Offlimits, Professor! - Chapter 8

LEO'S POV I couldn't get her performance out of my head. Zoe had walked onto that stage tonight and played something that made my chest tight in ways I didn't want to analyze. Her piece-our piece, really, since we'd worked on it together for weeks-had been everything I'd hoped for and nothing I'd expected. She'd taken my technical suggestions and woven them through her emotional core like golden thread through silk. Classical structure supporting jazz heart. It shouldn't have worked, but it did. God, it really did.

Now I was pacing around my private studio like a caged animal, unable to settle. The space felt too small suddenly, even though it was twice the size of my office. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the campus, and my baby grand sat in the center like a shrine. I pulled out my phone and typed a message before I could think better of it. "Exceptional performance tonight. Would you like to discuss it further? My studio. Building C, third floor." I hit send before I could change my mind. She replied within minutes. "On my way." Twenty minutes later, there was a soft knock on my door.

I opened it and forgot how to breathe. Zoe stood in the hallway still wearing the long black dress I had seen her in earlier. It hugged her curves in all the right places. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant twist, and she wore actual heels instead of her usual sneakers. She looked sophisticated, mature, stunning in a way that made my professor-student boundaries feel suddenly very fragile. "Hi," she said, and her voice was softer than usual. "Come in." I stepped back, trying to keep my expression neutral. She smiled, and I felt something dangerous flutter in my chest.

"So," she said, looking around the studio. "This is where the magic happens?" "Something like that." I gestured toward the seating area I'd set up near the windows. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?" "Coffee would be great." I busied myself with the coffee maker, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Your performance tonight was remarkable, Zoe." "You think so? I felt like I messed up the transition in the second movement." "You didn't mess up anything. You made a choice. A bold one." She settled onto the couch, tucking her legs under her.

"I was terrified the whole time." "It didn't show." I handed her a mug and sat in the chair across from her, maintaining a safe distance. "Where did that emotional depth come from? In the slow section?" She was quiet for a moment, staring into her coffee. "My parents' divorce. When I was twelve. I remember sitting at the piano in our living room, trying to make sense of why everything was falling apart." "Music as therapy." "Music as survival." She looked up at me. "What about you? What made you want to play?" The question caught me off guard.