things, and yes, perhaps woo her a little bit.
But more and more he realized that Caressa was already involved in a primary relationship—a dysfunctional one. Caressa was inextricably entangled with a horsehair bow, a glossy wooden body and four quivering strings.
Chapter Six:
Instrument
Caressa lay awake in the dark tossing and turning, unable to find peace. Tonight’s concert had actually been the best so far. They’d traveled to a three-night appearance in Portland and on to Seattle for another three days. Caressa had always loved Seattle for some reason. Perhaps because it always rained in Seattle. Kyle had made a joke about Caressa not going up on the roof on the way home from the last night’s show, when rain had lashed the windows of the car and lightning had lit up the gorgeous planes of his face. She hadn’t found the joke particularly funny. That night hadn’t been a joke to her, when she’d first stared at his chest, at his fingers. When she’d first had to admit that something moved her besides music.
The shows were going fine, but she felt like shit. She’d thrown up a wall between them and he aggravated her by stubbornly staying on his side. He still managed everything, kept her on schedule, made sure she had room service and dry cleaning. He got her to interviews and appointments. He hauled her cello on and off planes and through hotel lobbies, up and down elevators. He never once bumped it or banged it into the wall.
He never touched her either.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. The music mattered. She kept her mind on music all day without a problem. The better she played, the better she felt. She practiced and felt the concerto that was once her enemy becoming more like a friend. New aspects of the work opened up and she embraced them, sometimes in the hot chaos of a performance and sometimes as she sat quietly eating or resting. She was actually fine until she turned out the lights at night and remembered the feel of him holding her down, pressing into her. Her body betrayed her will, and wouldn’t let her forget.
She finally gave up on sleep and threw off the sheets, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest. She’d moved the bed against the wall because she knew he was on the other side of it, and now she leaned against it as if he might feel her in the next room and know she needed him. Needed him ? God, did she really need him? She had a handle on the concerto finally, and she was getting into the rhythm of life on tour.
He certainly didn’t need her. Everywhere they went, women gawked at him. A lot of them openly made passes. Ugh. He might have a woman with him right now, in the hotel room next to hers. She pressed her ear against the coolness of the wall but she heard nothing.
Well, she couldn’t just sit in the room and stew. Tomorrow was a traveling day, so she could stay up late if she wanted to. She got dressed and put on a little lipstick and grabbed her key to go downstairs. She’d go hang in the bar, do some people-watching. Maybe try to buy a drink without ID. She looked a little older with her hair pulled back.
As she left, she caught the door so it wouldn’t slam. If Kyle was in there fucking some lucky woman, God forbid she would disturb him. Maybe he was sleeping. She thought just a moment of knocking on the door. After the rooftop incident he’d told her to always keep him advised of her whereabouts, but it wasn’t like she was leaving the hotel. She shrugged and continued down the hall.
The bar was like every other hotel bar she’d ever been in. Slick and yet depressingly sterile. Dark and a little smoky. Not very crowded, which screwed the people-watching idea. She sat at a table near the door, glancing around and gathering up her courage to try to finagle a drink from the bartender. She was almost twenty-one anyway. Maybe she should just show the guy her ID and hope he’d spot her a few weeks. Just as she decided to
But more and more he realized that Caressa was already involved in a primary relationship—a dysfunctional one. Caressa was inextricably entangled with a horsehair bow, a glossy wooden body and four quivering strings.
Chapter Six:
Instrument
Caressa lay awake in the dark tossing and turning, unable to find peace. Tonight’s concert had actually been the best so far. They’d traveled to a three-night appearance in Portland and on to Seattle for another three days. Caressa had always loved Seattle for some reason. Perhaps because it always rained in Seattle. Kyle had made a joke about Caressa not going up on the roof on the way home from the last night’s show, when rain had lashed the windows of the car and lightning had lit up the gorgeous planes of his face. She hadn’t found the joke particularly funny. That night hadn’t been a joke to her, when she’d first stared at his chest, at his fingers. When she’d first had to admit that something moved her besides music.
The shows were going fine, but she felt like shit. She’d thrown up a wall between them and he aggravated her by stubbornly staying on his side. He still managed everything, kept her on schedule, made sure she had room service and dry cleaning. He got her to interviews and appointments. He hauled her cello on and off planes and through hotel lobbies, up and down elevators. He never once bumped it or banged it into the wall.
He never touched her either.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. The music mattered. She kept her mind on music all day without a problem. The better she played, the better she felt. She practiced and felt the concerto that was once her enemy becoming more like a friend. New aspects of the work opened up and she embraced them, sometimes in the hot chaos of a performance and sometimes as she sat quietly eating or resting. She was actually fine until she turned out the lights at night and remembered the feel of him holding her down, pressing into her. Her body betrayed her will, and wouldn’t let her forget.
She finally gave up on sleep and threw off the sheets, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest. She’d moved the bed against the wall because she knew he was on the other side of it, and now she leaned against it as if he might feel her in the next room and know she needed him. Needed him ? God, did she really need him? She had a handle on the concerto finally, and she was getting into the rhythm of life on tour.
He certainly didn’t need her. Everywhere they went, women gawked at him. A lot of them openly made passes. Ugh. He might have a woman with him right now, in the hotel room next to hers. She pressed her ear against the coolness of the wall but she heard nothing.
Well, she couldn’t just sit in the room and stew. Tomorrow was a traveling day, so she could stay up late if she wanted to. She got dressed and put on a little lipstick and grabbed her key to go downstairs. She’d go hang in the bar, do some people-watching. Maybe try to buy a drink without ID. She looked a little older with her hair pulled back.
As she left, she caught the door so it wouldn’t slam. If Kyle was in there fucking some lucky woman, God forbid she would disturb him. Maybe he was sleeping. She thought just a moment of knocking on the door. After the rooftop incident he’d told her to always keep him advised of her whereabouts, but it wasn’t like she was leaving the hotel. She shrugged and continued down the hall.
The bar was like every other hotel bar she’d ever been in. Slick and yet depressingly sterile. Dark and a little smoky. Not very crowded, which screwed the people-watching idea. She sat at a table near the door, glancing around and gathering up her courage to try to finagle a drink from the bartender. She was almost twenty-one anyway. Maybe she should just show the guy her ID and hope he’d spot her a few weeks. Just as she decided to
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