Page 88 of The Sound Between Us
“Please.”
Just that. Simple. Honest. The word hangs between us.
She studies my face like she’s reading fine print on a contract that might destroy her.
“One session.” Slow. Careful. “I sit in the corner. I observe. I don’t participate.”
“Deal.”
We both know she’s lying. Music doesn’t work that way; it pulls you in whether you want it to or not.
“But if anyone calls me your muse, I’m burning the place down.”
“I’ll provide the matches.”
She catches my wrist as I pass her chair. Brief contact—her fingers against my pulse where my heart hammers out a rhythm that would make Dex jealous. My breath catches.
“One session, Harrison. Then we figure out what this actually is.”
The promise and threat in her voice makes something dangerous unfurl in my chest. Because I already know what this is.
This is me falling completely, catastrophically, in love with the one person I’ve promised not to touch.
And tomorrow, I’m asking her to help me make music about it.
