Page 8 of Muted

Agitato

Vance

If I could get away with choking the life out of Thad fucking Toussaint, my hands would be around his chubby little throat faster than I take to slide my fingers across the piano keys in aglissando.

Partnering with him at Sonority has slowly gone from being decently enjoyable to a chore. He’s mediocre at best when it comes to skill, which is why practicing together is so goddamn important. Lucky me, he continuously shows up late, if he even shows up at all.

Fucking jackass.

We duel tonight since it’s Friday. I texted him two hours ago to double check that he’d be here at 2 pm. Heassuredme he would.

He fucking lied and waited until I had already gotten here to let me know ‘something came up’.

What the fuck ever, he’s not the one that people come to see, anyway. I don’t think it’s conceited to acknowledge that I’m fucking fantastic at what I do. I’ve been gifted with music since I was 6 years old and my parents signed me up for lessons. Playing at the dueling piano bar isn’t my primary source of income. I’m hired by artists all over the world to record the piano portion of music they release for albums. I charge a small fortune, and they always pay.

I play the bar for fun, and if Cliff and Chester can’t find me a better partner, I’m going to give it up because it’s become tedious.

Wrenching the door open, I hurry inside on a mission to take out my pissed-off mood on the keys. My feet stop dead in their tracks when I hear music coming from the stage.

Who the fuck is touching my piano?

My jaw drops, not in awe, but from the audacity of this fucking person. I spin my head around to find Chester and lay into him. Heknowsthat piano is mine and I don’t like grungy, unappreciative hands to touch my keys, or their asses to sit in my seat.

There’s no one in here, which means this person took it upon themselves to infuriate me past my boiling point. The music they’re playing isn’t registering; all I hear is the pounding of blood in my ears.Am I being dramatic? Probably, but I don’t give a fuck.

“What thefuckdo you think you’re doing?” I shout loudly at the miniscule person hiding behind my piano. Whoever it is has their body hunched over so I can’t see them from where I stand just inside the door.

A discordant clash of notes makes my ears bleed before all sound stops and the bar’s new hire, Susu, pops her head up.

My head rears back in surprise. I wasn’t expecting it to be her. The owners introduced us shortly after they hired her for office work, which was awkward as fuck because Chester didn’t tell me she didn’t speak until after the fact.

The scraping of legs on the stage makes me wince, and I watch as she scurries away from the piano and hurries back to a table set in the back corner. I hadn’t noticed the papers spread across the surface in my rageful entrance. There’s a small ounce of guilt when I notice her shoulders are hiked up to her ears. Clearly, I embarrassed her, which wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t already been pissed at Thad.

Chester also told me I should just talk to her regularly. I don’t need to do anything special to communicate with her. Something about selective mutism. I haven’t looked it up and I also haven’t asked for any extra details. There’s no real reason I’d need to converse with her, although I wouldn’t mind trying because she’s rather cute, even if sheisyoung.

I haven’t moved from where I’m standing. Once she’s back at her table, moving her chair loudly, she picks up her pencil to work again. She won’t look at me and I blow out a frustrated breath. I don’t blame her; I yelled pretty loudly.

“Anyone else here?” I call out, unsure what else I should say at this point. Thus far, all I seem to do is make that girl shy away.

Her face slowly lifts to look up at me, and she points toward the back storeroom with her pencil. When I move to head in that direction, she watches me until I’m close to passing by her table. She looks down when I’m next to her and I hesitate.

“So…” I’d like her to know I’m not a dick all the time, and I fumble around, unsure what to say. When she tilts her head back to peer at me once more, I’m gutted by her eyes. Yeah, she’s not just cute…. she’s fucking gorgeous. I was in a hurry when I was face to face with her last time, but with the brighter stage lights highlighting her face, I’m able to fully take her in.

Susu has the face of a doll. Flawless, porcelain skin without a blemish marring it. Her slightly wavy hair is the color of wheat, framing her face with the tips of her ears peeking out from the strands. Delicate. That’s the only way I can think to describe it. Like if I cupped her chin in my hand, I’d be afraid to bruise her. Her brows are a darker blonde, almost brown compared to the color of her hair, and her gorgeous as fuck eyes match them perfectly. Caramel amber.Is that a color?I’m not sure, but it’s my best guess. They’re dark, but there’s a lit fire illuminating them from behind.

I swallow hard when my gaze falls to those lush, full lips before I wrench my eyes away from them. “You play piano?”

One of her arched brows raises slightly in question, most likely asking if I’m an idiot. Of course she plays, I just scared her away from it. Peeking at her fingers gripping the pencil, I immediately know two things. First, she has hands for playing. They’re long and thin, agile, and again, delicate. Second, her knuckles are bloodless from how hard she’s gripping it. I’m making her uncomfortable, and I need to walk away.

Taking a step back, I shove my hands into my pockets and shoot her one of my award-winning smiles. She doesn’t react to it, which is a hit to the ego. “Obviously you play. I’m sorry I startled you. Normally I don’t like when people touch my piano, but since you work here, you’re welcome to play anytime you want.” It’s the best I can do as an apology.

Susu’s other brow rises, surprised, then she gives me a sharp nod and drops her head to get back to work. I’ve been dismissed. I’m relieved, but still find myself hesitating when I try to walk away. She doesn’t look at me again, but she tilts her head like she’s listening for my exit.

Forcing myself to walk away, I head into the back storage room to find Theo and Chester tearing apart boxes to see what’s inside, then labeling the outside before closing them back up and placing them against the wall. Cliff is sitting in a swivel chair with a clipboard.

“I thought deliveries were on Wednesdays?” I ask as I drop my bag next to my feet. Theo gives me a head nod while the other two continue working.

Grunting as he lifts a box filled with bottles, Chester answers. “Weweresupposed to get this Wednesday, but they had a delay. So, we have about four hours to get this shit organized before we open.”

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