Only One Bed

Brows meeting, Etienne frowned. “Get rid of you?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “You seemed really eager for me to hang with Alice.”

“That’s not—that wasn’t for me. I didn’t want to mess up your game.”

“My ‘game’? Dude, since when do I have game? I’m not—she was being friendly.”

“Uh, yeah.” Etienne fiddled with the tassels on the end of his scarf. “Because she’s into you.”

I scoffed. “Clearly not.”

“That’s classic you. In grade eleven, Sabrina Tate had to shove her tongue down your throat at a party before you got with the program. You don’t have a great track record of knowing when people want you.”

Looking away, Etienne’s face flushed red. As I tried to connect Sabrina Tate to Alice, he cleared his throat and added, “She’s hot. You should go for it. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah, she’s hot. I’m not saying she’s not hot.” My earlier irritation rushed back, and I worked to smother it. “This isn’t about her. I came here to be with you, not pick up chicks. Why are you suddenly so invested in my love life? We haven’t even played League yet. Hello, priorities.”

He laughed weakly. “Right. I know. I just don’t want you to be bored while I have to work.” Closing his eyes, he rubbed his face. His thick lashes were dark on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to get rid of you. I’d never want that. I—” He shrugged. “I’m an idiot.”

In a blink, my anger vanished. He was tired and stressed, and I was being an asshole. “I’m sorry too. Let’s eat and have a few drinks. On me.” I fished the vouchers from my pocket. “Well, the drinks are on me. Food’s covered.”

We checked his coat and made our way to the lounge. He wore a red sweater that hugged his lean, muscled torso, and I felt even more under-dressed even though I wore a sweater too.

As we neared the lounge, Etienne’s face exploded with so much joy that I stopped breathing and quickly caught up with him to see what he was looking at. A piano. Not a huge one, but not the backless kind we’d always had at home for my brother. A baby grand?

He stared at it like a kid on Christmas morning finding a new bike under the tree. Or a piano, I guess, since it was actually as close to under the massive, decorated pine in the lounge as possible.

“You should play it,” I said.

The joy evaporated, his lips pressing together as his shoulders hunched. The brief flare of light in his eyes was gone as he shook his head.

“Why not?” I nudged his arm with my elbow, though not as hard as my grandma would. “Come on.” I wanted the joy back. I wanted his eyes to glow. Not in a weird werewolf or vampire way—just with happiness.

He scoffed. “I’m so out of practice.”

“Who cares? Do something easy.” I glanced around the lounge. There were clumps of people on big leather couches here and there sipping from wine glasses and eating finger food. “A Christmas carol or something.”

“I’m probably not allowed anyway.” But he was still eyeing that piano.

“So they’ll tell you to stop. Come on. I wanna hear…” I tried to think of a carol that might be easy to play, although I had no idea. Henry had all the musical talent in our family—I could do “Chopsticks.” The end.

Granted, I’d only tried lessons for a month before insisting I hated it. Which I had. Henry was like a pig in shit spending hours and hours practicing a talent—either skating or piano. I guess Etienne was similar. I got bored too quickly. I still hadn’t found the thing I loved enough to want to put in endless hours of work.

But one thing I loved a lot was seeing Etienne happy. My cheeks flushed hot. Not loved. Whatever. He was my best friend—nothing wrong with wanting him to be happy!

“You okay?” Etienne was frowning at me, his brows meeting.

“Yep. I want to hear…” I glanced around. “How about ‘Jingle Bells’? That seems easy.”

His lip curled with disdain. “I guess.”

“What?” I laughed. “It’s a good song.”

“I said I was out of practice, not that I was seven.”

I lifted my chin. “Go on, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

Our eyes locked, and a strange silence drew out as we stared at each other. Why was my face so hot? I was challenging him to play the piano, not—

Not what?? Nothing! NOTHING.

Just before it got really weird, Etienne walked to the piano. I followed as my stomach flip-flopped. I needed to eat, clearly. He sat on the gleaming black bench, his spine perfectly straight. He ran his fingers over the keys, not pressing down yet.

It reminded me of when he took the ice before a performance and would stroke around the rink a few times, usually hand in hand with Bree. Here at the piano, he was alone. Should I sit beside him? Was he scared? I didn’t want him to be scared. Maybe I shouldn’t have dared him.