Play Me

by Katie McCoy

“Besides you?” I asked and she quirked an eyebrow at me. “No.”

  “So what happened?”

  I told her, ending with the detail that was the most appalling to me.

  “The only thing she likes to eat is chicken noodle soup. From a can!” I threw up my hands. “So I can’t even seduce her with food.” That was my number one, fail-safe seduction plan. I had entranced many a woman with my skills in the kitchen. As well as my skills in other areas.

  “Well . . . ” Dakota had a pensive look on her face. “Just because she has specific preferences does not mean that cooking for her is off-limits. You just have to figure out why she likes what she likes. You can do that.”

  “I am not heating up a pre-made bowl of soup,” I told her. “Even I have my limits.” Though, if I was honest with myself, the thought of feeding Ella, her luscious lips parting, the lovely line of her throat as she swallowed followed by a satisfied sigh, well, fuck, okay, I was having less and less of a problem with canned soup.

  “You just need to go slow with her,” Dakota said. “You remember what I said about you and letting things breathe and how you totally suck at that? Well, this is going to be your master class, buddy. Let her breathe. Don’t rush into anything. Spend some time with her where you’re not arguing or kissing.”

  But those were two of my favorite things, I thought, even though I knew that Dakota was right. Dammit. I needed dumber friends, so I could at least have the upper hand once in a while. But as I sat there, trying to figure out my next step, I realized I was way more out of practice than I thought. My work had completely taken over my life and now I was paying the cost.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “But what else is there?”

  Dakota smiled. “Make her some chicken soup, of course.”

  10

  Ella

  I stood in the wings, watching the performer before me, my skin itchy and sweat dripping down my back. Breathe, I told myself, trying to count my breaths, trying to calm myself. But I was already hurtling towards a panic attack and I knew that I would just have to keep telling myself that it would all be over soon.

  Just go on stage and play. That’s all you have to do. You’ve played this piece a million times. You can do this.

  But the logical part of my mind was no match for my nerves, which were screaming bloody murder at me. Every single time I performed for others, this happened. I felt lightheaded, and all I wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. My hands were damp, and I knew I was probably as white as a ghost. My heart was pounding out of control, my whole internal rhythm shot to hell. I glanced over at Mark, but he was looking at his phone.

  Just get on stage. Get on stage. Get to the piano.

  I wanted to throw up.

  The pianist on stage finished her piece, stood and bowed. Oh god. My turn. I gulped in huge breaths of air as the contestant exited the stage. She gave me a smile, but had a concerned look on her face. I probably looked as terrible as I felt.

  They called my name and Mark finally looked up from his phone.

  “Don’t mess up the fifth stanza,” he told me.

  Great pep talk.

  I plastered a smile on my face and tried to ignore all the voices in my head that were telling me to run away. Keeping my eyes on the piano, I walked onto the stage and took a seat.

  The moment my fingers touched the keys, I lost myself in the music. I had practiced this piece—Chopin Sonatas, Opus 35—for so long and so hard that my adrenaline kicked in and I was practically on autopilot. I played the way that Mark had taught me. Focused on the music, only the music. Then, unbidden, the memory of Jake’s kiss broke through the concentration and the fear. But instead of stumbling through the song at the thought of Jake’s lips against mine, I played on, the memory now part of the melody, flowing into the song like it belonged there. That had never happened before. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  When I finished, there was polite applause, as was standard from the judges. The whole performance was a blur in my mind—and their purposefully blank faces gave me no idea how I had performed. I stood and bowed, my hands now damp. During the performance, I forgot everything. The second it ended, however, my nerves returned, and I now looked over at Mark standing in the wings, hoping his expression would give me an indication of how I had done.

  His handsome face was twisted in a frown and my stomach, already uneasy, gave another sickening jolt.

  I bowed once more to the judges and made my way off stage, where the next contestant was waiting to go on. I tried to give her a comforting smile, like the contestant before me had done, but she was looking past me, towards the piano. Towards safety and familiarity.

  Mark didn’t say anything, though, just turned on his heels as I approached, forcing me to follow him. After all, he wasn’t just my instructor, he was also my ride home. I packed up my music and the rest of my things and went out to the parking lot where he was now leaning against the car. There was still half a day left of performances for this round of the competition—we wouldn’t find out until tomorrow who was continuing on to the next level, but it seemed pretty clear that Mark thought I was done after my showing today.

  The air in the car was thick with tension. I didn’t want to be the first to say anything, but my shoulders were practically bunched up under my ears.

  “Are you pleased with yourself?” Mark finally said, but when I glanced up at him, he wasn’t even looking at me, his eyes firmly on the road, even though we were at a stoplight.

  I knew better than to answer.

  All I wanted was to get home and take a nice long bath and then play some Mozart. And eat some chicken noodle soup. And maybe a brownie.

  Jake had left a box of them outside my door and even though I knew I shouldn’t have, I took a small nibble of one before I left for the competition. That nibble, unfortunately, had turned into a full-on bite, and then before I knew it, with Mark waiting outside in the car, honking at me, I had eaten half the box. I had never thought myself to be a brownie person but there was something about these—they weren’t cakey like the brownies I had had before. They were rich and fudge-like with a hint of salt, giving it a perfect balance of flavor. And I ate almost all of them. No wonder I had felt sick on the way to the performance and no wonder I felt sick now.

  “Your performance was sloppy and emotional,” Mark told me, his voice thick with disappointment. “It’s like all the work I’ve done with you has gone completely out the window. You’re back to being the same amateur I agreed to work with—which means this experiment has been a waste of my time.”

  My heart dropped into my brownie-filled stomach. I hated disappointing Mark. He had been trying, for months, to get me to focus on the music, on the notes, and I had let myself be taken away by the emotion of the moment. Any enjoyment I had gained from playing that afternoon was immediately gone. All the hopes I had of actually winning this competition faded away. If Mark didn’t think I was good enough, then I wasn’t. Disappointed tears welled in my eyes, but I wasn’t going to let them fall.

  “I doubt you’ll make it to the next round.” He pulled up in front of my building. “But if by some miracle you do, we’ll have to make some changes. Clearly I’ve been coddling you too much.” He sighed. “I blame myself. It’s obvious you’re still coping with our break-up and your emotions are affecting your work.” Turning to me, he gave me a smile. “I know it’s been hard on you,” he told me. “But you have to understand why it’s better that we have a professional relationship only.”

  “I understand,” I said. “And I agree it’s a good thing that we’re not dating anymore.”

  His face darkened and his smile disappeared. “That’s exactly what I said.” He faced forward again, a clear indication that the conversation was over.

  “Thank you for the ride.” I unbuckled my seat belt, but before I could get out of the car, he turned towards me.

  “You should keep a closer eye on what you’re eating,” he said, his gaze sweeping
over my body, as if he could see right through my black performance dress. “I think you’ve gained some weight.” Then he nodded, indicating I needed to get out of the car.

  Despite my shaking hands, I managed to do just that. And without another word, he took off, leaving me on the curb with my bag of music.

  11

  Ella

  I stood there for a moment, wondering how in the hell Mark could tell that I had broken from the strict eating regimen he had given me. Then I remembered that this wasn’t the first time he had made that accusation—it was just the first time he was right about it. I had always accepted that Mark knew what was best for me, that all his rules and instructions were for my benefit—that I was immature and unfocused and I needed them. He thought that discipline in all aspects of one’s life would help give you discipline in your playing. All you needed was the music—everything else could be stripped away. Everything else was a distraction.

  What the hell was wrong with me? So what if I had eaten something I wasn’t supposed to? I was a good piano player and I thought I had done well today, even if he didn’t. I pushed away the doubt that he always seemed to inspire in me. Just because he was the best instructor in the city didn’t mean he got to control every aspect of my life. He wasn’t my boyfriend anymore, and even if he was, he shouldn’t treat me that way. Right?

  Even though he was already long gone, I impulsively gave the spot where his car had been the middle finger. It was completely unlike me, but felt oh so good. Just like going back up to my apartment—the one he hadn’t wanted me to get—and eating the last of the brownies would feel.

  Then I heard a now-familiar voice from behind me.

  “I’m pretty sure whoever you were aiming that bird at probably missed it.”

  Jake.

  I whirled around to find him, as usual, in another threadbare shirt, his biceps perfectly displayed as he held a bag of groceries in each arm.

  It was the first time I had seen him since the kiss. The kiss I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, even during my performance. Even now, the memory of his firm lips against my surprised ones, the press of his body against mine, his hand almost on my breast, heated me from my toes to my ears. I felt a little tingly, too, in places that weren’t often tingly. I shifted on my feet, not sure what to do.

  “Heading in or heading out?” he finally asked, gesturing towards the apartment, giving me an even better view of his arms as they flexed against the thin cotton barely containing them.

  “In,” I said, my eyes still riveted on his inked skin. I could see a snake coiled there. I felt like I was Eve and very, very tempted to take whatever apple he offered.

  “Well, I’d offer to hold the door for you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to be ungentlemanly and ask you to grab it since my arms are full.”

  That startled me out of my lustful gaze.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” I looked back up at his face, which was split in a smile, that perfect dimple showing in his cheek. I wanted to press my finger to it. But instead, I dug my keys out of my purse and fumbled with the front door to our building. I was usually good with this kind of thing, but I still wasn’t used to the lock. Or I was just distracted. Really, really distracted.

  “Here.” A warm hand covered mine. Somehow, Jake managed to balance his groceries and guide my key into the keyhole—an act that felt far more intimate than it should—turning it until we heard it click.

  “There you go,” he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. I was afraid to turn around, but I could feel his breath ruffling the strands of hair that had come loose during my performance. The building’s hallway was small but I didn’t feel crowded. In fact, if anything, I wanted to get closer. Much, much closer.

  Which is what made me move away. Mark might not have been right about my eating habits, but he did have a point about letting my emotions get in the way. If I hadn’t been careful, I could have let the memory of Jake’s kiss interrupt my playing, ruining my chances in the competition. A competition I desperately needed to win.

  Somehow, I managed to wrestle the door open and press my back against it to hold it open while Jake made his way inside. Not, of course, without his arm brushing against my breasts. We were close enough that it could have easily been an accident, but I had a feeling that when it came to a guy like Jake, there were no accidents in situations like these.

  I was surprised to find that I didn’t mind. In fact, my body really didn’t mind, my nipples springing to attention. Luckily, the heavy draping of the dress I was wearing disguised them well, but I couldn’t help the way my body felt—soft and hot. I had never felt this way before.

  Inside the building, I turned to go into my apartment, to dump a cold glass of water over my head and eat the rest of those brownies while trying not to think of how good it felt for some random guy to accidentally, but probably not, touch my breasts. But Jake stopped me.

  “Are you busy right now?” he asked.

  Yes, I thought. “No,” I stupidly said.

  He grinned. That damned dimple winked at me like it knew exactly what I was thinking. That I would be happy to busy myself with the removal of his shirt and examination of his tattoos. What was happening to me? This wasn’t like me at all.

  “Well, I was thinking of trying out a new recipe for the restaurant,” he told me, still balancing his groceries, which looked pretty heavy. He barely seemed to be breaking a sweat, though, the flex of his muscles the only indication of the bags’ weight.

  “I was wondering if I could borrow your tongue.” He looked down at my mouth and I felt my insides turn to Jell-O. His grin was innocent, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

  “My tongue?” I managed to sputter.

  “To taste test the soup,” he concluded.

  I should say no, I thought. There was no way I’d be of any help to him—I was a moron when it came to food. But then I thought of those brownies. Twenty-four hours ago I had made the claim that I just didn’t like sweets. But Jake’s brownies had seduced me, and a part of me, a very specific below the waist part of me, was kind of sort of hoping it would be the baker of those brownies that would do the seducing next.

  But I was not the kind of girl that did stuff like this. I never ate brownies. I never kissed strangers. And I certainly never wanted to keep kissing strangers.. This was all a terrible idea. I really should say no, go back into my apartment, and practice until music was the only thing on my mind.

  Then I thought about what Mark had said. About gaining weight. About being too emotional. About all the ways I was wrong. For once I just wanted to be right.

  I looked at Jake, standing there in the hallway, waiting, looking at me like I was just right. His kind of right.

  “Okay,” I told him. “I’d be happy to lend you my tongue.”

  His apartment seemed much bigger than mine, which was to be expected since there wasn’t a giant piano in the middle of it. I was surprised by how clean it was, even the bed was neatly made. A bed which I did my best not to stare at, even though it looked very, very inviting. Especially if Jake was doing the inviting.

  But I was being ridiculous. Coming up here to help him with a recipe was one thing, getting involved with him, even in just a physical way, was something else entirely. Something I really couldn’t get entangled in right now. If I moved to the next round of the competition, I had to be completely focused. Every moment needed to be focused on rehearsing, on perfecting my pieces. I needed to get to the final round. I needed to win this thing.

  However, since I didn’t know if I had made it to the next round—Mark seemed to think I hadn’t—one afternoon off from rehearsing couldn’t hurt. But just this afternoon. Nothing more.

  “Just sit down and relax,” Jake said as he unloaded the groceries, but I was captivated by the way his back muscles flexed and stretched, something I could see clearly through his worn-out shirt. I also allowed my gaze to drop a little lower to, yep, his perfect ass. Damn. Was there
anything about this guy that wasn’t completely gorgeous?

  I supposed the cooking would be the real test.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, looking back over his shoulder.

  “Uh.” Alcohol, I thought, glancing over at his small bar. I never drank, especially not during the day, but I felt like if I was going to be someone unlike myself that afternoon, that I might as well be someone who drank.

  “I’ve got a bottle of wine,” he offered, pulling one out of the bag.

  “Sure.” I gave him a small shrug and he grinned.

  With a practiced gesture he extracted the cork with the help of a wine opener and grabbed two wine glasses from the shelves next to the stove.

  “Better let it breath for a moment,” he said, sliding a glass over towards me.

  I waited for him to turn back to his groceries, counted to ten, and then poured myself a generous glass of wine. Before he could look back, I took a long swallow. Unfortunately, I was not accustomed to drinking wine, so I choked on it and coughed. Wine dribbled onto my shirt. Oh my god. I quickly wiped at my chin, but the front of my shirt was soaked.

  “You okay?” Jake was immediately in front of me, a concerned look on his face and a rag in his hand.

  “Fine,” I managed to gasp, taking the rag and dabbing at my shirt. “Guess it’s a good thing I only wear black,” I tried to joke, though I was sure my face was bright red.

  “And here I thought it was because you were trying for some sexy nun look.” Jake winked at me.

  “Sexy nun?” No one had ever used the word “sexy” to describe me before. Nun, on the other hand, was a more familiar descriptor.

  “Very sexy.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I took another swallow of wine, burying my face in the glass and making sure not to inhale it.

  Jake began to prepare his ingredients, his knife flying over the cutting board, chopping celery and carrots and onions and garlic into perfect, tiny pieces. A part of me felt bad for agreeing to help him with his new recipe, since I knew I would be no help when it came to figuring out how his recipe was. I had just never found food that exciting. It was something you ate because you had to. And I had never really understood the whole sexy element of food, like when people in movies would smear chocolate or whipped cream on each other. It just seemed kind of messy and gross.