The Treble With Men (Scorned Women's Society #2) - Piper Sheldon Page 0,72

brow, a hand tangled in his hair.

“That spark isn’t there. I can feel it,” he’d say. And no matter how I encouraged him that it was wonderful, he would reply, “Wonderful isn’t good enough. It needs to be perfect.”

There was no such thing as perfect. I understood that better than most.

Now, it was our last weekend practice before the Fourth of July, and I was at his house. I skipped the pretense and packed an overnight bag. Not for any lusty reasons but because this was going to be a long weekend and going home was a waste of time. Better to at least be prepared and sleep in my own clothes. My parents had been relatively quiet on the issue and that too added to my anxious thoughts.

“Before we start today you should know something.” He stood towering over me as I gripped the neck of my cello. He was all business, with dark brooding eyes and full delicious lips. The ring finger of his left hand tapped lightly on the knee of his jeans. It was the only indication of nerves in an otherwise smooth demeanor.

Whatever he was about to say was important.

“Yeah?” My gentle tone reflected an attempt to stay cool.

“The delay with the chair decision is because I’m sampling the cello solo from the Smokey Mountain Concerto. As a sort of teaser for the September showcase.”

Small tendrils of dread swirled my thoughts like early morning fog on a lake. I nodded once, urging him on.

“As you may assume, the first chair cellist will have that solo at the Fourth of July performance.”

My stomach filled with fiery heat like I’d taken five shots too fast. Was he telling me I got first chair? It felt like a warning.

“That makes sense.”

“I don’t decide the chair ranking alone. The whole point of an unbiased third party is to ensure there was no favoritism or nepotism in the decision making. I won’t even know who is sat where until the positions are officially decided.”

“First chair is a huge decision,” I said cautiously.

He held my focus and I searched those dark eyes for answers.

“Whatever they decide, let me assure you that these last few weeks have shown me without a doubt that your talent is astounding. You are astounding.”

“Thank you.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. Neither one of us looked away. We sat watching each other in the silent room not saying a hundred things on the tips of our tongues. “Devlin, I—”

He broke our trance first with a small shake of his head. “Let’s rehearse.”

We played through the same piece we’d played a thousand times. Today there was no focusing. If he was telling me I got first chair and the solo, that would change everything. My breathes were quick and shallow, matching the tempo of my heart. My mind raced with too many distractions. Mechanically, I was fine. Most people wouldn’t even think there was anything wrong, but instinct told me this performance was subpar. Every passing measure the temper that gave the Devil of the Symphony his name seemed to grow.

I needed to tell him the truth about how I felt. I was so tired of pretending. How could I when he’d just told me I was astounding? It might ruin how far we’ve come together.

He stood up from the piano so abruptly the bench toppled over. “You aren’t trying.”

“I am.” My insides shook. I needed to tell him.

“No, you aren’t. You’re holding on to something. Just play. Hear the notes between the music. Listen to the message.”

“What message?” I asked. He always talked about this, some hidden meaning or feeling. I tasted that power he spoke of—at the bar and for Ford’s Fosters—but I couldn’t just make it happen.

He shoved the bench farther out of his way, standing so he had to hunch to play the accompaniment on the piano. “Listen, Kim. Feel it.”

I played as my frustration grew. I matched him note for note. If he used anger as a weapon, I would give it right back to him. It was immature, but I was so tired of trying and falling flat. That anger fueled my fingers despite every muscle in my body burning with fatigue.

“Better!” he shouted.

I played harder.

“More!”

My fingertips went numb.

“Faster!”

I screamed out a growl. “Why don’t you just play it!” I snapped. “If you’re so fricking sure of how it should sound.”

He glared at me, and at that moment, I had no idea why I was even here. Why I had