Hard Focus (BAE Book 1) Read online

  It’d been almost two weeks since Benji and I started having sex. It was wild, deep, rough, and passionate. We ravaged each other rampantly like we were starved children sitting in a buffet.

  One rule we mutually agreed on was no overnight stays. Although it would’ve made going to work in the morning easier since neither Benji nor I wanted to take our activities back to our apartments. So we always got down and dirty in the studio, and I had to trudge back home late into the nights just to wake up a few hours later and trudge back to work.

  It was getting difficult to separate work time versus not when we were sneaking kisses between shoots and stealing orgasms with our hands and mouths with clients in the next room. Whenever the studio was empty, we’d fuck desperately as if there wasn’t enough time in the world to satiate our craving for each other.

  Since we had spent every waking moment together, we agreed to spend Friday night apart to keep some distance between us, especially since the studio opened late on Saturdays.

  Ping.

  Brie

  Just finished! Meet at the bar or should I head over?

  I stretched my neck, the heavy spin of alcohol knocking me sideways onto my couch. Whoops. Hmm, let me see.

  It would take Brie a while to get out of her photo shoot getup and to get ready to go out, and stopping by my place would be a longer detour for her. Right, so we should meet at the bar. After all, Brie will take a while to get out of her photo shoot outfit and dress up to hit the bars. The thought stumbled back around drunkenly a couple more times.

  I texted back, telling her to let me know when she was heading out so I could match her arrival.

  I sighed. What to do until then. There wasn’t anything on TV I wanted to watch, no new movies or books around. I could pay the bills, but haaa, who was I kidding?

  The black case glinted from its abandoned corner. My large black cello case. I hadn’t touched it since my parents’ funeral, but it called to me. Or I called out to it.

  Ever since I could remember, I had a cello in my hands. We had been inseparable, ready to spend our lives together. The warm sheen on those familiar curves of the wooden body and the long, smooth neck. I knew the feel of it better than my own body. The sound of all its plucks and the sweet way it sang, more intimate to me than any lover.

  But I abandoned it. No matter how much I loved it, the cello grew thorns in my hands, cutting deeply into my heart. Every time I tried playing it after my parents died, the sound and the feel of it in my body made me throw up. My chest was crushed with the despair.

  I chugged more wine before I stumbled over to the corner. Nothing moved, except the room. Then in my inebriated, uninhibited yearning, I let autopilot take over my body, three times the speed. If I slowed down or hesitated, I’d freeze and turn back around.

  The wave of scents filled my lungs — piny rosin, old wood, faint hint of lemon from a slice I accidentally dropped inside. It smelled like home. My eyes brimmed with hot tears. Despite everything, I missed it so much.

  I brushed my fingers over the cold strings — rough and thick, thin and smooth. I pulled the cello up and plucked the strings, grimacing.

  Completely out of tune.

  I hadn’t practiced my ears in the past two years. Would my rusty sense of tone would be enough to tune the strings? Worry seeped into my heart.

  But I was soon rest assured by the strings belting familiarly as they stretched, sliding into position and welcoming me back. C string tuned.

  I didn’t know why I felt like trying it now. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe being too busy to do anything but sleep at home didn’t give me much time to mope over the cello sitting in the corner. It had been torturous being so close to it and not being able to take it out, to look at it, to play it, to hear it. G string tuned.

  When I touched the next string, my stomach lurched. Trying to think back when I last changed the strings. Definitely more than two years. I splurged on a new set when I was accepted into the New York Philharmonic.

  And then my parents died. And I had to deal with the press, the will, the funeral, the wake. Then I quit the Philharmonic. Which meant I didn’t need to change the strings anymore. At that point, I had wanted to forget the cello, and changing the strings was the last thing on my mind.

  Snip. Whoosh.

  I heard the string snapping and saw the red liquid pooling before I felt the sting. Uh oh. The string rebounded, looping strangely around my wrist. It looked like I was bound and dragged around by it.

  The blood was started seeping out, and I waved and twisted my wrist to keep the blood contained around the cut. It was an adult version of the labyrinth game but way less fun.

  In my inebriated confusion, I wasn’t sure what to take care of first. Drunk me wanted to take care of the cello first. Okay. But trying to restring it while flapping my arm to avoid any blood drops wasn’t efficient. It was a downright stupid idea.

  Finally, I got up and washed the blood off my wrist. I sloppily squeezed some Neosporin on it and wrapped a long bandage around it, rolling and rolling until it turned into a cast. I went back to restringing my cello, slowly. The makeshift cast was getting in the way, so I unrolled and unrolled until the bloodied bandage fell on the floor.

  Sigh. There was no way I was going to continue without hurting myself or damaging the cello. It could wait until I was sober and not bleeding.

  Ping.

  Brie texted that she was about to leave, so I called for an Uber pool and finished my wine after adding a couple more generous dashes. I glanced at my wrist. It looked pretty bad, but luckily I was wearing a long sleeved crop top. I tugged the sleeves down and headed out.

  There were a couple of tourists from Chicago sharing the Uber pool, and I excitedly jumped in next to a warm looking woman with deep purple hair.

  “Wow, I love this color,” I exclaimed, shamelessly stroking the amethyst curls.

  The woman jumped in surprise at the touch and then looked at me, smiling.

  “Sorry,” I slightly slurred, pulling my hands back. “I’m a little drunk.”

  “Obviously.”

  The deep, husky voice came from the other side of the woman. An olive skinned man was resting his chin on his hand. He was wolfishly handsome, and damn did these two look gorgeous together.

  “Damn, you two look gorgeous together,” I gushed.

  The woman laughed, putting her hand on his knee. He gingerly cupped it, rubbing small affectionate circles onto the back of her hand.

  “You’re gorgeous, sweetie,” she said, pinching my cheek. “Those cheeks look delicious.”

  “Thanks,” I beamed. Wait, that was a weird compliment.

  We arrived at the bar first, and I stumbled out, much to the alarm of everyone within a three feet radius. When I turned back, the bright lights illuminated the woman’s golden ringed, vividly blue eyes. I gawked, stunned, as they waved, and the car shot off into the crowded New York streets.

  “Maria!”

  Brie waved, standing in the middle of the line. Everyone’s eyes glanced over to her, looking stunning in a loose, strappy tank top with a tight leather skirt. I tackled her and sneezed when her hair tickled my nose.

  “You reek,” Brie said, raising a brow. “How much did you drink?”

  “I had a couple glasses of wine,” I said, twiddling her hair between my fingers.

  “From the bucket?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  I beamed at her, and she patted my head, laughing.

  “Way to get started without me.”

  Brie smiled and linked arms with me. We chatted and caught up until we were ushered into the bar. It was a wide and spacious space, dark with a sleek, modern look, packed full of people. The air was heavy and humid with the smell of sweat and alcohol.

  “Come on,” Brie said, holding my hand and guiding me. “Grant’s got a table in the back.”

  Grant? Something tickled the back of my brain.

  “Grant is here?” I asked in d
isbelief.

  I couldn’t believe the silver-plated, smiley, businessy C3P0 Grant would be here at a sticky, dark bar full of plebs instead of some high-rise bar that served drinks more expensive than my phone.

  Brie tilted her head. “Yeah, is that okay?”

  “Huh, yeah,” I said, dazed.

  Right, nothing wrong with Grant being here. Just weird.

  We popped out of the sweaty weave of bodies inside the bar onto an open deck full of seated people around lots of tables. Finally. I took a deep breath. Thank goodness for fresh air.

  “Wait,” I said, tugging my hand back and abruptly stopping Brie. “Grant is here?”

  “Yeah.” Brie gave me a weird look. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

  “Is Benji here too?”

  My chest felt tight and breathless, and I wasn’t sure if I was excited about or dreading hearing the answer.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, thoughtfully. “Oh, right, sorry. You probably wanted to get away from Benji, right?”

  I didn’t answer her, and Brie continued leading me to the end of the deck where it was slightly quieter but not by much. Grant’s golden blonde head bobbed in the distance.

  He was sitting at a large circular table. With the cause for my sorely pounded vagina and perpetually shaky legs next to him. So much for putting distance between us.

  There were five chairs around the table, and Brie sat next to Grant. I sat next to her, leaving an empty space between Benji and me. I was a little disappointed not to be sitting next to him, but I got a better view in return.

  Damn, he was dazzling. He was practically glowing and glittering, à la Edward Cullen (blame it on the alcohol). Benji was wearing large rectangular glasses I’d never seen before, which framed and accentuated those intensely emerald eyes of his. He was dressed in a casual button-down with a white t-shirt underneath, his sleeves rolled up to reveal those sinewy forearms, and fitting dark jeans. I squinted. That shirt looked familiar.

  Benji nodded to me in acknowledgement, and I quickly bobbed back. I probably looked stupid, but I was too drunk to care. My head was spinning as I heard Grant laughing.

  “Had a head start on us, Maria?” he asked, smiling charmingly as usual.

  Grant was dressed casually, which looked bizarrely good on him, in a fitted white shirt and a casual blazer over it. I suppose it was the most casual he got. Did he even own t-shirts? I couldn’t imagine it.

  “Yupp, a whole bottle of wine. Maybe two. Didn’t leave a single drop,” I giggled, holding out my hands to show how big it was. No, wait, smaller. No, bigger.

  Grant snickered from the side, and I glanced up to find Benji raising an eyebrow. Was that amusement? It looked good on him. Like everything does. Including me.

  “Amir went to go buy the first round,” Grant said. “So we’ll catch up soon.”

  “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I blurted out to Benji.

  He was leaning back in his chair, legs confidently splayed and I could see the bulge in his pants. Now that I was very familiar with that part of him, I could tell whether it was soft or rock fucking solid. It was soft now, but it was still soooo big when he was soft. God, he was so sexy. I wanted to climb on top of him now.

  “I normally wear contacts,” he grumbled, glaring at Grant. “I thought I was just going over to Grant’s to play video games.”

  “They look good.” My mouth was running before I could stop myself. “Makes you look like the tortured hipster photographer you are.”

  Grant and Brie cackled while Benji scowled. A tray full of shots and beer clattered on the table.

  “Whoa, so many people,” Amir — probably? — said. “Good thing I brought extra.”

  Amir was tall and handsome in a Rami Malek sort of way, with a well groomed beard and twinkling eyes. I let my eyes linger on him for a few seconds before they fell to Benji, whose gaze was directed at me. I stuck my tongue out a little bit at him, and to my astonishment, he stuck his tongue back out at me. He dipped his head and stifled a laugh when he saw my shocked face.

  We all introduced ourselves as Amir passed the drinks around and settled into the chair between Benji and me.

  “Cheers,” Brie cried, raising her shot glass.

  Our glasses clinked together before they were ceremoniously downed. Grant and Benji were nursing beers, while Amir joined Brie and me for shots.

  “So Maria, what do you do?” Amir asked, turning to look at me.

  His large brown eyes twinkled mischievously. He was absolutely cute and carried an air of playfulness. I had no doubt he was the life-of-the-party type. If I weren’t already fucking a sex god on the regular, I would probably have a lot of fun with Amir.

  “I’m a photography assistant,” I said. “And Brie’s a model. We all kind of work together — oh, gross, both my bosses are here.”

  I groaned loudly while Grant and Brie laughed.

  “Both bosses?” Amir asked, glancing at Grant and Benji. “You work at BAYRE?”

  “Yeah, you know it?” I jumped in my seat excitedly.

  “I heard about it from Bayer,” he said, laughing. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  I tsked.

  “Your loss.” I shrugged, with my hands up for emphasis. “Best studio in New York if you ever need photographs.”

  “Is that a confirmed fact or biased speculation?” Amir smiled, tilting his head. “Maybe I’ll check it out for myself. Do you work everyday?”

  “Yeah,” I said, sipping the shot glass. Ew, vodka. “A certain demon photographer works me to the bone. I think he enjoys watching me cry.”

  I glanced up and smiled coyly at Benji, who was staring at me while rubbing his chin. He smirked as if to say “you enjoy it too” before letting his eyes wander down my body. I blushed, hoping the alcohol flush hid the extra blood flow.

  My outfit was more casual than my usual black slacks and blouses, which I was accustomed to wearing for my performances and public appearances.

  His gaze studied the deep V neckline in my fitted crop top that accented the little cleavage I had. He undressed me with his eyes as they moved further down to the short flowing skirt I was wearing. Hey, I occasionally liked to dress up and go out.

  “I think I’d prefer seeing you smile,” Amir said, flashing one of his own smiles. Smooth.

  “I’ve got the next round.” Grant stood up. “Want to come with, Amir?”

  For some reason, it didn’t actually sound like a question.

  “I’ll go too.” Brie jumped to her feet. “I need a cocktail to wash down those shots.”

  “Get me one too,” I said.

  “Cocktails for everyone!” Brie called back before disappearing into the crowd with Grant and Amir.

  When they all disappeared into the throng of people, I leaned back and sighed, the urge to pee suddenly hitting me.

  “Ugh, I need to go to the bathroom,” I said, stumbling up.

  My legs were wobbly, and for a second, my mind panicked thinking the deck was actually a boat.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Benji got up and adjusted his glasses. Hot.

  “I don’t need an escort,” I huffed, pouting.

  “I have a bladder too.”

  “Oh,” I said, scrunching my nose. “Right.”

  I started going back the way I remembered when I was following Brie here. But honestly I didn’t know where I was going. Fingertips brushed against the bare skin on my back, and the rest of my skin jolted and tingled, igniting heat in my lower belly.

  “This way,” Benji’s deep voice murmured, his breath tickling my ear.

  He kept his hand on my back as we made our way to the bathroom, and once the little skirted symbol was in sight, I rushed in, avoiding eye contact with him.

  Seeing him so unexpectedly made my heart beat race, and in my inebriated state, I didn’t trust myself to be so close to him. I took a few extra minutes to splash water on my face and calm my excited heart.

  When I came
out, Benji was leaning against the wall. A woman was standing close to him, laughing and touching his arm. My stomach wrenched unpleasantly as I approached them.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  I was yanked into Benji’s body, his face only inches from mine. His arms were tightly wrapped around my waist and his eyes pinned to mine. I watched in my periphery as the woman awkwardly inched away.