Chapter 14
The last chord faded, and Taylor let her fingers rest against the strings, feeling the vibration hum through the wood and up her arms. She smiled at the applause, thanking them for being a great audience, and stepped down from the stage, her boots thudding softly on the worn floorboards.
Her skin still buzzed from the set, the way it always did after singing, like every nerve ending had been tuned to a higher frequency.
She’d seen Charlotte two songs in.
Not at first. She’d been lost in the opening verse of that old Joni Mitchell cover, eyes closed, fingers finding the familiar patterns without thought.
But then she’d glanced up during the bridge and caught sight of her, towards the back of the room, with another woman, half-turned toward the stage, wineglass in hand, eyes on her.
Taylor’s throat had tightened around the next line, but she’d kept going, kept her voice steady, even as her stomach flipped.
Now, offstage, she forced herself not to look over.
She shouldn’t be happy about this. She shouldn’t even be noticing. Charlotte was her professor. End of story. But her body hadn’t gotten the memo. Her skin remembered Charlotte’s hands, her mouth, the low, broken sounds she’d made in her bed.
And now here she was, sitting on the other side of the bar, looking so tempting in a crisp blouse, laughing at something the woman beside her said.
Taylor thought she recognized the woman from campus but couldn’t place her. She was probably another professor. The woman leaned in close, her shoulder brushing Charlotte’s. They looked... comfortable. Like they belonged in the same orbit.
Taylor’s shoved her hands in her pockets as she made her way toward the bar. The room felt suddenly crowded, the amber light too warm, the murmur of conversation pressing in too close.
Olivia was already pouring her drink before Taylor reached the end of the bar—a tall glass of Topo Chico with a fat wedge of lime and a generous pour of tequila over ice.
“On the house,” Olivia said, sliding it across the worn wood. “You sounded incredible tonight.”
Taylor managed a smile as she set the guitar case down. “Thank you.”
She took a long sip, letting the sharp citrus and smoky liquor cut through the fog in her head. The ice clinked against her teeth.
Taylor pulled herself up onto a stool, the leather creaking under her weight. She took another sip, the cold glass soothing against her palm, and let her eyes drift shut for a second.
But then she heard it—the low, warm timbre of Charlotte’s laugh, carrying across the room.
Her eyes snapped open.
Against her better judgment, she looked.
Charlotte was leaning forward, her head tilted just slightly as the other woman spoke.
She was smiling, shaking her head, like she couldn’t believe what the other woman was saying or that Charlotte thought she was being ridiculous.
She looked relaxed. Comfortable with her.
Happy, even. Not like the woman who’d sat stiffly in her office a month ago, apologizing for running away.
Taylor’s chest ached in a way that wasn’t quite pain, wasn’t quite longing, but something in between that left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She turned back to her drink, fingers tightening around the glass. The ice had melted enough that the tequila had gone soft at the edges, the sharpness dulled. Just like everything else.
She hated that she cared.
Hated that part of her—the stupid, hopeful part—had spent the last four months wondering if Charlotte ever thought about her. If she remembered the way Taylor had kissed her neck, slow and reverent, like she was trying to memorize the shape of her while her fingers had slipped between her legs.
And now here Charlotte was, doing exactly what Taylor had told herself she would. Moving on. Living her life. Probably dating women her age who didn’t work behind bars.
Taylor took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her shoulders dropping. She wasn’t miserable. She wasn’t. But there was a strange, fizzy energy moving through her. Giddy and stupid and completely unwarranted.
Olivia wiped her hands on a clean bar towel and gave Taylor a slow once-over, her brows knitting slightly. “You okay? You seem... off.”
Taylor shrugged, her gaze flicking instinctively toward the back corner before she yanked it back. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
The bar had filled up in the last hour. A few familiar grad students were huddled around a high-top near the window, and a couple of older men were deep in conversation over whiskey and a game of cards at the next table over.
“You want me to get back there and give you a hand?” Taylor asked, nodding toward the taps. “Looks like it’s picking up.”
Olivia exhaled through her nose, relief flashing across her face. “God, yes. Noah called in sick, so I’m drowning back here. But finish your drink first.”
Taylor took another sip, and hoped that she wouldn’t have to witness that woman leaning in and kissing Charlotte. Taylor didn’t know what she’d do. She’d never thought of herself as jealous before, but there was no other word for the sickening twist in her chest right now.