Page 41 of Serving the Maestro

Fuck it all, and fuck me, too. I’d gone and done the worst thing I could have possibly done and started wanting something more from Jazz.

Things between us had moved beyond the physical. Yes, she was fucking hot in bed. But it was more than that. At least for me.

THIRTEEN

JAZZ

The photography exhibit at the small gallery not far from where I worked, didn’t hold my attention as much as I’d hoped.

Typically, I would have been enraptured. I loved photography, and on the rare vacations I took—when Cam all but pushed me out of the office and locked the doors—I went to scenic places that fed the creative part of my soul that didn’t get out to play often.

Yet here I was, walking around a gallery where the portraits and landscapes were staggeringly beautiful. And I was...disinterested.

When the gallery owner approached me for the fifth time, I decided to head for the exit. Yes, the photographs were gorgeous—and many were for sale—but I wasn’t putting two grand down on any of them.

Out in the warm sunshine, I started in the direction of the subway.

I wasn’t planning to go home. If I did that, I’d just think about Trent and our canceled weekend.

“Stop brooding,” I muttered. It’s one weekend. We still had almost four weeks together.

It wasn’t as easy as that to push my sour mood aside.

I wanted to tell myself I was in a shitty mood because less copulation meant fewer chances for conception. But I knew better.

I...liked being with Trent.

The times when we weren’t together and when I wasn’t working, I was acutely aware of how empty my life had become. How empty it had always been, pretty much until I met Cam.

But Cam was going to be a mom soon.

She wouldn’t stop being my friend, but the relationship between us had already changed several times over. First when she met Danny, then when she realized they were in love, and when she got pregnant. Neither of them made me feel like a third wheel, but I wasn’t part of that unit. I never would be, not the kind of unit with Cam and me.

Being with Trent had filled a void inside me I hadn’t even been aware of.

Yet what we had was only temporary.

Feeling a knot settle in my throat, I headed into a familiar restaurant and accepted a table near the open windows, the spring air a welcome breeze. When the server asked if I’d like anything to drink, I asked for a martini.

I needed a drink—and sex wasn’t happening today, probably not tomorrow, either. So why the hell not?

“Jazz?”

At the sound of my name, I looked up and found a good-looking man, shaggy brown hair framing a vaguely familiar face.

“Ah...” Shaking my head to indicate I didn’t recognize him, I leaned back in my chair.

Then he smiled, and I knew.

“Oh, wow. Roger.” Without thinking, I rose and hugged him.

He hugged me back and was still smiling when I pulled away, that familiar boyish grin almost the same as when we’d dated in high school.

“I thought that was you.” His dark brown hair tumbled into his face, and he brushed back absently, then glanced at the other chair. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.” I waved at the seat, more than happy to occupy myself with something other than my heavy thoughts. Maybe I’d luck out and not brood over Trent for a while. “Please. Join me. I’m just out killing time, enjoying the weather.”

Roger grinned. “Same. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you a few minutes ago. You look as beautiful as ever.”

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