by Katie McCoy
Then my name was called and the panic returned. I swallowed the lump that was rising in my throat and wiped my hands on the sides of my dress. My fingers grazed my garters and my skin went warm, but this time it wasn’t from nerves. I was thinking about Jake and how he had looked at me when I played for him. Using that memory to propel me, I walked onto the stage, my steps more confident than I felt. I could do this. And I wanted it. More than anything.
I bowed to the judges and took my seat at the piano and thought about Jake. About how he had kissed me, his tongue hot and wet in my mouth. How he had carefully taken the pins from my hair and let it fall loose on my shoulders before burying his hands in it. How he had run his hands along my legs, up beneath my dress and taken those gorgeous, talented hands and made me pant and shudder in his arms. How I had felt him hard and throbbing beneath me, but when I had told him about the competition, he had merely kissed me on the forehead and gone home, even though I knew that he had been left wanting. And I thought about how badly I wanted to give him the same pleasure he had given me. And how once I finished playing today, I would be free to do that.
That’s what I was thinking about as I lowered my hands to the keys and played Chopin’s Piano Sonata 3 in B minor Opus 58 better than I ever had before.
19
Ella
My fridge had never been described as well-stocked, but after everything that had happened in the past week, I found myself ravenous all the time. I had developed a taste for brownies, specifically Jake’s brownies. But since I didn’t have any, I took to filling my fridge with Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge brownie, but found it empty by the time Monday came around.
I didn’t mind the distraction of going to the store, especially since it was Jake’s day off and I hadn’t heard from him. Nor had I seen him around the building. Was he so intent on avoiding me that he had completely vanished? I couldn’t understand it. Had I misread the situation so terribly? Had he only been in it for the sex and when he didn’t get that, he just lost interest? But he had told me he could wait, hadn’t he? And he hadn’t initiated our last kiss—I had.
I tried not to be disappointed, but I felt like a complete fool. This is why you don’t do things like this, I told myself. You don’t know what you’re getting into. Maybe Mark was right. Maybe you’re too emotional. The thought made me sick, especially after how he had reacted to my performance at the competition. He had been thoroughly horrified, while I had been quite proud of my showing. Now I was starting to question my eagerness to disregard his tutelage.
I had resigned myself to an afternoon of practicing when I headed home, arms full of ice cream, and promptly ran into Dakota on the stairs outside my apartment.
“Ella!” she called out before I could duck inside.
“Hi.” I gave her a small smile. “I was just about to—”
“I was hoping I would see you.” She looked pretty tired. “I tried to get your apartment number from Jake but he’s been pretty out of it.”
That got my attention. “Out of it?”
“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her hair. “He’s had the flu since yesterday—kept insisting he was fine.” Dakota rolled her eyes. “Men.”
“Is he okay?”
Dakota shook her head. “He’s got a fever and he’s pretty useless. He managed to come out of it long enough to tell me that I needed to contact you, but then passed out before I could ask which apartment was yours.”
At least that explained why he hadn’t called. I began to regret all the ice cream I had eaten in my disappointment. Well, not all the ice cream. I was still enjoying this newfound appreciation for sweets, regardless of everything else.
“Does he need anything?” I asked Dakota. She was rubbing her eyes, which seemed to be bloodshot. On second glance, she looked less tired and more upset. Had she been crying? “Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” But the minute she looked up at me, her face crumpled and she threw herself into my arms and started sobbing.
I didn’t know what to do, so I just held on to her and my ice cream and patted her back in a way I hoped was comforting. After a few minutes of crying, she pulled back, looking both miserable and embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, pulling out a tissue from her pocket. “I’m not usually like this.” She glanced at my shoulder and the tears started up again. “And I ruined your shirt and it’s so pretty too.”
It was one of my new ones and sure enough it was now smeared with mascara.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told her earnestly. “What happened?”
“Some guy.” She threw up her hands. “It’s always some guy.”
I nodded, thinking how if it weren’t for Jake, I could have gotten a gold medal for attracting real jerks. I could still probably claim silver. Mark had just been the latest in a long line of bad choices. Jake was definitely my first nice guy.
“I have such bad taste in men.” She began shredding her tissue, raining down little white pieces on the hallway floor. “But this one really takes the cake.”
“Do you want to come in?” I asked. “I think I have some tea, or something.” I peered into my grocery bag. “Ice cream?” I offered.
“Tea would be great.” Dakota gave me a watery smile.
Thankfully tea was the one other thing I kept stocked. I started the kettle as Dakota examined my piano.
“This is beautiful,” she told me.
“Thanks.” I got the cups and teabags ready. “I’m sorry I don’t have many places to sit.”
“It’s fine.” Dakota waved off my apology. “I shouldn’t stay long anyways—I need to go get some food for Jake.”
“Do you want any help taking care of him?” I asked, as if I had any experience taking care of a grown man who was sick.
But Dakota’s eyes lit up. “Would you mind?” There was definitely some exhaustion visible under her sadness. “It’s my only night off and I am in desperate need of some sleep. I can come check on him tomorrow if you could watch over him tonight. Bring him some soup maybe?”
“Of course,” I told her as the kettle began to whistle.
“That would be amazing.” Dakota grabbed a sheet of paper from my counter and scribbled something on it. “Here’s my number. You can call me if you need anything.”
I pocketed the piece of paper, wondering if this was a bad idea. Maybe he’d be too out of it to notice me bringing him canned chicken noodle—the only thing I was really capable of making.
I handed Dakota her tea.
“Thank you,” she sighed and took a sip. “I feel so stupid. I’m not really the type to start crying in front of someone I barely know.”
“Sounds like you had a rough day,” I offered.
“You have no idea.” She took another drink and gave me a wry grin. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger to spice this up?”
I shook my head, thinking that a bottle of whisky would probably be a good addition to the apartment, as well as the tea.
“Probably better this way.” Dakota stared down at her cup. “Bad enough to be sad and alone. Being sad, drunk, and alone is definitely worse.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Dakota was silent for a moment, but then took a deep breath. “He was married,” she told me. “The guy I had just started dating, who I was really falling for, he was married.”
“Oh, no.” I couldn’t imagine how terrible that must have been for Dakota to find out.
“His wife called me.” Dakota shook her head, the embarrassment obvious. “He told me they were divorced. They weren’t.”
I winced.
“She was actually very nice, all things considered.”
“I’m so sorry,” I told Dakota.
“Thanks.” She gave me a half-hearted smile. “I’ll get over it. Nothing a batch of brownies and a bottle of tequila can’t fix. It’s not my first time at the Heartbreak Rodeo.” She finished her tea. “One of these days I’ll find a nice guy. One
that doesn’t tell me I’m fat, or cheat on me, or lie about being married.”
“They’re out there.” I tried to be encouraging.
“Oh, I know they are.” This time her smile was more genuine. “And one of them is upstairs waiting for the girl he likes to bring him some soup.”
After Dakota had fixed her makeup and finished off another cup of tea, I walked her out and went to the grocery store to get supplies for Jake. I stocked up on the basics—Nyquil and tissues—and bought several cans of Campbell’s soup to feed him.
Balancing the bag of groceries on my hip, I somehow managed to get Jake’s door unlocked—with a key borrowed from Dakota—with hardly any trouble. The room was dark when I entered, the curtains all drawn, but I could still make out Jake’s enormous bed and the figure in the middle of the rumpled sheets.
Be cool, I told my hormones, already starting to heat up. He’s sick, I reminded myself. This is no time for more piano bench-style action, no matter how much you want it.
“Dakota?” his voice was raspy from sleep and sickness.
“It’s Ella,” I told him, putting the groceries down on the counter and coming around to the bed. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, so I could see him more clearly. His hair was adorably ruffled, his cheeks shadowed with several days worth of scruff, and he was not wearing a shirt. His sheets were tangled around his hips, so I got a pretty great view of all of his tattoos. And this time I was ready for them. Or, as ready as a woman could be, confronted with a chest that perfect.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, not exactly sure what to do. Dakota had said the worst of it was over, and that his fever was down and he just needed some bed rest. He wasn’t contagious anymore, but even if he was, I was glad I had gotten the flu shot a few weeks ago.
Though I was starting to feel a little feverish. Jake had no right to look as good as he did, being sick and all. Maybe what I needed was some bed rest, as well, though what I wanted to do to Jake in his bed was nowhere near restful. What was under those covers, I wondered? I couldn’t imagine he would mind if I took a little peek.
Oh. It was getting really, really hot in here.
His hand reached out and without hesitating, I took it. His skin was warm, but not alarmingly so.
“Ella,” he murmured.
“Hi.” A thrill ran through me as he linked his fingers with mine.
“I was supposed to call you,” he said sleepily, his face half buried in the pile of pillows around him.
“You’re sick,” I reminded him. “It’s okay.”
“I wanted to call,” he insisted.
“Dakota told me.” I patted his hand. “She also told me that you need to be resting.”
“I am resting.” His voice was muffled.
“Do you want some soup?” I asked, not really wanting to let go of his hand, but trying to remind myself that the reason I had come up here was to make him feel better, not to gape at his gorgeous body. But how could anyone resist. Even in the semi-darkness of the room, I could still see the outlines of the tattoos covering his chest. The “Lucy” tattoo, of course, but now I got a good glimpse of the others—of the intricate shapes that took over his entire left arm, starting with a large, almost flower-like geometric shape that extended up across his shoulder and just slightly on to his chest. I knew I had heard about this style somewhere—maybe Buzzfeed or someplace like that—sacred geometry, I think it was called. Either way, it was gorgeous and more than a little sexy.
“Checking out my ink, huh?” Jake’s husky voice interrupted my observation. He was watching me through barely parted eyes. “Ladies love the tats.”
I blushed. “You’re supposed to be quiet,” I told him, trying to hide my embarrassment at being caught.
“And you’re supposed to be taking care of me,” he teased.
“You’re right.” I tried to stand, but his arm—the same one I had been admiring—snaked around my waist and pulled me back onto the bed. “Hey!” I tried to swat him away, but his grasp was surprisingly strong for someone not feeling well. “I’m supposed to be getting you soup.”
“I’ve got other ideas for how you could take care of me.” His voice was low and sexy.
My skin went hot and all I wanted to do at that moment was crawl under the covers with him and take very, very good care of him. But then Jake let out a cough and I was reminded that while he might be strong enough to flirt, it was doubtful he’d be, um, up for anything else.
“You talk a big game.” I extracted myself from his grasp. “But I’m pretty sure soup is about all you can handle.”
“Wanna bet?” Jake managed, before flopping face-first back onto his pillows and immediately falling asleep.
I gave his slumbering, half-naked body a regretful sigh and went to heat up some soup.
20
Jake
I woke to the smell of chicken soup. It penetrated the thick haze of sleep and sickness and I slowly began to remember where I was. I was at home. In bed. And Ella was there? No, this wasn’t reality. This was a dream. Ella on the bed. Ella’s hand in mine. Ella leaning against me. Teasing me. This was a really, really good dream. But then, along with the smell of soup came her voice.
“Are you hungry?”
It took an enormous amount of effort to open my eyes. I had never been so tired in my life—my whole body ached. Fucking flu, I thought, forcing myself to focus. Because if this wasn’t a dream, there was no way I wasn’t going to take advantage of Ella being in my apartment and one of us being naked. And sure, I would have liked it if Ella was the one naked, but in my state, I was going to take what I could get.
I finally opened my eyes and there she was, leaning over me with a bowl of chicken soup that smelled amazing. Thank god I had brushed my teeth and gargled a ton of mouthwash the last time I had gone to the bathroom. Nothing more disgusting than dealing with a sick guy with bad breath.
“You cooked?” I asked, my sick voice sounding pretty pathetic and dumb to me, but she smiled anyways.
“Sort of.” She sat down on the bed. “Can you sit up?”
Well, part of me could. Even half dead, I was still rock hard at the sight of her. Especially with her hair all loose and sexy. She looked different, though. It took a moment for me to figure it out.
“Are you wearing color?” I swatted for my bedside lamp, nearly knocking it over in my attempt to turn it on. When I finally did, the light practically blinded me with its intensity, but once the spots cleared from my eyes, I saw that yes, Ella was wearing color. Pale color—green to be specific—but color nonetheless.
“Where’s your habit?” I asked.
“I wear color.” She lifted her chin in indignation, but she was smiling.
“Won’t Mother Superior tattle on you?”
“Hush.” She lifted the spoon. “Use that mouth for something useful, why don’t you, and eat some soup?”
“There are many other ways my mouth can be useful.” I wiggled my eyebrows at her. “Hop under the covers and I’ll show you.” I was only half kidding, but my cock wasn’t kidding at all. And if I had even just an ounce more energy, I would have done it proud. Unfortunately, it took all my strength just to sit up.
Ella just rolled her eyes and held out the spoon. I had to admit, I liked being coddled by her. I usually hated getting sick, but anything that got a beautiful woman to sit at my bedside and feed me was something I had to be thankful for.
I took a sip of the soup. It was delicious. Salty and flavorful. Simple. Not quite like my mom’s recipe, but in the same vein.
“Good?” Ella asked, though it was pretty evident from how I was devouring each bite that I liked it.
“Good,” I managed once I had cleaned out the bowl. It was the first real meal I had had since getting sick and it warmed me from the inside. Or maybe that was Ella, her thigh pressed against mine, only a thin sheet and her skirt between us. Did she suspect I was completely naked here? It was probably hard to ignore the evidence of my attractio
n to her, practically bursting through the sheet. Down boy, I ordered, but there was no controlling my cock around her.
Unfortunately, finishing the soup had the unwanted affect of her getting up and going into the kitchen.
“I thought you didn’t cook,” I called to her, bunching the sheets over my crotch in an attempt to hide my unwavering boner.
“I don’t.” She peered over the counter, a playful grin on her face. “That was canned soup.”
My mouth dropped open. “You lie!” I accused, not willing to believe it.
“I would never lie about soup.” She came back towards the bed with another full bowl. “You ate canned soup and you liked it.”
“I’m sick,” I objected. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m out of my mind with fever.”
“Admit it.” She held out another full spoon. “You liked it.”
“Never!” But a hungry growl from my stomach revealed the truth. Dammit.
Ella lifted an eyebrow. “So you won’t mind if I eat this, then?”
“Well, maybe I just like you feeding me,” I offered, still not willing to accept defeat on canned soup. Canned soup!
“Mmhmm.” Ella lifted the spoon to her lips, her gorgeous luscious lips, and took a sip. Dammit again.
“You tricky minx,” I muttered. “Give me that soup.”
She grinned as she handed it over and barely gloated at all as I devoured my second bowl.
“So what’s the deal with this soup?” I asked after I had eaten my fill. “You seem to have a rather intense relationship with it.”
Ella blushed a little—damn, how I loved it when she blushed.
“It just makes me feel safe, I guess,” she admitted. “I get really anxious before performances. And it was really bad when I was younger. I couldn’t eat anything days before a recital. So my parents, who don’t really cook that much, would always give it to me afterwards, because usually my stomach was still so upset that I really couldn’t handle anything else. And I guess I found it really comforting because after a while, I just began to associate it with being calm, with it being over. Helps me feel a little less lost.”