Page 13 of Master Debater

We both cracked up at his joke, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so much. A good sense of humor was such a turn-on too. Then click went my brain, flipping the channel back to the gutter diving one. Desire careened through me as I watched his fingers fan out along the black and white keys, his dexterity giving me naughtier and naughtier ideas, that accidental innuendo about his instrument all too real.

As a dentist, you’d think my ex would’ve had better dexterity. Perhaps he’d used it up during the day. All I knew was when it came to the bedroom, his strokes could hardly be called such. It’d been a good year since I’d gotten there without help from a vibrator, and that had ignited a weird jealousy over my toy I didn’t understand.

Now, not even that worked, so evidently, I needed to have at least the weak-ass foreplay Eric provided beforehand. To be fair, he used to be better at giving compliments and the emotional connecting, which was why I’d shrugged off our less-than-stellar sex life. By the end, it was usually something closer to, “I’m horny. Let’s do it.”

But for someone like me, who once lived and breathed music, it acted as a different sort of foreplay. The notes vibrated through me, awakening my soul and causing a high I only ever experienced when I was fully entrenched in my passion.

A passion Nate obviously shared, and if I were ready to jump into the dating waters again, the guy would check a lot of boxes.

There was no use denying, I’d like him to check my box, but much like the Austen quote “Angry people are not always wise,” the same went for horny people.

Nate played a few arpeggiated chords, the octaves higher and higher and then back down in a glissando. “Time to make some beautiful music together. What does Willa Trainor want to sing tonight?”

Chapter 7

Nate

Fingers remaining on the ivory keys, I paused my playing to look at Willa. Our eyes met, and the gleam in her big green eyes caused my anticipation over hearing her sing to evolve into the desire to hear her screaming my name.

I exhaled, though it did nothing to cool the heated blood in my veins, and forced myself to focus on the music. “You said you were rusty, so…”

Harder than necessary and without bothering to use the pedals, I struck the keys, the first few notes of “Heart and Soul” resounding through the air. Many a new piano player, along with those who longed for a party trick, had played the simple song, pretending to be a master musician. My strategy in picking the insultingly easy song was equal parts teasing and gauging. Bonus: the longer I could keep this woman next to me on the piano bench, the better.

One of Willa’s eyebrows shot higher than the other, the haughtiness in the curve insisting she required more of a challenge.

Oh, I’ll give you a challenge. With her thigh pressed against mine, the dirty ideas stacked higher and higher, which was exactly where my fingers longed to go. Instead, I kept them on the keys, spreading them wider in order to form complicated chords that wouldn’t allow for any off-roading trips to explore what kind of panties Willa had on.

“Are you a classical music type of gal?” I chose “Piano Sonata in D Major” by Mozart, more to show off than for her to sing, as it didn’t have lyrics. Mrs. Applebaum, my first piano teacher, did her best to instill a love of the classics.

The smile Willa cast me punched me right in the gut. “I’ve been known to sing opera a time or two—once in my high school play, since, as they put it, ‘I was the only girl big enough to pass as a Viking woman.’”

As hard as she tried to relay it like it was some funny tale, I heard the hurt in her voice and frowned. “That’s some cliché bullshit, and I bet they were just jealous of all those sexy curves you have going on.”

The phfft noise that proceeded her words conveyed her skepticism. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” She reached up and fiddled with her lower lip, which made it impossible to not fixate on the plump softness there—not that I honestly tried. “When I used to show off, I was cocky enough to go with Dolly Parton’s ‘I Will Always Love You.’”

“Big shoes to fill.”

“Dolly’s feet are actually super tiny, so more like big boobs to fill. Although”—Willa glanced down at her chest, and I figured that made it okay for me to do as well—“I do come closer than most.”

She shrugged and looked up, and after a slight delay where I got caught up imagining filling my hands with her breasts, I finally lifted my chin too. The slight slant of her lips and tilt of her head gave me the impression she was surprised.

“I was just, uh, measuring. With my eyes.” I unleashed my most charming grin. “In case you needed a second opinion.”

“Mmmhm,” she said, her widening smile lighting up her entire face, even as her posture turned bashful. “Anyway, that song requires a full warmup, and who has time for that?”

I nearly raised my hand. Considered telling her I could go all night. The woman seriously turned me into a double entendre machine.

“How about ‘Shake it Off’ by Florence and the Machine? That’s been my song lately. Are you familiar enough to play it?”

A quick mental replay, a bit of fiddling, and I had it. “Got it.”

Willa sat straighter and tapped her foot to the beat, and then I circled back to the beginning. She swept her ponytail over her shoulder, giving me an uninterrupted view of her cleavage, and it’d be hard for anything to take center stage with those on display.

Or so I thought, until the moment she opened her mouth.

Her voice rolled out of her, smooth and full, with a hint of a rasp. She had a unique style, one that perfectly melded the sort of smooth jazz singing from the seventies with the modern edge of today’s best female artists.

My fingers slipped, something that hadn’t happened in so long I almost stopped to correct it instead of playing on. She crinkled her nose as she reached the chorus, allowing the music to course through her the same way I did when I got lost in a piece.

---