Toxic

Chapter Eight

I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Which was so stupid if you asked me. I dreamt of his stupid music note tattoos and that ridiculous kiss. I needed to get out more or something if I was dreaming of the devil and actually looking forward to falling asleep so I could dream of him again. —Saylor

Saylor

It had been two days since my run-in with Blue Eyes, aka Asshat. I was beginning to think he wasn’t real. I mean, he played the piano like a dream but he wasn’t in the music program — at all. Not that I shamelessly searched for any sign of him in all of my classes.

Or Facebook stalked him.

Or asked the dean of the department.

I was curious. That was it.

Besides, he was never in my building.

And I was in that building twenty-four seven.

Great, was I really practicing so hard that I’d started hallucinating?

I shook my head as I walked down the hall toward the practice room. So what if it was at the exact same time I’d been there a few days past? Was it wrong to feel hopeful that I’d hear that music again? It was my practice time —the only time I could manage to fit it in my schedule!

That man could be the devil himself — and probably was if his earlier behavior was any indication — and all it would take would be one song and I’d be putty. That’s why musicians were dangerous, they made you forget yourself. The core of who you are can be so easily lost in music. They were our modern day sirens, wielding the power of persuasion with their gift. And the rest of the human population had no choice but to be caught in the trap. It was worse for a fellow musician because they could actually appreciate the raw talent and skill. It was beyond something sounding good — it was about life coming together for a few brief seconds while notes mixed. I shuddered.

I wondered if anyone had ever taken the time to tell him how amazing he was at the piano. How I’d kill to have that type of talent at my fingertips. My greedy little musician heart wanted to sit in the same practice room as him and just savor the moment.

“Geez, Saylor,” I mumbled to myself. “Get a grip. Focus. Practice. Graduate.” I reaffirmed my mantra with a nod as I repeated it to myself.

And then I heard singing.

The melody was familiar. I listened closer. The song spoke of messing up, being the reason for your own mistakes, and then walking away from someone you loved. My breath caught as he sang it perfectly. Parachute had always been one of my favorite bands.

My heart started slamming against my chest as I took a tentative step toward the practice room.

He was at the piano, his hands flying across the ivory keys like he was Mozart’s long lost prodigy. His voice was like — nothing I’d ever heard. So honest, so raw, so much pain came out of that mouth, that for some reason I felt like crying.

I gasped as he stopped playing and then with a yell hit the piano with his hands, over and over again like he wanted to hurt, like the song was pissing him off, along with everything else in the world.

Without thinking, I opened the door. “You probably shouldn’t destroy school property like that.” What was I? The piano police? Kill me now. The door slammed behind me and took all the oxygen with it.

His hands froze midair, with a curse he turned and stared right through me. His blue eyes were cold. Slowly, he stood and stalked toward me. “What are you going to do about it, little girl? Tattle?”

“Sure,” I said in a confident voice. “If you want to pick a fight, at least choose something that can punch back.” I was officially the worst trash talker on the face of the planet. Why hadn’t I disappeared into the floor already?

“Maybe I like it when people don’t fight back,” he snapped.

“If you’re that angry the last thing you need is to get into trouble. It will just make you more angry.”

“Says Miss Perfect,” he growled. “Tell me, is it curiosity, or are you really just stalking me? Taking me up on my first offer?”

“First offer?”

He leaned closer to me and offered a half grin. “To make your pony blush.”

I felt my cheeks burn as I glanced down at the carpeted floor.

“Oh, so you are taking me up on my offer.” He grinned and trapped me against the door. “Maybe it will help your music.”

“I don’t need help,” I murmured, still not looking up.

“Passion.” He ignored me, leaning in so I could almost taste him. “Music and passion are one. And I’ve never seen anyone so lacking in my entire life.”

I flinched as if he’d just slapped me across the face. With a grunt, I tried to push him away from me but he wouldn’t move.

“I’m a great tutor.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I’m not interested in a one night stand.”

“So you say.” His hand moved down my arm. I shivered. “But your body says something else entirely.” His lips grazed my ear and then my neck. I arched toward him, not realizing that I was pressed fully against him until it was too late. His warm chuckle should have infuriated me. Instead, it made me want to reach out, to touch him back.

See? He was a damn siren!

His mouth found mine, and I was lost. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice… well…

I’d never been one of those girls. The girl that kissed random strangers. I mean, seriously. I really did have a purple pony in my room.

His tongue found mine. I moaned as his hands tugged at my shirt. He smelled like fresh soap and spices. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

With a growl he pulled back, his eyes flashing. “We doing this here?”

“Wh-what?” My eyes darted round the room with confusion. What was he talking about? Palms sweaty, I wiped them on my jeans and took a hesitant step away from his muscled body.

His mocking chuckle vibrated off the walls of the room. “So, we doing it here? Or did you have someplace special you wanted to go for your first time? I mean, normally I don’t do charity cases, but I could light a candle if you want.”

I reared back, tears burning at the back of my throat. He caught my hand mid air.

“Tsk–tsk… and I’m the one who needs anger management.” He winked. “Nice playing with you, Freshman, but if you don’t wanna play then you’re just wasting my time, and I’m really…” His eyes darkened. “…really careful how I spend my time.”

“I think I may hate you,” I breathed.

“Hate’s a good emotion.” He finally released me. “Fill your heart with hate, then maybe it won’t hurt as much. That’s what I always say.” His smile was sad as he calmly stepped away. “Use it.”

“Wh-what?” My head was still spinning.

“The hate. Use it while you play.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already halfway down the hallway by the time I could think of anything smart in response.

Once he reached the end of the hall he called back, “Interrupt my private session again, and I’ll take that as an invitation. Believe me, you don’t want to experience that, especially since you hate me.”

As he disappeared around the corner, I let out the breath I’d been holding. Clearly, I’d completely lost my mind. My lips buzzed from our kiss. I should have run away. I should have slapped him! Instead I let him maul me… again.

Stressed. That was it. I was stressed and overworked and it didn’t help that when I’d pleaded for the second time this week to get out of the stupid Freshman Seminar project, my professor had threatened me. Again.

I was going to have to start practicing late at night if I had any hope to impress the professors at the end-of-the-year recital. My scholarship depended on my ability to play.

My ability to make the professors believe I was worth the free ride they’d given me at this school.

Shaking thoughts of the dark stranger away from my head, I decided to stay in the same practice room he’d left. After all, I was already there and it wasn’t like he was coming back.

Maybe some of his talent would rub off on me.

I didn’t play like that.

I wasn’t raw.

I was practiced.

To be out of control the way he was? To let the music decide what it was going to do and when — I didn’t have that. I was lacking in the passion department.

My professors all said my music was perfect — but cold.

If I was cold — he was on fire.

Two hours. I had two hours to practice before I had to meet up with my class partner and go over plans for our project.

I set my notes and music on the piano and focused on the keys. My fingers tingled as I touched the ivory — they tingled when I thought of his hands.

For once in my life I wanted to know what it felt like to be free.

But something told me — the guy who had just left this room was anything but — he was trapped, and by the conviction in the song he sang — it was all his own doing.