Page 3 of Treble

“Yeah,” I confirm, rubbing the back of my neck, then glance over to Paul. “I didn’t know you had company so I only got two.”

Keri’s gaze darts between the coffee on the table and the one in Paul’s hand, dropping her towel onto one of the kitchen chairs. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it. He texted me this morning, and since I can use all the help I can get, I invited him over.” She removes one of the croissants from the bag and moans as she takes a bite. The sound is like a jolt right to my cock. “Fuck, these are good.”

Paul helps himself to the other one before I can protest. “You’re right, these are great. Oh, you have something right”—he swipes a small smear of chocolate from the corner of her mouth—“there. Got it.” He brings the pad of his thumb to his lips, and I’m moments away from snapping. If he touches her again, I can’t guarantee I won’t break his hand.

“Anyway,” I interject, “should we get started? Though, I’m not sure how much help Paul will be without an instrument.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I have an extra one,” Keri replies brightly.

I do my best to stuff my anger down as she rushes to her bedroom to retrieve a second cello. When she returns, she sets it beside her couch in the living room. I can’t resist falling beside her to help her pull it from the case. Being this close to her, my breath catches and my heart is racing a million miles a minute.

A light blush creeps up her neck as she whispers, “Thank you.” She clears her throat and tells Paul, “You can use this one, if you don’t mind.”

He takes a seat on the other side of her and pulls the cello between his legs, softly plucking the strings as he tunes it. I take my bass out and do the same. Once we’re set, we work through a few warm ups, and I hate to admit Paul’s actually good. I was so focused on Keri during rehearsals and performances, I never paid much attention to him or his talent.

We work through a few measures that are giving Keri trouble for her solo, then launch into her audition piece. She’s struggling with a jump from a low G to a high C. Paul sets his cello to the side and guides her left hand through it. When he pulls away, he rests his palm on her lower back and the same jealousy from yesterday festers inside me. I can’t sit here and watch this unfold, but I also can’t bring myself to tell him to stop touching her. He’ll insist it’s innocent, and I’ll look like an asshole.

“You know, I think Paul has it handled,” I offer, and their eyes pop up to me, staring at me blankly. It’s as if I wasn’t even in the room until just now. “I should get going. I have a few errands to run before rehearsal.”

“Oh,” Keri sighs, almost as if she’s disappointed. Hope blooms in my chest but she doesn’t fight for me to stay.

Paul assures her, “He’s right, we can handle this.”

I pack up my bass and head out to my car before I murder Paul. While I’m annoyed with my own lack of backbone, I’ll have plenty of alone time with her later when she’s sleeping.

4

KERI

The moment the door clicks shut, Paul breathes a sigh of relief, then chuckles to himself, “I thought he’d never leave.”

I remove his hand splayed on the small of my back and snap, “I need his help.” I don’t, but Paul doesn’t need to know that. I have a feeling Victor is lurking somewhere like the good little stalker he is. I don’t want Paul to get hurt. While I don’t think Victor is a violent man, I’m sure the thought crossed his mind while he was here.

“Come on, baby, you don’t need him. I’ll help you get ready for the audition.”

“Baby?” I scoff. A lazy smile tugs at his lips as he brushes my damp hair off my shoulder. He leans in and, so help me, if he tries to kiss me. I shouldn’t let him; it’ll drive Victor mad with jealousy. With my cello between my legs, I accidentally elbow his ribs as I shift away from him.

His eyes narrow on me as he frowns. “I thought there was something going on between us.”

“And I thought you actually wanted to help me,” I retort, pinning him with a matching glare. “I think you should leave.”

Paul stands in a huff and makes his way to the door. “Good idea.” Hand poised to open it, he pauses stiffly. “Fuck, I need to use your bathroom.” He waddles toward my half-bath, ass clenched and eyes wide.

“Are you okay?”

“Nope,” he squeaks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. The hum of the bathroom fan kicks on, but it does nothing to muffle the undeniable sound of gastrointestinal issues.

I set my cello down and move closer to the door shouting, “Do you need anything?”

“What was in that coffee?” he yells back.

“I don’t know, let me check.” I make my way to the kitchen and check both to-go cups. Slipping the coffee sleeve down, the milk designation box has an A, and the drink box has an L. “It looks like they are almond lattes.” Much like mint chip ice cream, I led Victor to believe they are my favorite. Admittedly, they’ve grown on me the past few months.

“Fuck!” he roars. “I’m almond intolerant.”

“Almond intolerant?”That’s not a thing, is it?

“Yeah, it’s like an allergy.”

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