Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“The way Canon acts,” Evan grumbles, “you’d think this woman doesn’t even exist.”
“Oh, she exists,” Canon counters. “I just haven’t met her yet.”
“At least we know who’s doing the score.” Evan gestures for me to walk ahead of him when the elevator doors open. “He and Canon go way back. With something like this, the music is almost as important as the script itself.”
“He’ll be a pain in my ass,” Canon complains even as he yields a lopsided grin. “But there’s no one better.”
“That’s exciting.” I smile up at them, the wind at my back and hopes soaring as we walk through The V’s tastefully decorated lobby. “Who’s doing the music?”
“I think you know him,” Canon says. “He was actually the one who mentioned you attended Finley together. Wright Bellamy, but you probably knew him as Monk.”
I trip over my feet, but manage to catch myself with a hand against the wall before I hit the marble floor.
“You okay?” Evan asks, lightly grasping my elbow for support.
“Yeah.” I paste on some facsimile of a smile. “I’m great.”
Besides the fact that the universe hates me.
Despite the heat of the day, I shiver at the memory of my brief time at Finley. There was so much promise when I first arrived on campus. It was supposed to be a place where I could remake myself.
Instead it’s where I broke.
Monk broke me.
Wait, that’s not fair.
We broke each other.
Even after all these years, I’m still not sure I’ve picked up all the pieces.
Movement One
“Love is a serious mental disease.”
—Plato
ONE
Verity
Finley College—October 2014
I always suspected God has favorites, but watching Wright Bellamy perform onstage, now I know for sure.
How else do you explain a man who looks like that—his face a landscape of sculpted bones and slumberous eyes and a mouth made for sin—but who plays the piano like God Himself anointed those hands?
“If I were into guys,” my girlfriend, Petra, says, stealing my margarita and taking a sip, “I’d hit that.”
I laugh a little breathlessly, accepting my drink when she passes it back to me, and letting my eyes drift to the stage. In the dimness of the club, the brightest thing in the whole room is the pool of light cast over Wright, gilding him in shades of copper and dark gold. Leanly muscled, he has wide shoulders and a strong chest. The tapered elegance of his fingers moving deftly across the piano comes as a surprise—a touch so light it seems to barely skim the keys.
Is that how he touches a lover?
“I heard he was some kind of prodigy as a kid,” our friend Ezekiel whispers, jarring me from my wandering thoughts. “Now they say he’s the best musician to come through here in decades.”
I pull my glance from the stage and give Ezekiel my full attention. “He attends Finley?”
“Yeah, a senior,” Petra says, stealing a French fry from my plate. “But he’s already got early acceptance into Juilliard’s grad program.”
“Okay, Miss I Ain’t Hungry.” I slap her hand playfully, but then feed her another fry dripping with ketchup.
“I wasn’t hungry.” Petra grins and chews. “Till I saw your plate. You make everything look better. Especially that dress you rocking tonight. Damn, baby.”
Her eyes hungrily rake my breasts, fully covered with deceptive modesty since I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples pique through the thin silk of my dress in the club’s air-conditioning.
“Can’t wait to get you home,” she says, her doe-brown eyes heating.
“I’mma hold you to it.” I nod to the margarita she’s sipping on, her third. “You know how you get after a few of those. Watch. I’ll be putting your ass to bed and you’ll be all talk.”
“Oh, I’ll stay up for you,” she says, leaning in and nibbling my ear.
“We still partying at your place tomorrow?” Gillian, Ezekiel’s girlfriend, asks, eyeing Petra over the rim of her martini.
“I’m down.” Petra grabs another fry and looks at me. “You want to, baby?”
“Why not?” I shrug and laugh without humor. “Not like I have a project due Monday or anything.”
“Still having trouble with the screenplay?” Ezekiel asks.
“Understatement.” I blow out a frustrated breath. “I thought I had it, but then all my inspiration dried up and I’m back to square one.”
“Bet I can inspire you,” Petra whispers in my ear, her hand under the table sliding over my knee and brushing inside my thigh.
My breath hitches and I turn to capture her lips in a light kiss. Everything with Petra is light. We both prefer it that way for now. She’s the best lover I’ve ever had. Not that I’ve had many, but of the guys and girls I’ve let this close, she’s topped them all.
“You two are disgustingly sweet,” Ezekiel complains with a grin that turns salacious. “Let me know when we can get in on all that sugar.”
Petra slants a look at me that holds a question. It’s not the first time Ezekiel and Gillian have hinted they’d like to swap or do a threesome, foursome… some-some. Petra doesn’t do monogamy. I knew that from the beginning. She was one of the first people I met when I transferred to Finley at the start of the semester two months ago. The attraction was instant, and it only took her a week to get me in her bed, which quickly became a regular occurrence. When we decided to take it beyond just fucking, she immediately clarified she still didn’t want monogamy, and I said I understood. The first time I showed up unannounced, though, and passed a girl from my psych class leaving Petra’s apartment with a ring of fresh hickeys on her neck, I cried. We decided then to discuss other partners and agree before we slept with someone else. That helped ease me into an arrangement I’d never thought I would allow, much less enjoy. College is where you figure a lot of things out about yourself, and I’m not sure I’ll always want an open relationship, but for now, this one suits me. In our time together, I’ve never been tempted to try a threesome, though.