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“You dance as well as play the keyboard?” Alex asked, shifting his chair a little closer to her.
“Give the lady some space,” Presley growled.
Well okay then.
This wasn’t awkward at all. It wasn’t as though she wanted to bolt right out of here and scream.
“I’m sorry. Coming here was a mistake.” She went to stand, to walk away.
“Why?” That was Presley again.
“Because…” Because we clashed the moment we met. And I can’t stop looking at your arms and wondering if those tattoos continue up past your shoulders and onto your chest.
Because you’re grumpy and growly and for some stupid reason it turns me on.
“I’m Delilah’s teacher. It’s a conflict of interest.”
“Her dance teacher,” Marley said, looking amused. “I don’t think it’s a problem. Can you play the keyboard and sing?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And you understand that this is just a hobby band. We’ll practice together, play some gigs…”
“More than a hobby,” Alex interjected. “I mean, we almost hit it big once.”
Marley shot him a look. Alex shrugged and sat back again.
“I understand. I just thought it would be a nice way to meet new people. Have a little fun.”
Presley still wasn’t saying anything. She looked at him at exactly the same moment he turned to look back at her. The intensity of his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.
It felt like a minute ticked by before they looked away from each other. It had to be less though.
“Why don’t you play us a song,” Marley asked. “Do you have something prepared?”
“Yeah.”
He inclined his head at the piano. She stood, aware that three sets of eyes were following her as she walked over and pulled out the stool, lifting the lid and taking a deep breath.
Just play the song and leave, she told herself. Don’t mess it up.
She wasn’t going to give Presley Hartson the satisfaction.
As soon as her fingers touched the keys, she relaxed. She took a deep, cleansing breath, letting her muscles soften. And then her fingers started to move, soft notes echoing through the bar.
It was an oldie. A U2 song one of her roommates used to love back when they danced together in New York. During their free time, they’d all get together. Sing, dance, and perform for each other.
This had always been her favorite. “With Or Without You”.
Cassie started to sing, matching the timbre of her voice to the notes, making sure she could be heard clearly over the piano. Her eyes were closed, her fingers moving naturally. She could feel the song.
Feel the pain.
Telling the mythical man she was singing to that she couldn’t live with or without him.
She played with passion, her fingers slowly bringing the song to an end. Only when her fingers pressed down on the keys for the last note could she bring herself to look over at the men sitting around the table watching her.
Presley was glaring at her. His eyes were tight. There was a tic in his jaw. Before she could say anything, he stood up.
