Chapter 9
Dmitri
Ever doesn’t answer me immediately. I tilt my head slightly, wondering what he’s thinking, wanting to know everything there is to know about him.
His gaze lands on my mouth and his tongue darts out.
Goose bumps prickle my skin and my face heats as an image of lying sprawled out naked beneath him filters behind my eyelids.
My eyes fly open, which seems to loosen his lips.
“I had visions of playing professionally, but once I got to college, playing felt more like a job. And slowly, the passion I’d once felt for it was gone.”
I nod in understanding, and god, can I empathize. Does he have any idea how I’ve struggled with the same thing? “When music has been such a big part of your life… your love, it’s like losing a piece of you when that changes.”
“Exactly. I felt like I was having an existential crisis.”
My head bobs with every word he says. “Yes.” I slap his thigh for emphasis. “It’s hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t been through it.”
His hand covers my hand on his thigh, and warmth seeps into every part of my being. He leans in, and I inhale the sweet scent of honey. “But it’s nice when you find someone who does.”
Our burgers arrive along with two more beers, and we talk about bees, our favorite composers, my time in Brazil and how much I enjoyed working with young musicians, the album with my quartet, and his passion for composing.
The conversation flows seamlessly from one topic to the next.
His hand rests on my thigh, just above my knee, and I wipe a fleck of blue cheese from the corner of his mouth with my napkin.
Another round of beers, and we don’t run out of things to talk about. His fear of not living up to his grandfather’s reputation in the town, my fear of not being able to figure out my next step, and our experiences living in Philadelphia.
The area around the bar gets more crowded and I find myself leaning in closer to hear him.
Or maybe it’s just an excuse to press any part of my body into him.
Someone bumps into him while trying to squeeze into the narrow space between him and another patron to order, causing Ever to scoot his stool closer to mine to make room.
My body heats, whether it’s his nearness, the size of the crowd, or the beers, I don’t know, but I’m not complaining about his getting closer.
“I can’t believe we were in the same city for years and never ran into each other.” My hand trails up his thigh, and I squeeze it for emphasis.
Ever traces the tip of his index finger along the back of my hand in a lazy pattern. “Especially considering the number of Curtis Institute performances I went to.”
“You sexy beasts want another round?” Conall winks.
I lean back and pat my stomach, letting out a long exhale. “I don’t think I have room.”
“Just the check,” Ever says. Conall nods and goes to the register to close out our tab. “This was nice.” His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers a beat, narrowing in on the droplet of beer balancing on my bottom lip. Is he thinking about licking the droplet away? God, how I want him to.
Instead of licking the droplet, he swipes it with his thumb. My lip tingles from his touch, but when he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it clean, my cock fills, and I have to tamp down a groan instead. I drag my gaze back to those eyes, filled with heat.
“Thanks for today.” My voice is so gruff and gravelly, I almost don’t recognize it.
Conall slides the check between us and I reach for it. Ever slaps his palm over it before I can snag it. “It’s on me.”
“Let me—”
He raises his hand, cutting me off. “I asked you, so I pay.”
I lean in, my lips so close to the skin beneath his ear, I can feel the heat radiating off him. “In that case,” I whisper, “this is me asking you out.”
His pupils dilate and he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip.
Holy fuck.
How does the man make that one of the sexiest experiences of my life?
He says nothing, just nods, and we hop off the stools. This time, instead of guiding me between the tables and patrons with his hand on my back, he threads our fingers together. And I can feel eyes on us. “Are we being watched?”
“This is Maplewood,” he mumbles, so only I can hear. “There are always eyes on someone. And when you’re holding hands with a sexy-as-fuck visitor, you better believe those eyes will be on you.”
When we hit the sidewalk, the sun is low on the horizon and the temperature has dropped. Evenings still bring a chill this time of year. The last vestiges of light color the sky in oranges, pinks, and yellows. “You think I’m sexy?”
Ever leads me up the cement walkway to his adorable house, and I wish that the walk from town was longer because even though we just spent hours together, talking and sharing, and before that, playing, I don’t want my time with him to end.
Arms pressed together from our shoulders to our linked fingers, the heat of his skin burns through the layers of clothing to my skin. If I had him with me in winter, I’d never need a coat.
I inhale the evening air, so much cleaner than Philadelphia, then let it out. “It’s so peaceful here.”
“For visitors.” He tosses his thumb over his shoulder. “After that, the shop will be busy tomorrow.”
“Because we had burgers and beers together?” My lips jump in amusement.
His fingers tighten around mine as he releases a long-suffering sigh, though his eyes are twinkling. “More because we left holding hands. We Maplewoodians are a gossipy bunch and even those who weren’t there tonight will flock to gather intel. I should text Asa to warn her.”
My laughter reverberates against the sherbet-colored house. “Somehow, I think being part of the Maplewood gossip mill is better than anything in Philly.”
He doesn’t ask more, and I don’t offer. There’s no need to ruin a perfect evening with tales of my nasty breakup. He unlocks the door and flips on the light.
I scoot past him and gather my violin, tablet, and folding stand. He’s still standing at the door, and I pause in front of him. I want him to ask me to stay. Want to kiss him.
“Thanks for…” I want to say so much… for letting me know you through your music…
understanding me in a way no one else does…
making me feel… Making me feel. I wet my lips.
“I had fun.” Understatement of the century.
Nerves scuttle under my skin like ants tramping their way to a picnic basket, and I scratch at my arm.
“Me too.”
Why is this so hard? I like the guy more than I can remember liking anyone in recent history. Including Sebastian.
We stand in the doorway, with him looking at me like he’s trying to come up with any excuse to get me to stay. He’s close enough, I feel his heat. Is he going to kiss me? Does he want to? I’m certain he does.
Screw it. I’m tired of waiting for things to happen. This is about me creating the life I want. And if that includes hooking up with a hot, sweet, talented, cello-playing beekeeper, then I’m making it happen.
I set my violin, tablet, and stand against the wall, then press my chest to him and brush my lips over his.
It’s gentle, testing his reaction in case I’ve read the last five hours wrong.
He doesn’t move, and heat burns my cheeks at the realization that I have misread everything.
I move to pull away, but before I can, he cups the back of my neck and returns the kiss with less gentleness and far more need.
Smiling, I step into him, my skin buzzing.
Soft, firm lips open readily when I sweep my tongue along the seam of his pliant mouth.
He tastes of the earlier beers and something that is solely him.
If I had synesthesia and could taste sounds, my favorite sonata would taste like Ever King.
I don’t know how long we stand in the open doorway exploring each other’s mouths, but it’s not long enough. When he slows the kiss, moving from my mouth to pepper more kisses behind my ear and down my jawline, I groan and tip my hips, pressing my very hard, very hungry cock into his stiff length.
“Keep doing that, and I’ll never leave,” I say into his neck, before pinching the skin between my teeth.
His hands slide from my waist to cup my ass, and he squeezes. “That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” A soft breeze from the open door brushes my cheek and with it, a flash of apprehension smothers my earlier boldness. “But how about I see you tomorrow?”
He slides his hand up and down my back, the movement comforting, like we’ve been together for decades rather than just shared our first kiss. “Can’t wait.”
I brush a last kiss across his lips before picking up my things and heading down the path. When I reach the end, I turn to find him watching me. He flashes a gorgeous smile, lifts his hand, and the beating of my chest accelerates.
I don’t know what it is about Ever that has me feeling like a teen with my first crush, but I can’t wait to find out.