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Maelie
“What is that?” Amelia, Maelie’s last student of the following night, asked, her face cringing into a wince.
Maelie let out an irritated sigh as Sebastian Adams’s practice track and his never-ending solo riffs came through the wall like bullets. “It’s music.” She used air quotes.
Amelia’s face remained pained. “If you say so.”
M“Well, technically it’s jazz, but I’ve never really liked that genre of music.”
“I’m going to have to say I agree with you. Especially at this volume.”
“I talked to him last night about it.” Maelie let out a puff of irritation. “I’ll take care of it after you leave; I promise it won’t be so bad next week.”
“I already can’t wait,” Amelia quipped, lifting her violin back up to her chin. “I don’t even remember where I was.” She stared blankly at the music.
“Measure fifty,” Maelie told her, pointing to the measure with her bow. “Slower this time.”
Amelia took a deep breath to clear her head and then launched into her Kreisler caprice with renewed focus.
“That was lovely, Amelia,” Maelie told her when she finished. “I can tell you’ve been putting in a lot of work.” And as an all-honors senior in high school, she knew what a challenge it was for this bright girl to find practice time. “I really appreciate it.”
Amelia beamed and then laughed when a particularly loud note came through the wall and broke the moment.
“Keep practicing the three-octave scales for next week and the Beethoven. I know it’s easy to get bogged down by pieces, but how you perform your scales at your auditions are just as important.”
“I promise I’ll practice my scales.” Amelia set her violin carefully into its case. “Even if I hate them.”
Maelie laughed and began putting her instrument away as well.
Once Amelia was gone, Maelie made sure all of her things were packed up and paused to look in the mirror. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care what Sebastian Adams might think about her, but she knew it was a lie.
She made a face at herself. She looked frumpy in her black leggings and the flowy top she thought was chic but now looked more like a muumuu. Her dark blonde curls were everywhere despite being pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. She could never control them, so, as usual, she had given up. Right now, she wished she’d tried a little harder.
She sighed. Without a crew of professionals, it certainly wasn’t going to get any better, so she straightened her shoulders and marched over to Mr. Adams’s door.
She had to knock aggressively to get his attention, and the moment she heard the track shut off, her heart leapt into her throat.
He opened the door with an adorably distracted look on his face and said, “Oh no,” when he realized why she was there. “Oh God. I’m so sorry, Miss Barre, I completely forgot.” He started fumbling around the room, turning off his speakers, running his hands through his hair all while his saxophone hung from his neck.
She tried really hard not to notice his brightly tattooed forearms again, or how his button-up shirt was so perfectly fitted that she could see the V of his long torso. And goddammit, those fucking eyes.
All of her air escaped her lungs when they met hers. It felt very much like the time she had the wind knocked out of her playing kickball in elementary school.
“I just get so swept up in the music.” He cracked a grin that made her nether regions twinge. “You know how it goes, right?”
She cleared her throat and put her hand on the doorframe to try to balance herself and hopefully come off as if she had a modicum of self-control. “I do, however, Mr. Adams, this is my full-time job. My students pay good money for quality lessons, and I can’t give them that if we’re constantly interrupted by your”—she rolled her hand through the air in a dismissive manner—“music.” Her distaste could not have been more obvious.
Smirking, he propped his lean body against the wall. “I take it you’re not a fan of jazz.”
She answered quickly, “Not even a little bit.”
He shook his head at her honesty but chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, Miss Barre, I’m sorry for interrupting your lessons; you’re absolutely right, I need to be more aware of others.”
“Yes, thank you,” she breathed, glad she had made her point with actual sentences.
“But,” he went on, killing her smile, “I’m sorrier about how wrong you are about jazz. I wonder, is it simply poor taste or just a lack of education?”
Maelie’s nostrils flared as she tried to rein in her anger. “Excuse me?” Her fists were stiff by her side. “I have a bachelor and master’s degree in violin performance and pedagogy from Berkeley.”
He gave her the confident half-smile that he probably thought drove most women crazy. “Those degrees don’t mean you actually learned anything.” He released the neck strap from his horn. “Obviously, or you would know better.”
Oooh, if she didn’t think a murder charge would ruin her career, she would skewer him with her bow right where he stood and be proud of it.
Fuck him and his sinful goddamn forearms.
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Sebastian
Sebastian smiled as he saw the irritation flare across Miss Barre’s flawless skin. Her fists curled and she seemed to struggle with words. Served her right, he thought, for being so rude. Even if he had been a little careless, it didn’t warrant her dismissing his entire life’s work.
He turned away from her to take his sax apart and could hear her struggling for words behind him as he put the pieces away.
“Not liking jazz is not a lack of education. It’s a preference. I don’t like country music either, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it.”
He didn’t answer for a moment, just casually put everything away before he turned back to her. He was startled to see how pretty she looked, her cheeks red, her big brown eyes flashing with indignation. She had the prettiest heart-shaped face and pink pouty lips that made him think of strawberries. He felt a thud in his chest but ignored it. “You can’t compare jazz to country music, it isn’t fair. And country music isn’t something you have to understand to enjoy. You do or you don’t. Jazz, however, takes a more refined mind, someone who can appreciate the intricacies of true musicianship.”
She looked as though her head might start to spin off her neck. He had to hold back a laugh.
“So.” She held out a hand. “Let me get this straight. Because I don’t enjoy jazz, you’re inferring that I don’t appreciate true musicianship or have a refined mind, and somehow that means I’m uneducated. Did I get it all?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I think I made it pretty clear. You’re obviously hanging on to the past. Beethoven this, Bach that, the same music vomited up a thousand different times. But jazz...” He could feel his voice reflecting his passion. “Jazz is alive, it’s ever-changing, it breathes like—”
“A monster?” she interrupted his train of thought.
He laughed, which made her even redder. “See ...” He gestured at her. “You’re not even the tiniest bit open to the thought that you might be wrong.”
She crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. “And you think insulting my intelligence will somehow help change my mind?”
He took a step closer to her and felt the temperature rise in the room. He could feel her attraction as real as he could feel his chest rising and falling to his own heated breath. “Oh, Miss Barre,” he growled, “I guarantee I can change your mind.”
Her eyes flared at his lowered voice, and he could see her breath catch in her chest. She raised her hand to her neck. She had the longest, most exquisite fingers he had ever seen, and he had a sudden image of those sleek fingers trailing down his bare chest and lower still ... He had to swallow back the urge to grab them.
“Is that so?” Her voice was a shell of what it had been.
“That is so,” he answered, keeping his voice right where he knew it would affect her the most. “I guarantee I can change your mind about jazz in three”—he held up three fingers, and she looked at them with a swallow and wide eyes—“nights.”
Her eyes narrowed into a doubtful, incredulous look. “Three nights,” she repeated with a scoff. “And why would I agree to that?”
He leaned in a little bit more. He didn’t have a clue why he was torturing her, but he was enjoying it more than he should. Her big coffee-colored eyes searched his, and he had a surprisingly strong urge to kiss her until she agreed. He chalked it up to having been without a woman for nearly a month now. “Because if you don’t,” he went on, “maybe I won’t worry so much about my volume from now on.”
Outraged all over again, she brought her hands to her hips,. “That’s ridiculous,” she spat. “You can’t threaten me; Mr. Hanson won’t stand for it. Besides, I can always change rooms.”
He smirked and shrugged. “Mr. Hanson loves me. I’m a celebrity, remember?” She rolled her eyes. “And if I remember correctly, when he showed me around, he was pretty proud to point out all the studios are currently being used.”
She grumbled something he couldn’t hear.
“Listen.” He was suddenly far more desperate for her to agree than he should be. “I’m not asking for anything other than a chance to show you how amazing my ‘music’ can be.” He said it with the same tone she had.
She pursed her lips. “I’m not going on three dates with you so you can—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He held up his hands. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I didn’t say anything about dates, these would be educational experiences only.”
She eyed him through narrowed lids, and he could see her considering her options. And just when he was sure she would say yes, she answered with a crisp, “No.”
He nearly coughed in surprise. Women very rarely said no to him for anything when he wasn’t trying, and he had been laying it on pretty thick for her.
She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin up. “No. Because I think you’re bluffing, and I don’t think you can change my mind, so let’s not waste our time.”
Something about her “no” made his blood rush furiously through his body. Suddenly all he could think about was kissing her hard on the mouth. It surprised him. Where the fuck had that come from?
Instead of burying his hands in her hair and crushing his mouth to hers, he leaned away from her and against the wall again. He crossed his arms casually and smirked when he caught her eyes quickly stroking the length of him.
He challenged her with a stare, but her face remained unmoved. “Well,” he went on casually after a few beats had passed, “it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other, but keep in mind, I do have the power to make your life miserable here for the foreseeable future.”
“Likewise.” Her pointed tone hit him right in the gut. “You will regret starting this.”
And with that, she swept out of the room in a rush of pink cheeks and indignation. He shook his head. His entire body was buzzing, and parts of him were stirring that weren’t supposed to be. He let out a breath wondering if he had got himself into something he’d have trouble getting out of.
Probably.
He had a bad habit of doing just that.