This was our fourth private session over the last two weeks, and each one had been better than the last. It seemed, the more comfortable we were with each other, the better we were able to perform.
But it was a catch twenty two. The more I was with her, the more relaxed I’d become which made it harder to keep from acting on these pesky feelings that had decided to show up and not leave me alone. I wanted to kiss her. There was no doubt in my mind about that—but I was pretty sure I’d missed my moment. Like, back when we’d first met maybe I could have gotten away with that—I could have laughed it off if she’d rejected me. I could have just apologized for misreading the situation and moved on. But now?
Now we werefriends.
And I was pretty sure my current address was the friend zone.
I lifted my head as I started to sing the chorus—badly, no doubt, since it was way too high for me—and then I stopped.
She was dancing. To my music.
And she was stunning.
My heart seemed to trip over itself like it was trying to keep pace with her rapid footwork. Luckily, I knew this song by heart because my fingers plucked the strings by rote as I watched her move.
So graceful. Her body was perfection, and it was made to dance.
I didn’t know how she didn’t see that. More importantly, I couldn’t fathom how her mother didn’t see it. Collette was liquid energy, all flowing movements and supple grace.
My mouth was dry and my heart was hammering…I couldn’t look away from her, not even when the final chord had long since died off, leaving us in silence.
She’d come to a stop with her back to me.
“That was beautiful,” I said, hoping she could hear my sincerity. Hoping she could hear everything I couldn’t bring myself to say.
“I was just goofing off.” Her voice was little more than a murmur. Like she was embarrassed or something. Which was irritating. I hated that she was so humble. It was getting annoying.
I’d never seen her move like that before. Like she was a part of the music, or the music was inside of her. It had been a thing of beauty, and I was blown away because…because I’d been a part of it. My music and her dancing had been intertwined, making something that was bigger than both of us, and that? That was mind blowing.
“Was that your own choreography?” I just wanted her to turn, to talk to me, to tell me that she felt it too. I wanted to see her eyes. Feel her stare on my face. It had been real and I wanted to share it with her on a deeper level.
“No,” she said, her voice louder than before as she reached for a hoodie. “That was Coldplay’s choreography.” She turned toward me with a smirk. “Chris Martin does that every night on stage.”
“Funny,” I said. But I let it drop. Her sarcasm would have been a dead giveaway that she was uncomfortable with my praise, even if her cheeks weren’t turning pink. I couldn’t understand why she never just took the praise. I meant it. All of it.
“So,” she said, her tone brisk. “When are you going to play your own songs for me?”
I let out an exasperated huff of amusement. “I told you. Ryan’s the songwriter.” I shrugged. “I just like to play.”
She leaned against the mirror as she studied me. “Okay then, when am I going to hear Ryan’s songs?”
I stood up, holding my guitar by its neck as I walked toward her and the case that was right next to her. My heart was beating so hard I could hear it. “Yeah, well…” I took a deep breath. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”
She tilted her head to the side and wrapped the hoodiearound herself in a now-familiar gesture. I thought about saying something, but then fought the urge. I’d said things before and she just laughed it off. It was frustrating, the fact that my thoughts were brushed off so quickly. But I was learning with Collette, she didn’t like to be pushed and I could respect that. For now.
I decided to focus on laying my guitar down in its case.
I cleared my throat, trying not to overthink what I was about to talk to her about. I mean, she’d heard me play a million times now, seeing me on stage wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t like I was asking her on a real date or anything. “Ryan’s band is performing at The Tailgate next week. Thursday night, actually.”
She watched me steadily. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, and, uh…his guitarist can’t make it. He’s going to be out of town with his family, so, um…” I swallowed. Crap, why was this so hard to spit out. “So I’m going to stand in for him.”
Her smile was slow and brilliant. “That’s awesome, Ethan.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Just spit it out. “I was wondering if maybe you’d maybe want to go. And you know…watch.”
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her smile to get any bigger. But it was. And it did.
