“You going to sit down there all night?” he said, cutting through my thoughts.
“Where else should I sit?”
He stopped playing and moved over on the seat. “Come on, I’ll teach you something.”
I stood up and laughed. “I don’t think so.”
He pointed at the bench and I sat down next to him. “I’m a good teacher.”
“I’m a worse student. I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”
He grinned hugely. “I’ll give you one.”
It took me half a second to get it. “Oh, nice. Real mature,” I said, but couldn’t help but laugh at how corny it was.
“Look, it’s simple. I’ll teach you ‘Chopsticks.’”
“Fine. But don’t take it personally when I screw it up.”
He laughed and put his fingers on the keys. “Here, watch once.”
He played through it slowly and I watched, not really getting it. He played it again, even slower.
“Okay. I think I can play it,” I said.
“Really?”
“No, not really. I told you I’m the least musical person in the world.”
He grinned. “Here, put your fingers here.”
I reached out and put my hands on the keyboard. “Here?”
“No, like this.” His hands were warm and firm on mine as he gently placed my fingers in position.
“Oh, okay.”
“Now press down.”
I hit the keys. Somehow, it made the right noise but seemed off anyway.
“Good,” he said. “Now you move here.” He took my hands again and moved me, pushing me down. He kept his hands on top of mine, his touch lingering, as he pushed me down. We pressed the keys together, the sound filling the room.
I could feel myself beginning to breathe more deeply. His arm was pressed against mine and our legs and shoulders were touching.
“Good. Now here,” he said, moving our hands and pressing the keys.
“I’m great at this.”
“No worse than I was when I first started.”
“Yeah, did you teacher move your hands like this?”
He grinned. “Not exactly.”
We went through the song twice like that, his hands guiding mine gently but firmly, our bodies close together.
“Now, you do it on your own.”
I shook my head. “It’s going to be terrible.”
“That’s fine. Do it anyway.”
I put my fingers in place and pressed the keys, moving my hands at the right tempo.
“Good, now . . .” he said as I moved my hands. “Good. Hit it there.”
I pushed and it sounded surprisingly okay.
“Awesome, now shift,” he said.
I moved my hands and finished off the stanza.
He laughed. “Great. You’ve officially played chopsticks on your own.”
I stopped playing and grinned. “I’m such a talent.”
“You’re not bad. We’ll have you playing Mozart soon enough.”
“Yeah, right. I think this is the extent of my piano career.”
He was still sitting right next to me, our bodies closer together, his face inches from mine. I was suddenly intensely aware of his skin and the ink running all through it.
There was a pause. “You have a lot of tattoos,” I said lamely.
He looked at himself. “Yeah, I guess I do. They’re addictive.”
I reached out and touched one on his arm. “Is this from a videogame?”
He laughed. “Yeah, it’s from Halo
. Used to play it a lot on the road. I guess it started to mean something after a while.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a dork.”
“Hey, it’s the least dorky of all video games.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right.”
He grabbed my hand and moved it from his arm to his chest. He pressed my fingers down on another tattoo, this one of a skull with a snake and a rose running through it. I blinked and felt excitement jolt through my core as I realized I was touching his ripped chest muscle, his skin smooth under my fingers, his breath coming in deep and even.
“What about this one?” he asked.
“Um. What about it?”
“It’s the newest. Dorky?”
“No. I mean, not dorky.”
His hand felt tighter around mine. My head was spinning at his closeness, at how badly I wanted him. The little voice in the back of my mind that usually kept me from doing something stupid was dead silent.
“Lincoln . . .” I started.
“Don’t talk. Not this time.”
And then he crushed me in a deep kiss.
His right hand stayed on mine, pressed up against his chest, and I could feel his heart pounding. His other hand came up and cupped my face as he kissed me deeply, our tongues touching again, a chill bursting through my spine. I wanted it, wanted it badly, and couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t imagine pulling away.