorrow is our big group activity—we’re going whale watching—but today it’s been lounging poolside most the day, then seaweed wraps and massages at the resort’s luxury spa. After that little activity, I was torn between wanting to lure Erik up to our room for the perfect happy ending and being too relaxed to blink.
We had dinner at the resort’s five-star restaurant and have since wandered our way into the lounge for after-dinner drinks.
The second we walked in and spotted the sleek grand piano on the far side of the room, Erik and I exchanged longing glances. We’ve been holding off though, not wanting to abandon the group completely. We’ve found an arrangement of soft couches and chairs to settle into. I’m in a long, flowing skirt, high-heeled boots, and form-fitting top. Erik’s looking especially hot in black slacks, a soft gray shirt, and a casual dinner jacket. I could eat him up right now if I weren’t so full from dinner.
“Hey you guys,” Grayson says to Erik and me, “when’s your big performance in New York again? Chloe and I are trying to figure out if we can coordinate things to come watch.”
“That’d be great!” I say.
Chloe nods enthusiastically. “I’m afraid it might conflict with the Wine and Chocolate Festival though. We’ve already committed to that one. I’d love to be there for you, though.”
“Yeah, I’ve never seen Ashley perform,” Grayson says. “You either, of course,” he says, looking at Erik.
“It’s not really a performance. It’s a competition.” I hear the tension in Erik’s voice, but see no evidence of it. He looks relaxed enough. Then I notice him clenching his hand slightly. Well, maybe he’s relaxed.
Grayson smiles good-naturedly. “Yeah, but I thought it’d be better not to mention that part, you know.”
“Because these two love-birds will be going for each other’s jugulars?” a grinning Sam says, in typical Sam fashion.
“I don’t know that we’re going for each other’s jugulars,” I try to say lightly. I’m not sure I’m pulling it off.
“Well, there can only be one winner,” Erik says, with a wink. We’re both smiling, but I feel the heaviness underneath our words. Or am I just imagining things on his part?
I really need to stop obsessing about it. But lately I’ve been worrying more than ever about how the constant competition will affect us in the long run, especially now that I’m closer to actually being his competition.
I stop that train of thought before it goes any further.
I want to believe we won’t let that kind of thing come between us.
I have to believe it.
I give Grayson and Chloe the date for the competition, then grab Erik’s hand. “Come on, we’ve ignored that piano over there long enough.”
It’s been awhile since we’ve improvised together, but last time we discovered a rhythm we liked so much we came back to it a few sessions later, repeating and building on it. I wasn’t willing to think of it this way at the time, but we basically composed a song together.
“Let’s play this one.” I slide onto the bench and tap out a few notes to remind him. Our composition doesn’t have a name I can call it, but I decide it needs one—just like all the other ones I’ve written over the years. “We should call it the Nutter Butter song, because that’s what we were eating when we wrote it.”
“You’re both nutters if you like that crap,” Sam says, coming up to us along with the others.
“Hmm.” He’s only half smiling, and keeping his eyes on the keyboard. “That’s not a very serious title.”
“That’s why I like it.” I grin and nudge him with my shoulder. Come on, I think, relax with me.
He settles his hands over the keys, and I do the same. I glance at him nervously—trying and failing to stop reading so much into everything—then we get to it.
It turns out that’s all that was needed. As we play our song, any tension there was between us—real or imagined—is gone.
Ah yes, this is more like it.
I suddenly feel like I don’t have a care in the world. It doesn’t even bother me when I catch Sam recording us with our phone. I just make a face at her, smile, and keep going. I have Erik to thank for that transformation. Not all that long ago, I would’ve been mortified to see Sam recording me.
By the time we’re done, we’ve drawn the attention of other patrons in the room. With some encouragement from the bartender, we keep going. This time we opt for pop songs—an easy transition since our composition is a fun blend of classical and rock elements—and get our little group singing. When we start playing Crocodile Rock, patrons from elsewhere in the bar start to gather to us and join in the singing as well. By the time the song is half way through, it seems the whole room is singing along. Well, who can resist a little Elton John?
Next we play Piano Man, Don’t Stop Believing, and even Bohemian Rhapsody. In between songs, Erik and I sneak in a little flirting—a pinch on the side here or a kiss on the neck there. That gets me as light-hearted as anything else. This is what I’ve needed. When we finally exhaust ourselves and the patrons both, my arms are tingling pleasantly from playing so much, and my body is more than tingling from wanting him so much.
As our group leaves the lounge, Erik’s arm is snug around my shoulders and mine is hooked around his waist. We keep giving each other little squeezes. Everyone says their goodnights and we return to our fifth-floor room that overlooks the city and the bay.
The curtains are drawn from the windows, letting in soft light from the full moon. We don’t bother turning on the lights. He plops on the end of the bed, then collapses all the way back. Smiling at him, I pull off my boots then climb on top of him. Straddling his lap, my skirt hitched up to my thighs, I smile at him.
“Mmm,” he says in the most delicious way, his hands caressing my thighs. “I thought you might be too tired.”
I shake my head. “Are you too tired?” It’s not a serious question. I feel him growing beneath me.
“Oh yeah.” He runs his hands from my thighs to my hips. He presses down on me with his hands while pressing his hard cock up against me. Good lord, I love how fast he’s ready for me. “I’m way too tired.”
“I can tell.” My hands run down the length of his arms as he slowly brings his hands up my sides and to my chest. Even through my shirt and bra, his touch makes me tingle.
Caressing me gently, he gives me a soft smile that gets my heart doing tricks. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“And my breasts,” I tease.
“Yes. Those beautiful breasts, too.”
He slides his hands under my shirt so he can caress me properly. I tuck my bare feet under his thighs, settling firmer into his lap. Together, we press against one another.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“And my cock.”
“Yep. That too. So yummy.”
He laughs slightly and I smile broader. I slowly lift my shirt off. He looks at me hungrily, still slowly caressing me.
I come down on my hands, my hair falling in a sheet on one side, and press myself against his cock again. I let out a soft exhale at the pleasure of him against me. His eyes close briefly and his hands go to my hips.
Meeting my eyes, he rubs his hands up my back then gently unlatches my bra. I lift first one hand, then the other, as he slides it off my body and drops it to the floor. He eyes my full breasts, and supports their weight, gently rolling my erect nipples between his fingers. I give another soft exhalation of approval.
I nuzzle into his neck, keeping my back arched to give him free access to my chest. I place a hot breath on his bare skin, then taste him slightly.
; “Mmm,” he says softly.
He starts pulling my skirt and panties down until my bare ass is exposed and my panties are stretched by my open legs.
He squeezes my ass, spreading me slightly. I throb in response.
I kiss his warm lips and taste his tongue. As we kiss, I lift my hips and first one knee, then another until my skirt and panties are on the floor too. I’m naked and straddling him while he’s fully dressed. Something about that gets me even hotter.
He gives my ass a firm slap and I kiss him deeper. His hands curl around the back of my thighs, heading for my wet seam, but I break our kiss and start to crawl backwards, taking myself out of reach.
“Tease.” He grins at me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say innocently, but my look is wicked enough.
Having scooted past his lap, I sit up on his legs and look at the promising bulge in his pants. I rub my hands up his thighs, watching the anticipation building on his face. Ever so slowly, I reach his cock and give it a firm squeeze through the material.
He exhales, his eyes shutting briefly.
Encouraged, I unfasten his belt and pants, pulling down the front of his silk boxers until his sizeable shaft is set loose.
I take him in both hands and lean down. He gathers the hair cascading next to me, and takes hold of my shoulder. Positioning my mouth over his broad shaft, I don’t close around him until I’m almost as far down as I can go. My tongue and mouth make contact, tasting him at last. As I work my way back up to the tip, gently sucking, he groans and squeezes my shoulder.
I flick my tongue against the underside of his tip, then slide my mouth down his shaft again. My hand pumps the base with short, firm movements. As I continue to work him, I sneak looks at his face. He alternates between throwing his head back with his eyes closed, and looking down at my mouth around his cock, his lips parted in pleasure. Spread over him, I’m aching for his touch.
His cock pulses in my mouth, responding to my efforts. “Damn, girl,” he breathes. “Get up here.”
