Page 4 of Play Me

She turns toward me, and now that we’re standing a little further apart, it’s not just individual features that have me staring at her, it’s the whole damn package. She’s petite and delectably curvy. Her mahogany brown hair is wavy and pulled into a messy bun, wisps falling to frame her face. She’s dressed in a knee-length, black skirt and a blue pinstripe shirt. She should look plain but she’s anything but. The material of her skirt finds every generous curve of her hips and thighs and her shirt’s buttons struggle just a little to stay secure. Somehow, in the two minutes of standing here and sparring with her, I’ve made a definitive verdict about this woman - I want her.

“Hey. I wasn’t going to say what you thought I was going to say.” Her words drag my eyes back from roaming her body up to her face.

“No?” I can’t focus on much more than sounding out one word as I try to regain control of my mind and body around this bewitching brunette.

“No.” She looks quite defiant.

“Then what were you going to say, Mary?”

“Why are you calling me that?” She’s distracted from the topic at hand by the nickname I have for her.

“Well, I don’t know your name.” I shrug.

“You could ask.”

“Would you tell me?” I cock my eyebrow.

“Sure.” It’s her turn to shrug and I can’t help but find the move adorable on her small frame.

“What is it?” I take the chance and ask.

“It’s Mary.” She tries to say with a straight face, but I notice the corners of her mouth twitch a little. She’s thawing towards me. This I can work with.

“It is not.” I contradict her. Almost out of habit now.

“What does it matter? You seem to know what I’m going to say before I say it anyway.” She cocks her eyebrow now too. Mimicking me to mock me, and it’s just making her all the more intriguing to me.

She does have a good point though, about me filling in the blanks even before she’s said a word. The last few years I feel like I’ve been having the same conversation over and over again with women. But to be honest, it’s been a long time since a woman has hated me on sight as I assume she does. It’s refreshingly fun, almost. But I don’t want her to hate me. Time to change tacks.

“Look, we got off to a bad start.” I hold out my hand to her. “I’m Sebastian.”

She takes a deep breath and looks at my outstretched hand as if wondering what to do with it. I have to bite the inside of my lip not to move my eyes down a few inches to watch the rise and fall of her chest.

“I’m... Cadence,” she tells me, still ignoring my handshake offer though. Which is too bad, I’m craving a reason to touch her.

“Nice to meet you, Cadence. And what are you here for?” I cringe as I hear myself deliver that clichéd bar pick-up line.

“To pick up some cello rosin.”

“Oh, me too, actually...”

We freeze, suddenly remembering what had brought us here in the first place.

And then we move, her reaching a hand out to push against my chest, but my arms are just that much longer and I grab the last tub of Pirazzi rosin from the shelf.

Her hand rests hot against me for a moment before she pulls it away. And I feel my body leaning forward, following her touch.

She looks up at me, with a pissed off look that has already become too familiar.

“I need that rosin, Sebastian.” The sound of her voice speaking my name thrills me.

“Trust me, Cadey, I need it more.” I speak her name hoping to provoke her into saying mine again.

“Don’t call me that. It’s Cadence. And it’s not for me.”

“Well, in that case, I get dibs, because it IS for me. Get a different brand. Or somewhere else.” I’m not giving up.

“I can’t, I have to buy it here. And...it’s....it’s for one of my students. He has his cello exam tomorrow.” She says, resignedly.

“So you ARE a teacher! I knew it!” I say gleefully, any win is sweet against this stubborn woman.

“Just give me the damn rosin!” She scoffs, stomping her foot in a way that makes her whole body shake, forcing me to stare her in the eye so I don’t stare elsewhere.

“Aha! So she DOES swear!” I hold my arms up in victory, garnering a look that almost wilts my manhood.

“‘Damn’ is not a swear word. It’s just for emphasis. Like you’re a ‘damn’ jerk!”

She tries to grab the rosin from my hand and the space between our fingertips cracks with electricity again. Her lips stretch against her teeth as she hisses and she wrenches her hand back and something in the sound makes my cock do what it’s been threatening to do since I saw her. It grows instantly hard. Time to run.

“Fine. Then trust me when I want to emphasize this...it’s been damn nice to meet you, Mary.” I bend over and brush a soft kiss against her cheek. “And I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I say while waving the rosin at her, then turn and jog through the store before she can react.

“Pay the man, Jez!” I call out to my bandmate as I rush through the store’s front door and into the waiting car, thinking of smelly garbage trucks and fermented Swedish fish to free the blood congregating in my groin.

But nothing can seem to fade the smell of orange blossoms against my lips.