Tryst #1
Author: Ella Steele

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

8:06pm

A black skirt is draped over my knees; a shiny cello rests in between. My dark hair is pulled away from my face into a tight chignon at the base of my neck. Pressing firmly on the metal strings, my fingers glide over the ebony fingerboard. My wrist slides my bow across the cello. It makes a melancholy sound that feels like it’s being torn from my heart and projected through the wood. My stomach is twisting over and over again. I know this music by heart. I know my part. I know what to expect from the orchestra playing in the shadows of the stage that surround me. But him. He’s not supposed to be here.

I swallow hard, glancing up at him when he isn’t looking. His has dark hair falls into his eyes as he plays. That violin—the one I remember—it’s pressed to his neck, leaning softly against his broad shoulder. He looks too rugged to be playing such a delicate instrument. I’d always thought so, but he plays like his muse lives within the wood of that violin. His bright blue eyes are closed as he sways to the music.

Suddenly, I catch him glancing at me from over his music stand. Golden light spills over his face highlighting the angles of his cheeks. He looks from under those dark lashes with those piercing eyes, and I can’t breathe. I’m caught in his snare. He peers over the top of his violin at me as he plays. The conductor stands between us swaying his arms, prompting the other musicians, keeping us in sync with the people on the stage.

Continuing to slide my bow across the strings, I play. Every second that ticks by feels like eternity. I think about what I’ll say to him after work is done, after we’ve packed our instruments into their black cases. Courage locks my eyes with his. Our gazes burn in the shadows of the stage, our eyes speak words neither of us has the courage to say—words that have gone unspoken too long. If I could take everything back, I would. If there was a way to start over, to show him how much I missed him, I’d take it. My heart races faster. I slide my fingers slowly over the neck of my cello. Each note plays like a gentle caress, and I wish that I could touch him so softly one last time.

As we play, his eyes remain locked on mine. Regret pours through my heart and pumps through my body. Although I’m surrounded by music, I don’t hear it. Instead, I hear our last words—the exasperation in his voice. The sharp pain shoots through me again, but it’s dulled by time and remorse.

I had let him leave. I had let him walk away without an explanation. Without a word.

The conductor turns toward my section, prompting us with a wave of his hand to play louder. I break our gaze and feel the pit of my stomach sink, and play as I’m commanded. The music floods my soul and spreads through every inch of me. My body rocks gently as I grip the cello tighter with my knees, holding it in place. My fingers dance down the fingerboard in long slow strokes, rocking to make the sound resonate. It spreads to the people sitting in their seats who are diligently watching the actors on the stage above us.

I concentrate, trying to force him out of my mind, trying to push out the sound of his voice and the memories of his laughter. I play on and he doesn’t look up at me again. We’re two people that are so close together, but we are still so far apart. It feels like someone is squeezing my heart. My body flushes and heat snakes up from deep within my belly. It tastes bitter, like so many things needlessly lost. That’s what he is. That is what he represents—everything that could have been—the life I threw away when I let him go.

I can’t stand it anymore. For the past three years, I’ve been living my life in ‘what-if’ mode, wondering. I’m always wondering what if I did this differently, what if I kissed him, what if I told him what I wanted? What if…? I asked myself these questions until there were no questions left to ask. The answer was always the same—I’ll never know—not unless he crosses my path again.

Swallowing hard, I look up at him. His eyes are lowered, sliding across the music on the stand in front of him. Michael crossed my path again. It was fate, luck, or destiny, but whatever you want to call it—it meant the same thing—I have a second chance. Hope filled my chest, as I realized what I wanted to do. As soon as this show is over, I’m going to talk to him. At the very least, I want to see that he’s all right, but my stomach twists hoping for more, hoping that he still feels something for me.

After the last note is played, I feel a rush wash over me. I’m nervous. My body shakes when we are dismissed. Rising, I take my cello backstage and pack it up. Michael is behind me. I feel his eyes on my back. I take a deep breath and place my cello in the case, and stow my bow. Pressing my lips together anxiously, I turn around. The small space is crammed full of people wearing black and white, putting away shiny instruments, but Michael isn’t there. He’s gone. My gaze falls to the floor as all the hope drains from my body. Throwing the strap across my shoulder, I lift my case and walk out of the theatre and down the street into the balmy night.

It’s hotter than usual. Tugging the cello home tonight ensures I’ll be covered in sweat. I unbutton my collar revealing a choker and delicate silver chains that disappear beneath. I think back to the last time I saw him and realize that I’m not the same girl anymore. He saw it in me, but I denied it. I thought I had to be something else—someone else. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.

Dread fills my legs, making them feel like lead. I walk slowly, shouldering my way between people on the sidewalks. I feel eyes on me, but when I turn to look I don’t see who it was. There are always people in the city. It doesn’t matter what time it is. I run my hand over my neck, smoothing my skin. Ignoring the sensation, I walk on. Neon signs blaze around me in a kaleidoscope of color, blinking reds, greens, and blues on my pale skin. My face is a blank mask. I look at everyone, and see no one. I just want to go home, but I’m so hungry.

My feet slow as I walk past a deli. At the last second I turn and head back for the door, nearly knocking a few people over in the process. My cello case is clutched to my shoulder like a purse. I pull it closer to my body to avoid giving someone a concussion. I push through the door and get on line. As I’m scanning the menu, thinking about what to order, I feel that tickle on the back of my neck again. My hand flies to the spot and I turn slowly.

When our eyes meet, my breath catches in my throat.

“Ashley,” he breathes. Michael is standing behind me, his blue eyes pinning me in place. My jaw opens, but I can’t speak. It feels like time stopped and the world is floating away. My skin pebbles with goosebumps and I shiver like I’m cold. “I saw you come in and I thought—” his voice trails off as his dark lashes lower, breaking our gaze.

He was always so shy, but I loved that about him. I loved him. I don’t answer. I can’t speak. It feels like I swallowed a bag of sand. I just stand there staring at him.

He glances up again, “I thought that we could talk, but that seems to be a bad idea—” He turns to leave and my heart-rate spikes. I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around his strong forearm.

“Wait. I—” my voice quivers. I mentally slap myself in the face. Stop it! Just say it! Say what you practiced over and over again. Just say it! He looks down at my hand and back up at my face. My eyes remain lowered, fixated on the violin case in his other hand. “I’d like that… ” I look up at him from under dark lashes, “and maybe more.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, “More?”

I can’t look at him, but I force myself to meet his gaze. My heart is pounding in my chest. I want this. I want him. I feel it in every inch of my body. “I want you. Talking would never be enough.” Suddenly I find the words that I’d practiced so many times. They pour out of my mouth, “I shouldn’t have let you walk away. Every horrible moment of that day is etched into my mind and replays over and over again. It’s caught in an endless loop, watching you leave, watching me say nothing.” My voice fades. I lick my lips and say, “It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. You’re everything to me. You always will be. If I’m too late now, it’s my own damn fault.” He tries to talk, but I raise my hands, and speak over him, shaking my head, “I had to tell you. I had to say it. I can’t live my life wondering what if anymore.” I pause, my lips parted, not knowing what else to say. I lift my hand to his face, wanting to kiss him, wanting to hold him, but I don’t dare. I don’t want to be that girl, the one who takes another woman’s man, if he moved on. Tearing my fingers away, I turn to leave, but his hand shoots up and grabs my wrist.

Big blue eyes look back at me, like he can’t believe what’s happening. Suddenly his hand feels much stronger, much hotter. “I never stopped wondering what would happen if I saw you again, what I could say that might make things right.” A thin sheen of sweat covers his face.

My entire body feels like it is on fire. I want to be in his arms. “Why don’t we see—come back to my place with me,” my voice is deep, seductive. My fingers slide down his cheeks, our gazes locked. He nods, unable to speak. He knows what I’m offering, what I couldn’t admit before. He sees it in my face. We leave the deli and he grips my hand tightly, walking down the street. I’m no longer hungry. I only want him. I want the things we couldn’t agree on before. My heart races faster.

Michael speaks softly, hesitantly, “We don’t have to do this tonight. Seeing you is enough. Ashley—”

I cut him off. I had plenty of time to think about this. I know what I want; I know how I want things to be. I rub the side of his hand with my thumb, “No, I want to do this. I want to be with you. Micahel, please.” We stop and I look at him.

His hand touches my cheek gently and he leans in. Our lips meet, and softly—carefully—he kisses me. When he pulls away, he nods, “I won’t hold back.”

I blush, staring at the ground and say, “Good, because I’ll do anything you want. Anything…” The word hangs between us. My pulse pounds harder. “I just want one thing, before we start—you have to choose where you want to come.” I sound confident, like I have this conversation all the time. The only thing that gives me away is the rush of red that flows to my cheeks. We get some looks as the people standing next to us pass. They heard me.

Michael pushes his hair out of his eyes. Shock lines his face. There’s a softness to him that makes him seem vulnerable. It makes me want him more. I feel reckless and it makes me more confident than I am. “What are my options?”

A wicked grin twists my smile into a sultry expression. I lean in and whisper, “Anywhere. My p**sy, ass, or mouth. You pick. And telling me first is a rule tonight. You break it, you pay.” His mouth forms a small O as I speak, his blue eyes are locked on mine. I touch his lips with my forefinger. He blinks and looks down.

He nods, “Any other rules?”

“No apologies. No questions.” This is the end of our previous relationship. I know that whatever happens tonight will permanently change things.

He follows me home. We climb the stairs to the second floor. Tension lines his shoulders. I know how shy he is, how hard this will be for him. After turning the key in the lock, I open the door. Michael walks in front of me and places his violin case next to the door. I follow him and set down the cello before taking his hand and leading him back into my bedroom. He loosens his tie, but doesn’t take it off. It hangs around his neck.