3. Victor
3
VICTOR
K eri drives home but Paul never stops by her apartment. Neither does the elusive David she was going on about. Her routines are no longer predictable, and she’s been running odd errands all over town and making up fictional plans.
I’m starting to wonder if it’s all a show. Does she know I’ve been watching her?
As promised, she texts me to meet this morning while I’m already on my way to her place. She includes the address as if I didn’t know where she lives. Before I head over, I stop at her favorite coffee shop to pick up two almond milk lattes and chocolate croissants, loving that she drinks the same coffee as me.
Pulling up to the apartment complex, I spot Paul’s truck parked in the usual guest space I like to use. He didn’t stay the night—I snuck into her room to watch her sleep until three in the morning—but it doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s here at all has my blood pressure spiking.
With my knuckles poised to knock, the door swings open. It’s not Keri, and it’s entirely too tempting to put my fist right into Paul’s nose. I resist.
“Paul,” I greet through gritted teeth.
“Hey, man, what are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
He’s about to say something when Keri calls from inside the apartment, “Is it Victor? Tell him I’m taking a shower and will be right out.”
Paul smirks and opens the door wider for me to come in. I set the coffee on her kitchen counter then retrieve my bass from my car. When I return, he’s drinking one of the lattes.
“That’s not yours,” I huff. He doesn’t reply and I notice only one cello in the living room—Keri’s. “Did you forget yours?”
He shrugs, sipping the coffee to hide his grin. “I didn’t come to play… Or at least not music.”
Fuck. This. Guy.
Keri wanders out from her bedroom, drying her wet hair with a towel. I’m unsure if she dressed in a hurry, but her nipples peak against her white tank. I love and hate that she’s not wearing a bra—mostly hate, since Paul is here.
“Hey, Victor,” she beams. “That was fast. I thought you wouldn’t be by for at least another half hour.”
“I was in the area,” I lie and gesture to the remaining coffee cup and bag of croissants.
Her eyes light up and she prances over to them with a smile splitting her face. “You really shouldn’t have. Ooh , are those chocolate croissants?”
“Yeah,” I confirm, rubbing the back of my neck, then glance over to Paul. “I didn’t know you had company so I only got two.”
Keri’s gaze darts between the coffee on the table and the one in Paul’s hand, dropping her towel onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it. He texted me this morning, and since I can use all the help I can get, I invited him over.” She removes one of the croissants from the bag and moans as she takes a bite. The sound is like a jolt right to my cock. “Fuck, these are good.”
Paul helps himself to the other one before I can protest. “You’re right, these are great. Oh, you have something right”—he swipes a small smear of chocolate from the corner of her mouth—“there. Got it.” He brings the pad of his thumb to his lips, and I’m moments away from snapping. If he touches her again, I can’t guarantee I won’t break his hand.
“Anyway,” I interject, “should we get started? Though, I’m not sure how much help Paul will be without an instrument.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I have an extra one,” Keri replies brightly.
I do my best to stuff my anger down as she rushes to her bedroom to retrieve a second cello. When she returns, she sets it beside her couch in the living room. I can’t resist falling beside her to help her pull it from the case. Being this close to her, my breath catches and my heart is racing a million miles a minute.
A light blush creeps up her neck as she whispers, “Thank you.” She clears her throat and tells Paul, “You can use this one, if you don’t mind.”
He takes a seat on the other side of her and pulls the cello between his legs, softly plucking the strings as he tunes it. I take my bass out and do the same. Once we’re set, we work through a few warm ups, and I hate to admit Paul’s actually good. I was so focused on Keri during rehearsals and performances, I never paid much attention to him or his talent.
We work through a few measures that are giving Keri trouble for her solo, then launch into her audition piece. She’s struggling with a jump from a low G to a high C. Paul sets his cello to the side and guides her left hand through it. When he pulls away, he rests his palm on her lower back and the same jealousy from yesterday festers inside me. I can’t sit here and watch this unfold, but I also can’t bring myself to tell him to stop touching her. He’ll insist it’s innocent, and I’ll look like an asshole.
“You know, I think Paul has it handled,” I offer, and their eyes pop up to me, staring at me blankly. It’s as if I wasn’t even in the room until just now. “I should get going. I have a few errands to run before rehearsal.”
“Oh,” Keri sighs, almost as if she’s disappointed. Hope blooms in my chest but she doesn’t fight for me to stay.
Paul assures her, “He’s right, we can handle this.”
I pack up my bass and head out to my car before I murder Paul. While I’m annoyed with my own lack of backbone, I’ll have plenty of alone time with her later when she’s sleeping.