“You’re keeping up with me just fine,” he says, his smile regaining its playfulness. “That’s a start.”
I want to laugh. That’s like saying a girl in a parasailing rig kept up with a speedboat. No choice in the matter.
“And now you’re back for more. Are you going to play again tonight?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve decided, you know. I’m not going to waste my breath one way or the other.”
“How do you mean?”
“Either you will, in which case I don’t need to say a thing. Or you won’t. I’ve had it up to my eyes with Adelaide today. I don’t have the energy to play cat and mouse, luring you toward where you belong.”
His arrogance doesn’t surprise me, but the contradicting emotions in his voice do. The cat and mouse reference feels like a double entendre from the man who’s spent the last ten minutes flirting with me, kissing me. Then, in the same breath, we’re back to worrying about his sister. Has he been arguing with Adelaide? About Dr. Saunders? He sounds tired. This is the first crack in the overwhelming, superhuman impact of Jude. Suddenly I realize that yes, he has a life outside of Yamatam’s, a life beyond the games he insists on playing with me.
Still . . .
What if all I’ve needed to get onstage all these years was just the right combination of goading and the urge to impress someone who seems above being impressed? Jude certainly gave me both in spades. He could do it again without a second thought. I don’t know if I can muster up the courage to do it on my own. Not yet. It doesn’t make any sense, considering what I’ve seen and done and been. But what I’ve seen and done and been has taught me that not a lot in life makes sense.
“You don’t have the time,” I echo. “Then why are you here? Don’t you have better things to do than slum it at a college jazz dive?”
“This was my dive once,” he says with a return of his terseness. It grinds all of the smooth and charming out of his New Orleans accent, leaving his words a low growl. “But things were different then.”
He strokes his thumb up the inside of my wrist. One place of contact. One touch of skin to skin. I try to hide my shiver. He sees it. I can tell, not because of a smile or some tease, but because of his eyes. A gleam of light from the stage has crossed his face. I can see every detail—the length of his lashes, the lines at the corners that seem so harsh and out of place for a man of only twenty-six, and even their hypnotic blue color. They’re even darker, more intense, probing, as he pets my skin. He can probably feel every rampaging beat of my blood.
“I came here when I was an undergrad, before the whole city got turned inside out. Before . . .” He stops short and shakes his head. I know that feeling, when I have to swallow words, knowing just how revealing they’ll be—more than just facts. But he hasn’t looked away, and I can’t. He leans close and whispers against my cheek, “A whole lot of good memories got swallowed by the bad. But you, sugar . . . You’re making it feel brand new.”
Thirteen
I chicken out of performing.
Maybe I knew I would even before I left the dorm. I’m almost as disappointed with Jude as I am with myself. If he likes me, and if he liked what I played on Friday, why wouldn’t he want to urge me on? But he stays true to his declaration. He doesn’t say a word, not even after Adelaide burns the house down again. In fact, rather than watch his sister play, he wanders the club to mingle.
Janissa claps like crazy for Adelaide. “Oh my God, Keeley. You were right. She’s amazing.”
Shortly thereafter, I see Adelaide and Dr. Saunders leave together. My stomach is water, while I’m thirsty as hell. Maybe I should go after her, even just to compliment her performance? Jude watches them go too. His expression is somewhere between thundercloud and sadness.
In the end, I just plop my butt back in my chair. I’m not ready to chase after Adelaide, who’s practically a stranger. Anyway, it’s not my responsibility. I’ll figure out some way to meet up with her on neutral ground. We’ll talk music, not really poor choices in guys.
As if I know where that line is.
I make this tumbledown club feel new to Jude? I make him feel anything?
Three musical acts later, Jude puts his hand on one of the chairs at our table. “May I?”
“Oh,” Janissa says. “Hi.”
Sure, his hand is only resting there, but his demeanor says he’s already claimed it like a homesteader. Still, he waits. He stands with grace and the timeless formality of a man who was raised with money. Yet in that odd way of his, he makes it seem perfectly natural, no matter the casual setting.
With amusement in his eyes, he looks between me and Janissa. She had to have been watching when he cornered me against the wall. She has yet to grill me about it, as we each pretended the night was nothing special—or mind bending.
Now she shoots me a look. Well, two looks. One clearly says, Holy shit. The other may as well be written in DayGlo paint across her heart-shaped face.
Danger.
Practical girl is practical.
Jude places a tumbler of some golden liquor on the table and joins us. “An introduction, please?”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Villars.”
“I’m Jude to you or I’m nothing at all,” he says, darting me some playful side-eye.
He genuinely seems more interested in meeting Janissa than in poking my scaredy-cat butt up on stage. He’s given up on that being a possibility, just like he said. I’d either do it or I wouldn’t. His dares and prodding are off the table. Not that I need him to help make my decisions for me. Not that I need him in order to be strong.
Not that I care.
Except that I do care. Damn him.
I decide to play by his stupid rules. At least there seem to be rules right now, based on surface level politeness. We may as well have been making introductions at a country club banquet. I’ve never been to one. He’s probably forgotten the number of country clubs, let alone the times he’s played out high-class routines.
A minute ago, a few minutes from now—no telling what his rules will be.
“Janissa Simons,” I say. “This is Jude Villars.”
They shake hands, all decorum. He offers a smile meant to charm his way into the pants of almost any human being. I want to smack him.
“You guys want a drink?” she asks. “I’m going up for a refill.”
“Actually, I just came by to say hello. Keeley and I are getting ready to leave.” Jude’s certainty is so overwhelming that I check myself. Did he say something? Did we make plans? Maybe I’ve totally lost my marbles.
“Um, all right.” Janissa glances at me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my anger quick and hot. He takes so many liberties. That they coincide with desires I can’t even articulate makes it worse. “I’m here with Janissa. We’re staying.”
Jude pins her with what I know to be his impossibly persuasive gaze. “Janissa, I know you two must’ve been having a good time, so I’ll offer my apologies. But I have a proposition for Keeley. Would you mind?”
I expect her to jump in and be as righteously indignant as I’m trying to feel.
She surprises me when she says, “Go ahead.”
I don’t know whether to hug her or rail at her for letting the wolf in the door. Her expression has slipped toward curiosity, with none of the no go reminders I need. Then again, didn’t I just have a similar conversation with Jude about Adelaide? Janissa isn’t my keeper. If I want to play with fire . . . well, she’s already told me not to.
Although he still seems to be speaking to Janissa, Jude has turned his full-on melty intensity on me. I’m pinned by blue on blue eyes and his casual hint of a smile. The politeness is still there, but it lends an extra wickedness to his words. “I want to take Keeley down to my town car and kiss
her. In private. It’s either there, or back against that shadowy club wall, or down in an alley like we have something to hide.”
My heart stops. Classic cardiac arrest. My mind gives up trying to fight this man, or make sense of why he keeps coming back to me.
The rest of my body screams, Yes.
“Wow,” Janissa says, her mouth slightly agape. “You really are a caveman in slacks.”
Jude arches an eyebrow as he stands. “Caveman?”
“Go ahead. Drag her to your cave.”
“I don’t drag anyone,” he says, grinning, like he can win Janissa to his cause as easily as bribing a kid with candy. “But there are things I want. The question is . . .” He pins me again. “Whether Keeley here wants the same thing.”
I’m standing beside him. How that happened, I have no idea. And he’s holding my hand. I jerk away as soon as my brain catches up to my greedy nerves. I hold my palm to my chest as if it’s been burned. “Is this what you do? Barge through life like this? Tricking people and making them feel foolish?”
“Have I made you feel foolish?”
“Every time we talk. Double that when you talked me into playing.” I step away from the table. “Triple that when I had to find out from the Internet who you really are.”
“Now you know. My parents died two years ago, and I’m worth more money than anyone without a highly paid team of accountants can determine. If we want to dwell on tragedy or business, I’ll move on. I’d rather make good on my proposition.”
“You never asked a thing! You might as well have issued a decree. It was all about what you want and whether I’m willing to play along.”
Amusement twitches the corners of his mouth. “Do you still think this is a game?”
“Of course! You think I’m something kinda quirky and weird to play with for a night or two.”
He looks at me, then takes in the whole of my appearance. “You’re . . . novel.”
Christ, is that good or bad?
I resist the urge to take in the state of my outfit, to see me as he’s seeing me. I made an effort, dressing with that damn sonata in my head. Will Jude be there? My jeans feel too tight, and my shirt tugs where it scoops from shoulder to shoulder in a boat neckline. In this heat, I’m thankful it’s sleeveless. I paired it with ballet flats and decided against a barely there sweater.
“If she decides to stay with you,” Janissa says, “I want your cell phone number and taxi money for me.”
Then they both wait. Janissa sips from a straw, her eyebrows raised in expectation. Jude waits, like always, as if the decision has already been made and he only needs to be patient. I wish I could prove him wrong.
I don’t want to.
I force myself to look at my friend, already feeling like a royal traitor. “Do you mind?”
“I’m cool with it,” she says, although her voice has an edge I recognize as . . . forced. She reminds me of Clair. She’s given me her opinion. Now the mistake is mine to make, even if she’ll be the one to pick up the pieces when things go all to hell. I hope I can be that good a friend someday. “I got to meet Mr. Mysterio. That’s good enough for me.”
“Give her your number,” I say, still with an edge of anger in my voice. Or is that anticipation? Nervousness? I’m a wreck. My hands are shaking as I reach for my purse. Make two attempts before I’m steady enough to grab the strap. I’m numb, but more sensitive and aware of my body than I’ve ever been.
Janissa gives me a hug—our first—and a few whispered words. “Call me in a heartbeat. No questions asked. Be careful.”
“I think I’m beyond that.”
She smiles softly. After saying good night to Janissa, where she shrugs, kinda que será será, Jude and I edge to the side of the club nearest the exit.
“Are you sure?”
I think it’s the closest I’ll ever get from him to an actual request, a real invitation. He’s standing intimately close. Such a perfectly beautiful, impeccable jackass of a man.
But for the first time, I’m the one determining something of our future.
“Say please,” I blurt out of nowhere. “You have to say please.”
He laughs. I think it’s a full-on Jude Villars laugh, but what do I know? He’s not loud. He’s expressive. His smile goes supernova, with bright, straight teeth and eyes so pinched tight that they nearly close into lash tipped crescents. I get the feeling not everyone can catch him off guard.
I can’t decide if he’s laughing with me or at me. This could be one big taunting joke. This is a dream—part fantasy, part nightmare, waiting in the dark to spring on me and rip my trust to shreds.
But Jude doesn’t look like a nightmare. He’s confidence, secrets, and brazen dares pieced together in a tailored shirt and fronted by the world’s most enigmatic expression. He has this beautifully frustrating ability to appear on the verge of laughter despite the serious set of his lips and calm, neutral eyes. It’s the potential that lures me.
He’s told me outright what he wants—to kiss me in his car—but what does he expect? What do I expect? I can’t ignore this lonely chasm of need in me. Not forever.
I know that Jude Villars is no cure-all. He can’t fill the void inside me, because some wounds are too deep to heal. But he’s experienced and charismatic, and I’m recklessly in the mood for something dangerous. Danger is something I’ve avoided ever since I became Keeley Chambers. I did a damn good job up until about . . . six days ago. Jude pulled it open, urged me to share my pain with an eager audience—and made me vulnerable to him.
I tuck my hands behind my back as if he’d see my dirty past still wedged under my fingernails.
At last, he forces his smile into hiding. “You want me to say please? That’s it?”
“Yes. And if this isn’t a big deal to you, I still have time to catch that cab home with Janissa.”
“It is a big deal. Like when you performed last week. I like . . .” He tips my mouth toward his and brushes a soft kiss across my lips. I boil, practically dancing inside my own skin. “I like seeing how far you’ll go.”
“Maybe too far. You know, I practically ran away from you that morning, alarms and all, because I don’t like anyone seeing me practice. It’s because of you that I laid my whole self out there.”
He looks up to the parti-colored ceiling, exposing the sharp ridges and tendons of his throat. A lock of chocolate brown hair is gilded beneath the lights until it resembles the bonfire in his eyes. He’d watch a comet that way, head tilted back, awed as it streaked across the sky. He’s used to looking at the whole universe and seeing exactly what he wants to see.
Except for his family. My parents died two years ago. The inflection in his voice was . . . absent, the words stated as plainly as That table is short.
“Keeley, would you have come here tonight had I asked? Without Adelaide as your reason?” He pauses. “Just with me.”
When he returns his gaze to mine, he appears almost hesitant. Uncertain. A young man who lost his whole world. The expression doesn’t last long in his eyes, but it burns into mine and layers over everything that is Jude Villars.
“You didn’t ask,” I say softly.
“Then . . . please. I’m asking you now.”
He watches me, vital and passionate. I’m pinned again. Lost. Trapped. I nod, before every cell in my body changes its mind.
We reach the outdoors. The night is hot and the street is bright. He doesn’t take his eyes from the streetlamp, where humidity hangs low and bugs are out in force. Which car is his? Why won’t my legs work? I’m left feeling like an actress in a play, but he’s not my leading man. He’s my director, watching and dictating from afar. I should hate it. Instead I can’t wait to see what he has planned.
“You know, Keeley, I don’t believe that performance on Friday was all of you,” he says. “You haven’t shown anyone w
ho you really are.”
“No one’s proven that they deserve that right.”
He extends his hand, as if he has a deal in the making—a deal that could mean anything. “You could show me. A little at a time. Starting tonight. Are you that brave?” His drawl is so low and quiet when he says, “I think you are.”
He steps closer and I can’t help it. I take his extended hand in mine.
His features explode into a grin. As he tugs me down the street, away from the club, his grip so strong and steady, I suddenly and irrevocably know two things.
One: Jude Villars holds a rare power over me, the girl who’s been to hell and back.
Two: Even so, he’ll never learn that my real name isn’t Sara Dawson or Lila Reuther—or even my favorite alias, Keeley Chambers, the woman I’m still learning to be.
Fourteen
We walk around two corners, with the heavy humidity muffling the nightlife sounds. Laughter and music could be coming from anywhere. We’re surrounded by it. Each streetlamp is haloed. The dampness is hot. It’s private. Bright daylight would be garish by comparison. Daylight would make what I’m doing seem completely ridiculous. Why did I agree to this? Why did I practically fight to be here?
Because he’s astonishing. I would’ve lived the rest of my days wondering what I missed out on, had I decided to go home with Janissa instead. All of this—every moment spent with Jude—might be that oncoming brick wall or the roller coaster with missing pieces of track, but this was my time. It was true. True time. True feelings. These are things happening to me, not to anyone else, not even to some future version of myself. I’ll never be twenty-one again, walking nervously, a little too stiffly, on the arm of a man as breathtaking as Jude Villars, while the sounds of New Orleans become our soundtrack. One day I’ll be able to compose what I’m feeling and I’ll retire happy.
No. That isn’t true; I could never retire. The piano is my voice when all others fail.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“Nervous.”
Blue Notes Page 9