“You’re not intruding. It’s just Friday family dinner. Please set that down—it’s almost as big as you.” He took the cello from my shoulder and set it gently near a hall tree.
Friday family dinner? The mind-blown emojis just kept coming.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it …” I moved to leave, but he started walking toward the kitchen, assuming I’d follow.
“You can’t leave without at least saying hi. He’s just fiddling down in his man cave—sorry, music room.”
“I guess. Just for a minute,” I mumbled.
He stopped abruptly and I almost ran into him. “Actually, can you go down and tell him that dinner is ready?”
“I don’t think—”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me toward the door that lead to the stairs.
“Uh, sure. I feel like I’m imposing.” I looked over my shoulder.
He was still so relaxed. “You’re not. Just tell him to come up. He loses track of time and won’t see if I text him.”
“Okay but—”
“Great, thanks.”
The door shut behind me. No way out but through, I supposed.
No music drifted on the air this time as I descended the stairs. I checked the rehearsal space with all the padding, but it was empty. None of the rooms got a response when I called out. There was a door I hadn’t noticed before off the main room. Maybe some sort of recording booth?
I knocked but got no response. For the second time in ten minutes, I debated the awkwardness of knocking again or just tucking tail and bolting. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I tried the door only to find it unlocked. I pushed it open and a plume of steamy air punched me in the face. The realization that this was in fact a bathroom sunk in as I belatedly registered that a person stood hunched over the sink, gripping the basin, head hanging. Not just any person. A painfully sexy, naked, male person.
Let me repeat that for those in the back. Naked man. Standing nakedly without clothes on his undressed figure … bare. The man who was my Maestro, and composer. YUP. That one.
Somehow, maybe by some supreme act by God or the universe, he didn’t seem to notice my entrance. Or maybe time had simply stopped to give me a moment to fully appreciate the sight before me. Muscles. Muscles everywhere: big ones, little ones, fat ones, skinny ones too! They popped up in mini waves near his neck, they emphasized his flexed triceps and ripped forearms as he gripped the sink. His flanks were that of an Olympic swimmer. His bottom was so toned it could deflect bullets. My gaze travelled down his massive thighs, his calves, his bare feet. My god. Bare feet.
The leg that had been slightly raised lowered to the floor and then, fully available for my viewing pleasure …
Whoop! Whoop! Penis alarm! This was not a drill!
Yes, I should respect his space. True, I should not make a big deal about male anatomy. But it had been a long time (pun intended) and I was hard up (more punning) and he was beautiful. I’m sorry. Not really. Typically, these things don’t do it for me but the turned angle of his body highlighted the cut of his abs down to the thick black curls and fine form of his cock and balls. My God. That was a lovely penis to look at. I never thought I’d say that, but some cavegirl instinct wanted me to club him over the head and make babies with that specimen.
My gaze slowly dragged back up and the delayed realization that he was fresh from the shower sunk in. His face wasn’t covered.
I’ve always been drawn to curiosity and danger. If I was told not to do something it was as good as telling me to do it. Maybe I’m disturbed and attracted to the taboo or macabre—like watching serial killer documentaries—but yeah, I had to see more.
My eyes shot to the mirror hoping for a peek at his face but unfortunately, the steam defeated me.
Maybe I had let in a blast of cool air that finally reached him or maybe I had squawked like a bird, but I’d been spotted. With a start, he suddenly pulled the towel that had hung loosely over his shoulders to cover his fricking face. It wasn’t his modesty he protected—it was his face.
Well, I couldn’t help that my eyes drifted over his shoulders and neck, now fully on display.
“Kim!” he was yelling.
Sounds filtered back into my brain.
I swallowed and found his face, the lower half still covered with the towel. His dark hair was curled and glistening; it had lines like he had just run his fingers through it. But a few stray curls fell forward. It was longer than I’d thought. I loved how the ends were wild. Every section, every scene, was a million frames per second that uploaded to my mind, memorized for mental gifs later.
“What are you doing?” he yelled again.
“Sorry! I knocked!”
“I didn’t hear you!”
“I see that now!” My eyes noticed his dark little nipples surrounded by a decent smear of thick black curls matching the ones I had seen south. Was I also into body hair? All signs pointed to yes.
“Get out!”
“I’m going.” I backed up.
All this felt as though it happened both over the span of a year and in a split second. My eyes drifted over him again. Not on purpose! That was probably the final straw though, because he growled and moved toward me, towel firmly in place.
“I’m going.” I held up my arms. “I’m going.”
But my feet weren’t actually moving. He was right in front of me. His chest heaved in rage. His gaze was fiery.
That towel was awfully tiny, and he was just, like, two inches from me. My eyes—again, not my own fault—started moving down.
“Get. Out.”
He reached behind me for the door handle. Now that my sight wasn’t the only thing working, a clean, evergreen scent wrapped around me as his damp arm brushed mine. My other senses went from slowly waking to high alert and every nerve felt like a live wire.
I backed up enough to exit and the door slammed in my face.
I studied the wood grain for several seconds. My heart and body hummed. I was so physically aware of him now. Pieces began to slide into place. An understanding. My body felt too heavy and too light at the same time, like I’d float away save for the heat planting me in place. I was so physically attracted to him. I’d buried the feelings since he’d started under the assumption it was the kind of crush kids developed on their teachers, or like, your dad’s sophisticated friends. The type of crush you get for someone you respect because of their expertise. It was totally harmless, and you were perfectly safe in liking them from afar.
This was not that.
This was a game changer. This was genuine grown-woman-on-man, full-on, insane attraction. My body wanted to slam on his body. My arms longed to pull him close, desperate to feel his weight on me. In me.
I let out a long, slow, shaky breath.
But that wasn’t the only thing that had me studying the door for far too long, feet firmly planted in place. It was the other revelation that slipped in. It hadn’t clicked at first. The startlingly handsome grown man in front of me didn’t match the memory of the teen. I was so sidetracked by his body, my brain had stalled out temporarily. But when you spend enough time looking at someone, they’re permanently implanted in your memories. Honestly, the most surprising thing about all this was that I hadn’t placed those mesmerizing eyes sooner.
His beard was another distraction. Thick and full. Long enough to tug my fingers through but not scraggly in the least. It was another layer to hide the face behind it. But I saw it. And once I saw it, there was no unseeing it. The glass had shattered.
Despite his best attempts, I’d seen his face and what he’d kept hidden. I saw the truth of what he hid. I understood so much more now.
Devlin was Erik Jones.
Oh my God.
Chapter 15
Performance is vulnerability.
DEVLIN
I couldn’t move, immobilized by shock and horror. My body felt rigid with icy fear. It coiled in my gut, ready to bite like a viper. Had that really
just happened? I glanced at the shut door. I examined my still naked body, the towel held in place over my face. Had I really chosen to cover that over my …
“Jesus,” I swore out loud.
This was not what I needed. I had tried to set boundaries and expectations with her last weekend. All tossed out the window in a matter of three seconds. And now this.
I did a double take down at my naked body. I sported a half-woody.
“Seriously?” I asked it.
It jumped in response.
Why did she have to look so pleased? The shocked “O” of her mouth. Those blushing cheeks. The greedy gaze that kept flicking back over me. My cock jumped again. I clenched my jaw and threw the superfluous towel to the floor.
Outside the door, the shadow of her feet remained.
I flicked off the exhaust fan. The fan that had blocked out her knock. I could almost feel her standing right outside the door. Somebody else might have closed their eyes and left in a hurry, maybe a dramatic squeal, but not Kim. No, she mentally ate up the real estate of my body like it was the last thing she might ever do.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the door. I was rock hard now.
“Ahem,” she cleared her throat and knocked.
Go away, go away.
I wasn’t sure who, or what, I was talking to at this point.
“Um, Devlin?”
I let out a long slow breath. “Yes?”
“I just want to apologize.” Her tone was far more composed than how I felt.
“Okay.”
“I did knock. And I didn’t mean to barge in. Down here or on your family dinner. I was just dropping off my cello, like we discussed. I was about to leave but then your brother sent me down—”
Brothers were overrated. I was going to murder Wes.
“But he said I should tell you that dinner was ready. Oh, yeah. That’s what I was gonna say. Dinner is ready,” she added with a nervous laugh.
“Okay.”
“Also.”
Oh God.
“You should know that I saw your penis.” Her business-like tone distracted me for a flash before the words sunk in. My eyes popped open. I hadn’t expected her to own up to it. Couldn’t we ignore the elephant—or rather, the eggplant—in the room?
“I didn’t mean to do that either.” But her voice lifted, and I could tell she was fighting a smile. “I mean, not at first. But you know. Penis. In your face. How are you not going to look?” She laughed again.
“Are you laughing?”
“Yes. Sorry.” As second later she gasped, “No. Oh, God—no. Not at your penis. You have a lovely penis. You should know. I’ve not seen too many penises … penii? But anyway, it was a very nice penis.”
“Please stop saying penis.”
“Should I say cock? Or dick?”
I was wrong before. Now I was rock hard. I bit my lip to keep my hand from lowering to stroke. This was torture. We were maintaining boundaries. We weren’t supposed to be thinking about physical attraction. I roused some anger to help find a balance. It was either get angry or pull open that door and kiss her.
“You can go now. I’ll be upstairs in a minute,” I growled.
“Okay.”
The shadow of her feet remained, and her internal debate was audible.
“What, Kim?”
“It’s just … I think it’s important to talk about these things. Clear the air before it gets awkward.” Her tone was cautious, almost clinical.
“I don’t see how you constantly mentioning my dick makes it less awkward.”
“Heh. Yeah, true. Well, just so you know. I’m fine. And this was one hundred percent my fault. I don’t want you thinking anything … um, weird. It’s just a body. A nice body, a very nice body. You should know that. You probably do know that. You have eyes …”
“Kim.”
“Okay. Sorry. Again. Leaving now.”
I let out a long breath. My hands braced the door. I was fighting a lot of different feelings. I could rip the door open to let her look her fill. Or punch the mirror to distract myself with pain, an easily identifiable sensation.
I groaned. “Kim. I can see you’re still there.”
“Right. I know. Just one more thing …” Her voice went up an active higher.
“Yes?”
“I saw your face.” She said it so quickly that the words ran together.
Anything else I’d felt was instantly drenched with ice cold dread. My throat closed so tight I couldn’t take a breath in.
“And, um. I understand now. I mean, not that you need me to understand. But I get it. And I want you to know. I would never tell anybody your business, okay? I’m not like that. I know how it feels to have everybody know the worst about you … ugh, not that your face is the worst. I’m going to stop. Okay, in summation—you have a lovely body, and I won’t ever mention this again. So there’s no reason to feel uncomfortable.”
“Right.” Not uncomfortable at all.
She sounded genuinely concerned, but I couldn’t think of anything past my own fear in that moment. Dread made me sick. What did this mean for us working together? Her voice was peppy and light, but what were her real thoughts about seeing me fully? If I could see her face, maybe it would be clearer. I wished so many fucking things had gone differently in the last five minutes. Any vain sense of pride I’d found in her words were instantly squashed.
“Okay. Well, I’m going to go home. I’ll see ya in the morning.” She kept her tone light, but I sensed her wounded feelings in the clipped words.
Finally, her shadow moved from beneath the door. I couldn’t hear her retreat, but it felt like a warm blanket being tugged off in winter. I took a deep, steadying breath. She had talked to me when she could have cowered and pretended it never happened. She was trying to be mature about a ridiculous situation. I was in a position where I should follow her example.
I scrambled to wrap a very large towel around my torso and pulled open the door. “Wait.”
She stopped halfway down the hall and spun towards me. The backs of her fingers had been pressed to her cheeks and she dropped them like she had been caught doing something bad.
“You’re right. This doesn’t have to be weird,” I called out to her.
Her eyes were wide. I couldn’t tell if she was trying not to move her eyes over my body, still half exposed, or if she was trying not to react to my face.
“Good,” her voice went higher. She wasn’t blinking. Her hands were fisted. She was trying so very hard.
I couldn’t help but smile.
Her eyes widened.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just … I was thinking you looked like your brother just then.”
The smiled fell back off my face. “Makes sense.”
We both took three mirrored steps toward each other.
“Right. Heh. Brothers.”
I swallowed. “And I appreciate your promise of discretion.”
“Of course,” she shook off the comment.
“You should stay for dinner,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Do you like stuffed shells?”
“Yes.” She swallowed thickly. “That sounds good.”
I ran a hand through my hair, her gaze focused on the action. She sucked her bottom lip in.
“I’ll change and be up in minute. Tell my folks?” I asked.
She nodded and turned on a heel and skittered to the stairs leading up. This was fine. We had worked through it. She was unaffected and professional. Things would be fine.
But first an ice-cold shower. Again.
Despite our discussion to not let it be weird, I fully expected the opposite.
By the time I joined my family in the dining room, Kim was chatting happily with my mom as she set the table. My dad and Wes carried two large dishes of pasta to the table.
“Hey honey,” Mom said.
I kissed her cheek and hugged my dad.
“Kim was filling us in on the Fourth of July show you’re doing,” Dad said.
“Sounds fun. Fireworks!” Ma added.
“It’s kitschy,” I said.
“People like kitschy. And families like coming to outdoor concerts. Never too soon to get kids exposed to the symphony,” Kim said as she lined up forks on linen napkins.
“That’s why we are doing it,” I said with purposeful dry sarcasm.
She smiled at me, taking me so by surprise that I smiled back without thinking. We stood there grinning at each other for two beats too long. This was why I needed to wear the mask.
I ran a hand over my face, checking for the bandana that was not there. It seemed pointless now. I never wore it around my family anyway unless other people were around.
“Okay, let’s eat,” Ma said. When she passed me, she lowered her voice and said, “Glad to see your face tonight.”
I shrugged.
After saying grace, we dug in. For a few minutes there was only the clatter of spoons against dishes and chatter of passing items. I tried to picture how Kim saw my family after meeting them for the first time. And studying my parents it occurred to me, oddly, how much older they were now. I had been gone for so long that they had transformed into grandparents while I was away. My mother’s hair had grayed near the temples and the skin around her eyes was wrinkled from so many years of smiles. My dad, too, wore more wrinkles than I remembered. But it was hard to not see them through the filter of my life. Her thin lips still quirked up to the side while she listened to someone speaking. Dad’s gleaming bald head would crinkle with every belly laugh.
Wes still looked like the same dumbass, only a little chubbier.
Once we were all a glass of wine in, except Kim, who’d had water, conversation flowed as though we’d done this a hundred times. With every passing minute, the tension from downstairs melted into warm contentedness.
Kim was … surprising. She was eloquent and cultured, but boisterous in a way I hadn’t expected. She was so quiet in rehearsal that I’d assumed she was shy. But that was Christine, apparently. Kim knew so much about music and art and literature. Her parents were two successful artists, after all. She adapted to conversation easily. Even though my parents and brother were self-dubbed blue-collar, hard-working, salt-of-the-earth people, content to drink beers and watch Sunday football, she shared her knowledge in a way that was casual and charming without an ounce of condescension.
The Treble With Men Page 10