11. Sadie
Chapter 11
Sadie
I don’t sleep. All the things I wish I’d said at dinner with Jaxon last night play over and over in my mind. He’s all I can see and feel. Dark chocolate eyes. Large, warm hands. Cool, soothing voice.
I’m not sure what possessed my brain to get emotional over a homemade meal, and yet his first instinct was to comfort me.
He makes my heart race in ways I haven’t felt in years.And it frustrates me.
Which is why I’m on my way into rehearsal with a grande nitro cold brew. Maybe it’ll help open my heavy, sleep-deprived eyes. Maybe .
What doesn’t help is that I don’t know what I’d said wrong on the plane, but clearly Jaxon found something in it. There was a glimmer in his eye that I’ve been trying to make out all night. I’ve tried to read between the lines of his cryptic messaging. To understand what he meant when he said “ask yourself if that’s what you really want”.
I scoff, placing my coffee down beside my violin case as I prepare my violin for rehearsal.
Of course, it’s what I want. That’s why I asked. A chance to launch my career with a solo? Who wouldn’t want that?
I catch a whiff of him passing by me toward the front stand. All cedar wood, mint and soap. He wasn’t there when I woke up this morning, but he’d left me a blueberry muffin on the counter atop a white paper bag with “Sass” scrawled on it, plus a phone number. I assume it was his and stored it as such on my phone, but I never sent a message to confirm. I was too distracted by how his handwriting reminded me of his hands over mine. On the plane. In the kitchen.What would it be like between my thighs?
Stop . I shake my head. Jaxon’s hands should be the last thing on my mind.
But my brain has other ideas.
I imagine them around my waist, over my breasts, cupping my ass.
The thoughts quickly evaporate once I reach the stand, though, because Jaxon doesn’t even look up to greet me.
Rude .
“Tanner.” I nod, not quite acknowledging him either, especially since Jaxon from a distance is striking. But Jaxon up close? Heart-stopping. As if I wasn’t already distracted by him. He’s wearing his usual midnight attire—black button up with rolled-up sleeves, gold watch glinting in the light, thick frames over his dark eyes scanning through the music in his lap seriously, methodically, like he’s in a trance.
Does he even realize I’m here? Maybe he’s ignoring me. Maybe it’s my fault for bringing the solo back up. I never should’ve asked, but I wanted to know. Instead, he answered my question with a question and I want to bang his head for it. It was tough enough to be sharing a music stand with him, but now? With this awkwardness? Argh. I might have fucked things up for myself.
Jaxon remains aloof as we wait for the rest of the orchestra members to assemble. I shift awkwardly in my seat at our tense silence, my stockings rubbing together as I cross my legs. We may not be practicing yet, but I’m still sweating through my black bodysuit under the stage lights, my hair already sticking to the back of my neck.
To add to the struggle, my strings keep going out of tune. I sigh frustratedly, as this room is clearly not made for an orchestra this large, and I can’t help my foot from bumping into Jaxon’s. Not on purpose this time.
“Sorry!” I scramble, trying to fix my angle, but any change in degree ends up with me clashing into something else.
Turn left, I’m in the aisle and I can’t read the music. Turn right, my bow arm hits Jaxon’s violin arm. If I sit straight, I’ll end up so far on the edge of my chair I risk slipping off. Maybe stockings weren’t the smartest idea to wear tonight. Or maybe someone decided to oil these seats before we all came to use them because it’s as slippery as a plastic slide and I can’t get comfortable.
“Stop moving,” Jaxon commands after my foot inadvertently slides and kicks him a third time.
Ah, he is alive.
“I can’t find the right angle,” I grumble. “These seats su?—”
“There is no right angle. You just have to sit,” he hisses. It makes my chest freeze. Whatever warmth built between us yesterday seems dead in the water now. That or he just has a shitty attitude whenever we rehearse.
“You’re not very fun when you’re in that chair,” I muse.
“Maybe it’s because my partner keeps kicking me. Is there not enough space for you to open your legs, Sass?”
My cheeks flush and a traitorous zing shoots down my spine, straight between my legs. “Whose idea was it to make musicians sit the way we do? I swear the only musician that isn’t forced into being a contortionist is a pianist or a cellist maybe, and even they get RSI from sitting straight. ”
Jaxon stiffens beside me and when I glance in his direction, his face pales like I said something terrifying. Was it the contortionist comment? Did I offend him by saying he’s not fun?
I open my mouth just as I’m interrupted by the conductor taking his place before the orchestra.
“Good evening, everyone,” Bert’s raspy voice calls out over our stands. “New music tonight. Hope you all had time on the weekend to review it. We’ll do a full run-through before the first break, then split into sections.”
“Shit,” I curse to myself. I forgot to check my email. Now I have to sight-read. Double shit.
Jaxon glances in my direction as if sensing I’m now sweating bricks.
“Did you practice?” He asks.
“What do you think?” I snap back.
He sighs. I glare back, then quickly shift my expression into a plea. Help me, please . His eyes shut for a moment and I don’t miss the subtle shake of his head before he slaps the music he was reading earlier on the stand. That explains why he was so engulfed in it.
His music is filled with markings, string positions, and bowings. Everything I need to not make a fool of myself in front of the conductor and get pushed back a few stands. Or worse, kicked out.
There are pros and cons to being in the front. Pro: you’re in front. Con: you’re in front. Plus, the strings section is always positioned closest to the conductor, meaning we’re heard the most.
My shoulders slack with relief. Where writers fear a blank page to write on, for musicians, it could be argued a piece without markings is like a road map with no clues. It’s why we call it sight reading and it’s never been my forte. Jaxon might just be saving my ass right now. I mouth thank you in his direction and the corner of his mouth crooks in response.
Better than nothing, I suppose.
An hour in, I roll my wrists out and stretch my shoulders and neck. The pads of my fingertips are red and it’s only just the beginning of rehearsal. Life of a professional, I guess. I’ll develop the calluses I had in college soon enough.
We fall into an easy rhythm, our silence companionable and as I stare at Jaxon’s music, the markings look almost as if he changed it to better match my interpretations. Or I might be so deluded into thinking so. Because why would Jaxon adjust his markings for me? I’m just panicking over sight-reading.
I’m practicing a two-octave scale run when Jaxon interrupts.
“You need to play louder,” he says. I stop mid-scale, my head whipping in his direction.
“I can’t just play louder , Tanner. My violin’s not as good as yours.” I tuck the pencil above my right ear, practicing the position changes again based on his markings to keep from rolling my eyes at him .
Jaxon scoffs to my right. But when I go to snap back, whatever snarky remark I had disintegrates when his dark eyes meet mine. Even with the reflection over his lenses, I can still see them smolder me.
I clear my throat. “How much is your violin?”
He raises a dark brow, a small smirk on his lips. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”
I narrow my eyes. “Fifty thousand.”
Jaxon shakes his head lightly, eyes sparkling. He points an index finger upward and I try to keep my jaw from dropping.
“Sixty thousand?” I try again.
“Nope.”
“Seventy.”
Another mouth twitch. At least this game of his is melting his otherwise icy reception.
“Nope.”
“C’mon, Tanner.”
“You asked.”
I let out a frustrated sigh and shoot higher. “A hundred thousand.”
He winks at me in confirmation and my heart skips a beat. Or several.
“Your violin is a hundred thousand dollars ?” I whisper-shout. He looks so smug. I want to wipe the smirk off his face, even if it’s not a menacing one. But the way my body responds makes me feel like I have hives from suppressing whatever electric feeling it jolts in me.
A hundred thousand dollar violin .
I can’t imagine what I’d do with one. How I’d even insure it. No wonder he keeps going on about the WAM cases. I bet it’s a dream to play, though.
He hits me with a real smile now and it melts all my frustrations. He went from downright tense to lax within minutes and I want to bask in his warmth. It feels simple, like yesterday in the kitchen making dinner. Light banter, soft smiles, sharing stories. But it’s short-lived as when the doors burst open, orchestra members filter in and his shoulders stiffen. He straightens back up in his seat to attention, like he’s ready to perform at any moment.
I drop my gaze to trace the slope of his handwriting on our sheet music. “Well. My violin is only sixteen thousand and I will probably die with this loan.”
“Mine’s loaned too.”
“You think your bank could offer me a lower interest rate? Is there a Jaxon Tanner special I could get in on?”
He shakes his head, still smiling. Pride lights up in my chest that I can keep that smile on his face. Whatever sadness I saw earlier has dissipated and when I look up, I find him already staring at me. Eyes molten, gazing at my mouth, or am I gazing at his?
His knee bumps into mine and heat sparks at his touch.
“Don’t be afraid to play louder, Sass. It’s not the violin, it’s the player.” His voice is all gravel and I feel it rake down my spine.
I laugh, breathlessly. “Are you trying to be inspiring?”
“Is it working?” Another knee bump. Another smirk. Another jolt to my already racing pulse.
“It’s not the strings, it’s who tunes them,” I mock, rolling my eyes playfully as I nudge his knee back.
“It’s not the bow, it’s who wields it.”
“Okay, now you’re sounding straight from a fantasy novel. This isn’t a wand, Jaxon.”
My breath leaves my lungs as Jaxon twists his leg over mine, hooking our ankles together. A surprised sound escapes from me as his smile widens, that previous seriousness totally gone now.
“What?” I ask, stunned.
“You said my name.” God, his voice . That smile . There’s no catching my breath with it.
I swallow. I did. I also didn’t mean to. “Don’t get used to it, Tanner.”
“Wasn’t counting on it, Sass. It just sounded nice.” His gaze drops to my mouth for a beat, then he lets our legs go. I shake my head as if it’d free me from whatever that was, but when I look back at Jaxon, his eyes may as well say, admit it Sadie. You like being partners with me.
I do. Hopefully, not too much.
We’re professionals, after all. It needs to stay that way.
The conductor clears his throat from above us and our heads whip in his direction. The indifference on his face is scarier than if he was actually annoyed with us. Suddenly, I’m transported back in time, being scolded for not paying attention, and I flush at how Jaxon and I were acting less like professional musicians and more like fifteen-year-olds with crushes in high school practice.
Not the look I want to have if I want to be taken seriously.
I nod to the conductor in a silent apology, rolling my lips in agitation and embarrassment.
Fuck.
Jaxon leans his shoulder in. Cedar wood fogging my brain so much that I almost miss it when he says, “We need to play nice, Sass, or we’ll be booted from our stand.”
“I already offered you a truce once, Tanner. And you didn’t accept,” I hiss back.
“I never said that.”
“Well, you–”
“Talk to me after,” he quips, tucking the base of his violin under his chin and poising his bow above the strings.
“What?” Now, I’m confused.
“About your deal.” Right, my deal. Wait, he cannot expect me to wait another two hours now that I know he’s interested.
My mind flashes to how he hooked my leg when I said his name, the way his smile crinkled the edges of his eyes as they sparkled brightly, like it was the best thing in the world he ever heard.
And for the next two hours, all I can think about is whether or not I can keep things strictly professional with him. Because if he keeps looking at me the way he has been, the line might just blur.