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Am I insane?
He’s bossy and annoying and way,wayolder than me.
I slide the strap of the guitar over my neck and catch all my runaway thoughts, shoving them into a box marked ‘do not enter’.
Sazuki stands back and observes me. “You know how to play?”
“Not as well as I know piano.” I give him a dirty look. “Although you would say that I don’t play that well either.”
He glances aside. At least he’s human enough to look sheepish. “I may have… overdone it at the gala.”
“You think?”
His eyes narrow at me. “But you should not make a habit of touching other people’s pianos.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer sincerely. “I didn’t realize you hadn’t given your permission for me to use your piano. If I knew you had a problem with it, I wouldn’t have played.”
He grunts.
I wait for him to return the apology.
He arches a brow. “Is there something else?”
“You don’t have anything more to say to me about the gala?”
“I said I might have overdone it.”
“Is that how you apologize in Japan? No ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I was wrong’. Just an ‘I may have overdone it’ and a scolding about how the other person is to blame?”
“We generally apologize with our actions. Or with a meal.”
“Well, that’s a lot less direct.”
“Being direct is impolite.” He smirks. “You Americans say exactly what crosses your mind whether it is wise or not.”
“Should I start generalizing you Asians? Or is it only us Americans who are allowed to be the butt of jokes?”
His playful smile lingers a little longer. “Fair is fair.”
“You’re giving me a pass?” I say in mock astonishment.
He gestures for me to give it a go.
I shake my head because I know better than to fall into that trap. “I’ll be the mature one for a change and avoid any cheap shots about Asian stereotypes.” My eyes slide down his body unconsciously. “I bet you’d just shatter all those assumptions anyway.”
“Exactlywhichstereotype are you referring to, Miss Williams?” The way his tongue rolls over my name is ripe with sultry suggestion.
Heat surges through my stomach. “Not the one you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I am thinking?”
My legs are trembling and the guitar is suddenly a heavy burden around my shoulders. With Sazuki staring at me like that, I lose my edge. There’s a frightening pull building between us, and I wonder if this is what it was like for Eve when she caught sight of the apple.
Rather than answer, I strum a chord on the guitar and close my eyes, focusing on the vibration at my feet. It’s subtle but clear.
“Not bad,” I murmur.
“It was designed by my engineer friend Adam. He made many improvements in all the rooms.”
