“The Boy Is Mine. Brandy and Monica,” I said, finally recognizing the tune. Xari’s eyes popped open and she looked at me with surprise. She had to have felt me standing there.
“Oh my fucking god. You need a bell around your neck,” she gasped.
“You seriously didn’t feel me standing behind you?” I took a sip of whiskey then stood in front of her.
“When I’m playing, I get lost between the notes somewhere.”
“I see.” I scaled the impressive harp with my eyes then looked at Xari again. “So, you like to play R&B on your harp?”
“I love fusing the sound of the harp with modern music. It excites me but don’t get me wrong, I love my classics. I can’t go a day without digging my fingers into Beethoven or Chopin.” Her eyes lit up and her deep dimples popped, drawing my eyes to her smile.
“You’re amazing, Xari.” I took another step closer. My hands were ready to disobey my mind at the first signal from my dick. I needed to step away from her. I’d been drinking way too much. I was home from work, it was the weekend, and I had an absolutely gorgeous woman playing magical harp music in my living room.
It was a recipe for ruin.
“You think so? Some of those notes sounded flat.” Her brows furled together and she pushed her full lips to the side. I stared at her deep dimple and fought the urge to poke the tip of my finger into the divot. “I think I might need to tune her.”
“Did she arrive without a scratch?” I quizzed, looking at the harp instead of Xari. My mind couldn’t handle looking at her for too long. Especially when I was tipsy.
“She did. I guess I owe you an outfit change.”
“I guess you do,” I brought my glass to my lips and she watched me like she was ready to pounce.
“So you drink all day on the weekends, huh, Evander?” I’d be a bald-faced liar if I said I didn’t like the way she said my name. It made my dick hard, to be honest. I had to talk it down while I was that close to her. I couldn’t stop it from getting semi-hard and pressing against my thigh though.
“I have to relax some kind of way, right?”
“You relax by writing. Not drinking.” I watched her fiddle with the pedals at the base of the harp then with the strings, plucking the same ones over and over until she moved on to the next.
“And you know this how?” I took another sip of the comforting whiskey.
“Because when I walked in and you were writing, you were into it. I know what passion looks like. Trust me. I chase it daily.”
“Writing is a hobby that helps relieve stress. That’s it.”
“You protected your words like they were your children when I tried to see what you were writing. You love it just as much as you love Frankie.”
I felt seen but not in a way that I appreciated. I felt exposed. I took another drink and stepped away from Xari.
“I think that statement is a bit…grand. Don’t you?” I tried to conceal how much she revealed with one statement.
“I think you’re starting to hide behind your stick in the mud act again.” She pulled her scrutinizing espresso eyes away from her harp and locked onto me. “You can tell yourself whatever you want, Evander Freeman. You can pretend writing is a hobby but you know it’s more than that.”
“Are you an oracle now? You know things I don’t even know about myself?”
I knew writing was more than a hobby. She was right. She hit the nail on the fucking head but I refused to let her know that.
“Yes, I’m the oracle. I know all. I see all.” She took a seat on the stool that matched her harp to a tee with the same blonde wood and ornate carvings and began playing again. I didn’t recognize the tune that time but it was classical. She played with ease but there was something mad beneath her surface. Something incessant and constant.
Insanity.
It sparked something hot like lava inside of me. I realized I could watch her play those strings forever. I would pay her just to hear music floating through the house all the time. It sounded like a concert in heaven.
When the music abruptly stopped, my ears fell into an abyss of silence and loneliness. Xari’s music was fucking brilliant.
“Did you hear that?” She asked, standing and taking a few steps toward me. Her narrow shoulders were squared like we were facing off or something.
“The music? Yeah.”
“No. The passion. The precision. I’m the absolute fucking best. Not because I can outplay any other harpist but because I get up and challenge myself every day. I go harder than I did the day before. I work until nothing makes sense and real-life bleeds away. Sometimes, I fall asleep playing.
You know why, Evander?” She tipped her head to one side and my hand broke the rules to touch her once again. My fingertips slid along her silky bare shoulder. Sun-kissed brown sugar.
“Why, Xari?” I asked with a sigh.
“Because I’m obsessed with it. It’s running through me. I play the harp in my sleep. I dream about sitting on stage with an orchestra. I play solos when I daydream. I see my audience and hear their applause.” The pulse at the base of her throat jumped with excitement and it was contagious. The more she spoke, the more I saw myself every night tapping away at keys. I saw myself hunched over my desk at work just getting any amount of words in so that my day didn’t feel like a waste.
Passion.
That’s what she sparked in
