Page 46 of Spicy Sapphic Christmas

“Carrie will be your server. She’ll be over to ask what drinks you’d like.”

Bunny sat down, Bea next to her, despite the fact that she really didn’t want to be that close to Bea. She needed the extra inches of space.

“Here they are,” Bea said.

Bunny looked up to see Piper and Jo coming toward them, both grinning from ear to ear. “Thank God.”

“I didn’t realize my company tortured you so much.” Bea raised one eyebrow, looking directly into Bunny’s eyes.

“In more ways than one,” Bunny answered, giving back a look that was all fire and desire. If she was going to be forced to sit next to Bea all night, then they both deserved to be tortured. Bunny slid her hand against Bea’s knee under the edge of the table so the other two didn’t see. She shifted the edge of Bea’s dress up, and played her fingertips lightly over the soft skin on the inside of Bea’s thigh.

Bea dragged in a shuddering breath.

Exactly,Bunny thought before moving her hand. At least she wasn’t the only one struggling with this.

The meal went quickly, and with drinks flowing, Bunny finally found a way to relax. She finished off her second drink for the night and eyed the piano. For a piano bar, she really expected there to at least be some music.

Carrie came by, taking another drink order and dropping off some more items for the fondue. Bunny glanced at the piano again. “Will there be music tonight?”

Carrie sighed heavily before shaking her head. “Unfortunately no. Our pianist called out sick.”

“Do you mind if I—”

“It’s all yours.” Carrie grinned broadly. “I’d love the music.”

Bunny immediately scooted out of their table. She needed the break from Bea. She needed space between them to clear her head, refocus, and maybe make the night go a little faster. Shemoved the piano bench out and sat down. The keys were cold under her fingers, and she closed her eyes to think.

What songs did she actually have memorized that weren’t her own for the set list of their current concerts or those damn Christmas songs they’d been practicing nonstop? Something classical for sure. Something from when she’d been a teenager and forced to practice hours on end.

Instantly, she knew what she was going to play. The soft melodic tones of theMoonlight Sonataechoed throughout the building. The chatter from all the patrons turned into a duller, quieter noise in the background. Working solely from memory, Bunny worked her way into the second movement. She only messed up once or twice, but hey, it’d been decades since she’d played this properly.

When she opened her eyes, Bea was standing next to her, phone on the piano and turned sideways with the sheet music on it. “Piper said you could probably use this.”

“Thanks.” Bunny squinted at the screen, trying to pick up where she was at. Bea flipped the page and suddenly she found her place.

“Could you use a page turner?”

What was she supposed to say to that? Bunny nodded as her fingers continued to fly across the keyboard. Bea scooted next to her on the bench, the warmth from her thigh seeping into Bunny’s leg. Every time Bea leaned forward to hit the phone and turn the electronic page, Bunny would get a whiff of her perfume, of her scent, and it sent a shiver through her. She couldn’t make herself stay there. She had to get out.

Bunny finished the song and then shifted as if she was going to get up.

“Would you mind playing this one?” Bea held out the phone.

Bunny froze. What was this? Torture by proximity? She couldn’t handle it much longer. Biting her lip, Bunny skimmedthe music. It was a jazz piece. Jazz wasn’t something she played often. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d tinkled the keys to that kind of tune.

“Are you going to sing?” Bunny asked, locking her eyes on Bea’s blue ones.

“If you’d like. This is one of my favorites.” Bea leaned in closer.

Bunny closed her eyes, trying to center herself, but no matter how many times she tried, she felt as though she was in a proverbial imbalance, always leaning toward Bea or away from her. “I didn’t realize you were interested in jazz.”

“I like all kinds of music, don’t you?”

Choosing not to answer that one, Bunny sat back at the piano. “But you don’t play.”

“Piano was never really my forte. I can play, but not well. Guitar is far easier for me.”

“It’s not quite the same when it comes to jazz,” Bunny murmured.

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