Derek stared at Layla's mouth, wishing for another peek at her tongue so he could imagine her licking whipped cream off of him instead of her own lip. "A lot of practice. I'm mostly self taught...lots of listening and lots of long nights at the keyboard."
"Shit." Layla continued eating her pie, totally unaware of the torture she was inflicting on him. "That's impressive. Have you played since you were a little kid?"
Derek shifted in his chair again as his cock throbbed in response to a glimpse of the tip of her tongue. "Nope. Clarinet was my first instrument, believe it or not. I didn't start piano until I was in ninth grade and never stopped. I wanted to be Duke Ellington, Elton John, and Franz Liszt all rolled into one."
"So you're saying you were a slacker." She shook her head in mock disapproval.
He laughed, and her answering smile heated his blood. That was so much sexier than her scowl, which was pretty hard to beat.
"Tell me more about Derek the non-rock star," she said.
He shrugged, trying to act normal when she was making him feel anything but. "I've got at twin sister. My parents say I don't visit enough." His throat clenched, and he sipped his wine to wash down the sudden lump that formed as he thought about how he should have said that in the past tense.
His parents said.
"Do you visit enough?"
"No." And now he'd never get to visit them again. He couldn't bring himself to say that last part out loud. It hurt too much to admit that they were both gone. "Me and Rose--that's my sister--we try to stay close, but we could be closer."
The words felt like a like. How could he say he was trying to stay close when he ran away right after their dad's funeral and had been too afraid to return Rose's calls to explain his horrible behavior. He was sure Adam would make him pay later, and he couldn't say he didn't deserve it.
"I could do a better job at being her brother," he admitted.
Derek didn't know why he was telling her about Rose. That hurt almost as much as thinking about his parents.
He could have told her something superficial, like how he hated green vegetables but loved green olives. Or how he thought licorice was the devil's candy. Something that didn't really matter.
Something that wouldn't remind him that her original assessment of him as an asshole was closer to the truth than he wanted to admit.
"You're busy winning Grammys and breaking hearts," she said. "I'm sure they understand."
Yeah. Busy. His favorite excuse.
"My turn for a question," he said, steering the conversation away from his recently dead parents and his currently neglected twin sister. He didn't want to lose the good feelings Layla had stirred up in him with her sexy pie eating and beautiful smile. "Who's your favorite composer?"
"Beethoven," Layla said without hesitation.
"Interesting." Note to self. Brush up on some Beethoven. "Why?"
"Isn't it obvious. He was the world's first rock star." Her eyes sparkled over the rim of her wine glass. "I guess maybe I have a type."
She wasn't the only one. He'd recently discovered that argumentative, dark-haired teachers with great asses were his.
They ate their pie and drank their wine, arguing playfully about which whether Beethoven would have loved or hated rock music. In the end, they reached the conclusion that being the epitome of the moody artist and the world's first rock star himself, Beethoven would have loved rock, but hated pop. Pop was soooo Mozart.
He declined her offer of more wine, to which she responded with a gleeful waggle of her eyebrows. "Good. More for me."
Eventually they made their way to her living room, Layla bringing her glass and the now mostly-empty bottle of wine with her. They sat on the couch, and she drew her feet up and curled into the spot next to him as she sipped her drink.
Things just seemed so easy, so genuine between them. Derek couldn't remember the last time he sat on a couch with someone...no expectations, no rush to get something done. No one telling him he didn't have time to do what he wanted because everyone else's wants mattered so much more than his.
Derek picked up a book of music off the coffee table and flipped through the pages. It was the conductor's score for The Music Man that he'd seen the other day. "So this is your next big project at school?"
"Yup. We start pit rehearsals next week." She waved her hand at the box on the floor, the same one he'd carried in for her the other day. "I'm handing out the books on Monday."
Judging by the gleam in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks, the wine had caught up to her. Oblivious to the fact that he was watching her every move, she traced her tongue around the rim of her glass as she held it to her mouth.
He bit back a groan. He wanted to kiss her again, to suck all that sweetness from her tongue. Who needed wine? It wouldn't take much to get drunk off her.
"Cool." He set down the score and pulled the top book out of the box. Piano.
"I wanted to do The Sound of Music, but we let the band and drama department vote." She shrugged. "We've got a lot of trombones, so '76 Trombones' it is. You'd think since I was the one forking out the cash to rent the show, my opinion would have held more sway. But I guess since I didn't tell them I was the one forking out the cash..."
Layla sighed and drained her glass.
"Wait...you paid? Out of your own pocket?" That couldn't be easy to afford for a woman living alone off of a teacher's salary.
Her spine straightened. "I told you the school cut my funding. Someone had to deliver the musical as promised, so I made it work. Don't look so shocked. I'm more than capable of taking care of business."
She said that last part seriously, but the way she waggled her eyebrows when she said the word "business" made him smile. This woman was incredible. He should invent some Music Teacher of the Year Award just so he could give it to her.
Better yet, he should start that foundation he'd been tossing around in the back of his head for the last year or so. Raise money for teachers like this, for kids like hers.
Shit. He knew music was important--hell, it had been the string that sewed him together, holding all the bits and pieces in place and becoming part of his fabric for as long as he could remember--maybe it was time to put his money where his mouth was.
He could buy Layla whatever she needed to make her band the best it could be, then he could buy her something else. A new car maybe. One that didn't run the risk of shitting out on her in the middle of a rainstorm.
Nah. He barely knew her at all, but he knew enough she'd tell him to shove the car up his ass. She was much too self-sufficient for that. He would have to win her over with pies. Maybe cakes, too.
Derek flipped through the piano book, struggling to keep things casual when he really wanted to pin her to the couch and recognize her contribution to society by exploring every inch of her with his tongue. "Will one of your students play accompaniment?"
"Nope. That would be me. I will be the accompaniment-ist. Accompanist." Layla nodded sagely. "I can assure you, I am a woman of many talents."
"I don't doubt that for a second."
"Good." Layla set her empty glass on the table with a little too much force, then angled herself toward him. She bit her lip as her fingers danced up his leg, her eyes smoldering behind her wine-heavy lids. "Because I have just as many talents as the women you're usually with."
Whoa. Where did that come from? The last thing he wanted was for her to think she had to be someone else. He didn't care about other women. Right now, he only cared about her.
Not that he wasn't interested in the way her fingers stroked his thigh with a shyness that betrayed the certainty of her words. No...his dick was definitely interested. But he'd meant that he thought she had real talents beyond what she could do for his penis.
He caught her fingers and drew them to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. "Ms. M...you are nothing like any woman I've ever met."