AllFreeNovel
Share Us
With some distance between us, I could breathe freely. I had indeed forgotten the question, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t it. “Technically, it’s lavender shadow.”
“I stand corrected.”
I smiled and picked up a lock to admire it. “I’ve always wanted to try something unique with my hair. I went through a punk rock stage in middle school, and I wanted a mohawk.”
“I would pay money to see that.” He grinned. “Are there pictures? Name your price.”
“Iwanteda mohawk… I didn’t say I got one. My parents would have killed me. They’re what I would call ‘proper.’” That was putting it mildly. If I hadn’t been feeling so generous, I would have said “uptight and unforgiving.”
Trenton seemed to sense that I wasn’t eager to talk about my family. He nodded and picked up his iPad. After a few taps, the display showed sheet music for “Stay.” He scrolled through it. “This looks pretty easy.” He sat on the piano bench and patted the space next to him. “Let’s see what I can do.”
I sat. The bench was made only for one, so our thighs pressed together, and my bare arm rested against his. I scooted to the edge of the bench so that my body was hanging on by one butt cheek, but it wasn’t enough distance—my body was hyperaware of him. He splayed his hands on the keyboard and played the first few chords. His arm rubbed against mine as his fingers glided across the keyboard.Magic fingers.My thoughts drifted to him using those hands on my body, getting me so worked up I could barely remember my own name.
“You missed your cue.”
I blinked. “What?”
He stopped playing and pointed to the sheet music. “The first verse starts here.”
“I know.” I swallowed thickly. “I… I got distracted.”Damn it.Despite my best efforts to stay focused on the competition, I was failing miserably. I couldn’t blame it on my wild decision to sleep with him on my night of celebration because even if I hadn’t already known how good it felt to be skin to skin with him, I would be drawn to him.
I needed to get myself in check. An opportunity like this wouldn’t come around again, and I would hate myself if I screwed it up because I couldn’t control my damn hormones.Hormones… yeah. That’s all it is.
He eyed me, and it seemed like he wanted to comment, but before he could, I cleared my throat. “Play it again. I won’t mess up this time.”
Trenton
She wasn’t the only one distracted. It was only years of disciplined playing that kept my hands steady on the keyboard. The only person who had ever sat so close to me while I played was my mother, and Ali was definitely not my mother.Hell.
A strand of her hair tickled my cheek, and I rolled my shoulders back, hoping to displace it. I didn’t want to risk touching it with my fingers, because I didn’t trust myself to stop there. I wanted to touch more than just her hair.
“I’m ready,” she said. I wasn’t, but I wasn’t sure I ever would be.
I exhaled and started playing. Ali didn’t miss her cue that time. Her voice was strong and confident yet soft and sweet. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her close her eyes as she belted out the lyrics. She wasn’t simply singing the song—she was feeling it.
The memory of her singing a few lines of one of my songs came to mind, and I wished she was singing it now. I’d never written a song for someone else because I’d never had the desire to, but I wanted to write for her. I wanted to hear my music pour out of her.
When it was time for me to sing, she swayed to the music with her eyes still closed. When the chorus came up, she joined me, and our voices came together in a harmony that sounded effortless, as if our voices had been stitched together by Apollo himself. Singing with the girl was anexperience. I’d been part of a group, so I’d obviously sung harmonies before, but it was different with her, intimate in a way I hadn’t expected.
She sang solo again, hitting the notes with clarity that was rare. She stopped abruptly and shook her head. “That wasn’t right.”
I removed my hands from the keyboard. “What?”
“I didn’t hit it quite right.”
I couldn’t say. I was so caught up in the moment that I hadn’t been paying attention to the technical aspects of what we were doing. But if she said it wasn’t right, I trusted her judgement. Still, her “not right” was probably better than most people’s “perfect.” “This is a first run-through. No need to be so hard on yourself.”
“We don’t have a whole lot of time.” She sounded agitated.
“We don’t need it. Your voice is amazing, and your pitch is damn near perfect.”
“Near perfect isn’t enough.”
I understood her need for perfection, but something I’d learned early on was that in music, it didn’t exist. At least, not in commercial music. When playing a classical piece on the piano, perfection was possible. But vocals would always be subjective because every voice was different. Hers was as close to perfection as I’d ever heard. Her singing made me feel something, and that quality couldn’t be taught.
“Then we’ll keep working until you’re happy with it.” My motives were somewhat self-serving—it was no hardship to spend time with her. It pained me to see her down on herself, though. I playfully bumped my shoulder against hers. “We might have to pull some all-nighters.” I grinned mischievously. “Maybe have a pajama party. Play spin the bottle to break the monotony.”
She laughed, which was what I’d been going for. “You might not be so excited for a pajama party when you see my actual pajamas.”
