Out in the hall, I headed down toward the kitchen and stopped suddenly. I stood deadly still in the middle of the pitch-black hallway and strained my ears, struggling to catch the noise in the distance. For a second, I thought I might be going insane, but suddenly it started up again.
There was no doubt about it. Someone was playing the piano again.
What the hell is Lincoln doing up right now?
I thought to myself as I crept toward the music room. I stood outside the slightly ajar door and listened as he played softly. I gently pushed it open a bit wider and caught sight of him sitting at the bench, shirtless, his hands roaming along the keys, illuminated by a single weak desk lamp.
I was totally entranced. How often did he get up in the middle of the night to play? I figured the piano thing was a rare occurrence, but maybe he was more into music than he was letting on. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his muscular torso, the tattoos running down along his skin, and the skill with which he moved his hands. It was almost unreal, Lincoln alone in the room practically glowing in the soft light, and I suddenly felt bad for staring at him. It was clearly something private he did, and there I was barging in on him again.
As I went to move away from the door, the playing stopped.
“You might as well come in.”
I froze, a tingle running up my spine. He turned around and grinned at me. Sheepishly, I took a step inside.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I thought it was you.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m playing. Couldn’t sleep either.”
I took another step closer. “Too hot in your room?”
He shook his head. “No, not really. I’ve just . . .” he trailed off for a second and seemed to consider me. “I’ve just been having some shitty dreams, ever since the accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He laughed. “You going to come in or just stand there like a creep?”
For a second I was torn. Being alone with Lincoln in the middle of the night, especially when he was shirtless and I was wearing minimum clothing, was probably pretty dangerous. As it was, I had a hard time not staring at his muscular chest and perfect lips. But something about his look compelled me, and I took a few more steps inside, shutting the door behind me, and sat down next to him on the bench.
“What are we playing tonight?” I asked him.
“Any requests?”
“Piano Man
.”
He laughed. “No way. Too cliché.”
“You don’t know it, do you?”
“Yeah, there’s that too.”
I laughed. “Okay then. Surprise me.”
“How about this, you probably know it.”
He began to play something upbeat that I didn’t recognize immediately, until it turned and began the chorus. I had no clue what it was called, but it was a classic, old-timey show tunes type song, something I had heard a million times. I couldn’t help but laugh at him playing it. There was a huge disconnect between the badass, muscular based guy covered in tattoos and the corny piano music he was playing. Finally, after about a minute, the song ended.
He laughed along with me. “I love that one. Always a crowd pleaser.”
“What’s it called? I’ve heard it a million times.”
“‘The Entertainer’ by some guy named Joplin. I forget the first name.”
“What else can you play?”
He began to play again. Immediately I recognized the song: ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven.
“I love this one,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s great,” he replied, still playing. “It’s so easy but it sounds so impressive. I read somewhere that Beethoven probably wrote it to pick up chicks back in the day. Probably named it ‘Für Linda’ or ‘Für Tammy’ or whatever the girl’s name was at the time. He could play with one hand while drinking with the other.”
“No way that’s true,” I said, laughing.
“I don’t know.” He leaned closer to me, still playing, and gave me this cocky smile. “I call this ‘Für Brie baby.’ How wet are you right now?”
I made a face and laughed. “Totally soaking. You’re amazing.”
“It’s all Beethoven. He knew his shit.”
I laughed again as he finished the song and stretched. As he did it, I couldn’t help but look at his body again, and I felt a thrill run through me. I caught every detail of his tattoos and the muscles beneath them, but I also noticed a few scars. He may have been funny and talented, but he was still dangerous and gorgeous.
I would never tell him, but I was beginning to get soaked thinking about what he could do with those nimble fingers on my body.