The Sound of Your Heart (College Bound Book 3) Read online

  “You might be overshooting with that compliment, bass boy.” I poked him in the ribs. “Funny for sure. Sexy definitely. But beautiful? You can’t know that for sure,” I teased.

  “Beautiful,” he confirmed. “I don’t have to see you with my eyes to know it’s true, Jules.”

  “Ben, I…” My words trailed off. This sexy, gorgeous, sensitive man was charming me into speechlessness.

  When I didn’t finish my sentence, he leaned in and brushed his lips on the top of my shoulder. A small sound that was pretty close to a moan escaped me. He sat back, holding his coffee mug and took a drink like he hadn’t just unraveled my composure.

  I blew out a breath. Fuck the cappuccino. I needed more unraveling, but he was silent, drinking his coffee and waiting for me to speak.

  I licked my lips and blurted the first thing I could think of. “How did you learn to play the guitar?”

  “You really want to know?” he asked, the corner of his mouth tilting up before taking another sip.

  “I want to know everything,” I answered. And I realized it was true. With most guys, the more I learned, the more I pulled away. With Ben, every new piece of information made me more curious. I wanted to know everything about him—the things that made him happy, the things that challenged him, and all the secrets he’d never told anyone.

  Ben placed his empty mug on the table. “Finish your coffee and I’ll show you.”

  I chugged the rest, eager for more than caffeine. I wanted to know Ben. “Done,” I announced, placing the mug back on the table.

  He stood and unfolded his cane. “Follow me.”

  Ben led the way, his cane stretched out in front of him, the tip on the ground. Every so often, he would bump into a chair or leg of a table and would adjust his direction slightly.

  I was interested in people’s reactions. Most looked up or glanced over but went back to their conversation or cup of Joe. There wasn’t a snicker or look of annoyance. Aside from his cane, Ben seemed no different than anyone else.

  As we exited the coffee shop, I popped a cinnamon mint in my mouth. I was hoping this date was going to end with his lips on mine. There would be no coffee breath for me.

  He stopped walking, turning in my direction. “Can I have one too?”

  If he could have seen me, I was sure he would have laughed at my expression. My nose scrunched, eyebrows pinched, and mouth gaped. How the hell?

  “Smelled the cinnamon, Jules,” he said in answer to my unasked question. “I don’t want to smell like coffee when I talk to you, either.”

  Right. Superior sense of smell. Got it. I placed a cinnamon mint on his outstretched palm. “Wait,” I looked to my left at the building we were now standing in front of. “Are we going to The Shell? I don’t think it’s open right now.”

  Ben smiled. “It’s not.” Then he fished a key out of his back pocket and unlocked the door. I followed him into the cool, dark bar that reeked of old beer.

  Ben walked to the stage, around the side to the stairs, his cane constantly moving, finding his way. He flipped a switch and several overhead lights shined down on the center of the stage. We walked up the stairs and I saw instruments lying against the wall. Ben pushed two stools into the middle of the stage and then went back and picked up his bass guitar. He settled on one stool, gesturing for me to sit on the other one.

  I climbed up, propping my feet on a rung. “How did you know where the stools were? And where to put them?”

  Ben looked thoughtful. “I’m on this stage either performing or practicing every day. I have it pretty much memorized.” He ran his fingers over the strings of his guitar. “We keep the stools in the same place because Marty, our lead singer and I, sometimes use them for acoustic ballads.”

  “Right.” I’d seen Honor Bound perform more times than I could count, but I’d never paid close attention to how Ben moved on stage. If I had, maybe I would have realized sooner that he was blind. I kept my arms at my sides, hands perched on the edges of the stool. “Are you going to play something for me?”

  Ben nodded, and I watched as his index and middle fingers of his right hand plucked the strings, while he used his thumb for support. His fingers alternated in a pattern on the strings: index, middle, index, middle. His left hand held the neck, his fingertips pressing down in the space between the chords.

  “See if you can guess the song by the bass part alone.” Ben lifted his face in my direction, his fingers moving faster.

  I listened for a few seconds before the low notes finally made sense. It was an old song, but one I knew. “Ahhh, ‘Low Rider’!” I guessed.

  He chuckled. “Correct. Never took you for a War fan.”

  “I’m not,” I giggled. “But I love me some Matthew McConaughey. Plus, everybody has seen Dazed and Confused, right?”

  Ben’s eyebrows raised, and he pressed his lips together. He was enjoying my stupidity way too much.

  “Okay,” I relented. “Everyone but you has seen it.”

  His smirk turned into a full-blown smile as if he enjoyed my teasing. Adjusting his hands and fingers on the strings, he launched into another tune. “What about this one?”

  I closed my eyes, concentrating on the notes he played, trying to fill in the ones that were missing. It took a few rounds of the chorus until recognition clicked in place.

  “‘Brown Eyed Girl'!” I announced in triumph. I loved that song.

  Ben nodded, and his fingers stilled on the strings. “What color are your eyes?”

  “Brown,” I purred.

  He closed his eyes, his fingers strumming the chords again. “I can see them in my mind.”

  “How do you know colors if you’ve never seen them?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “I don’t. I just have a wicked good imagination.” His hands moved over his bass like it was second nature. “Brown is warm. It smells like freshly baked bread and tastes like chocolate.”

  He stopped playing and transitioned to a new tune.

  “Any guesses on this one?” he asked.

  Oh, this one was easy. “‘Sex on Fire’ is my favorite song, Ben. I could listen to The Kings of Leon all night long.” A blush crept up my neck and across my cheeks. The feeling was so unfamiliar, I briefly wondered if I was sick. Was this what it felt like to be shy? I’d propositioned everyone from one of my teaching assistants to the hot pizza delivery guy. I didn’t do embarrassed.

  Ben’s movements were almost sensual as he played, his body swaying to the music and his fingers pulling passion from the strings. When he finished the song, an odd silence surrounded us.

  “How did you learn to play so well without ever being able to see where your fingers are or read sheet music?” My voice sounded raw and rough. I felt emotional, just listening to him play.

  Ben stood and lifted the guitar strap off his shoulder. He handed it to me and I held it in my lap. Moving behind me, his hands traced up my back, over my shoulders, and up to my neck. Goosebumps rose along the surface of my skin, following the path that his hands took. I couldn’t catch the words he murmured, but they made me clench my thighs together. I watched as his hands traveled down to the guitar.

  He took my left hand and wrapped it around the neck of the guitar. Then he took my right hand and placed my index and middle fingers on different strings. Ben’s mouth moved close to my ear and I gasped. His low chuckle resonated through me like thunder.

  “I taught myself to play by listening to the sound of the chords and feeling the vibration on the strings. Like everything else in my life, I used my senses to pick up what my sight missed.” He dragged his nose up my neck, inhaling my scent with a groan.

  “Did you just smell me?” I asked, pretending to be shocked.

  “Appreciating your beauty is all,” he retorted, not at all embarrassed.

  When my hands strayed from where he’d put them, he moved them to where he wanted them again.

  “For me, music came naturally. In some ways, vision is an obstacle when
learning to play any instrument. The best players learn by feel and intuition.” Ben took my hand off the neck of the guitar and placed it over my rapidly beating heart. “Feel the rhythm,” he tapped his hand and mine on my chest to the beat of my heart.

  “A bass player’s job is to be the connection between the drummer and the band. We form the root chords the rest of the band is playing and then keep the tempo.” Moving my hand back to the neck of the instrument, he used his to tap a steady beat on the side of the guitar. His foot followed on the floor. “As the chords are played in a progression of the song, I play the root chords in rhythm.”

  He continued the tempo as his fingers guided me on the strings. “Listen,” he said, aiding my fingers in strumming one chord at a time. “Hear the different sounds. E is the lowest,” he spoke into my ear as I played E. “Then there’s A,” we moved to the next cord. “And D.” I listened to the sound rise in pitch. “Finally, G, the highest.”

  “I hear it,” I told him in a breathy voice. Swear to God I was more turned on playing guitar with Ben than I had ever been in my entire life.

  “Now pick a chord and follow my beat.” He hadn’t stopped his foot from tapping on the floor and I joined in, using the chord of E and then alternating with D.

  “Beautiful. You’re doing it. You’re playing.” He spoke into my ear.

  Ben’s words melted any resolve I had left. I stopped playing, turning on my stool to face him. Dropping the guitar to my lap, I cupped his face with both of my hands and pulled him close.

  “Kiss me.” My lips found his and I sighed as his mouth opened, his lips and tongue tangling with mine. I felt him move the guitar, never breaking our kiss. Our tongues slid together, Ben tasting like I thought he would, of cinnamon and coffee.

  I registered the sound of the guitar being set on the floor and then Ben was lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around him, dragging my hands off his cheeks and pushing them into his close-cropped hair.

  His hands were gripping my ass, holding me close to him.

  Ben groaned as our mouths meshed and our breaths became heavy, both of us refusing to break apart. Our bodies and lips moved in their own rhythm against each other, like a slow dance. Or a slow fuck.

  Mother of God, I had never been kissed like this.

  Finally, he pulled away. “Fucking hell you can kiss.” He planted soft little pecks from just below my ear down to the curve of my neck. “But next time, I take the lead. Just because I’m blind, doesn’t mean I need you taking charge.” His voice was firm, and I felt a violent flutter of anticipation.

  I wasn’t going to apologize for being forward, but I liked that he challenged me for control. “Bass boys do it for me, I guess.” I slid down his body, straightening my clothes. “Wanna go back to your place now?”

  Ben frowned. “Why would we do that?”

  I pursed my lips. Wasn’t it obvious? “Because, vagina?”

  Ben burst out laughing. “That’s quite the argument, and I’m sure it’s a very pretty one. But this is our first date and I really like you.” He brushed his thumb across my lips like he was sealing off temptation. “No sex.”

  I huffed, planting my hands on my hips. “Who said anything about sex? We can make out, maybe you can meet my vagina. I can introduce you to her and if you’re very good, I might let you pet her. Possibly, I could pet you too.”

  Ben laughed harder. “Jesus, you’re awesome.” He grabbed his cane and my hand and led me off the stage. “But I’m walking you home. Petting on a later date, if you’re a good girl.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’m never good. Most guys prefer it that way.” I used the sexy voice that always got me attention. “Haven’t you heard?”

  Ben stopped walking and pulled me to his front. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. Not around me.” He tilted my chin up and kissed my lips. “I like you good, and I know I’ll like you bad, but most importantly, I like you. So much so, that I’m walking you home before I change my mind.”

  “I want to change your mind,” I purred, squeezing his arm as he got out his keys to lock up.

  He took my hand and kissed it without answering. Even though he was rejecting me, it didn’t feel that way. It felt like he was treasuring me. And that was something I’d never felt before.

  We left The Shell in silence, crossing Route 1 and heading to the Tri-Gam house. I was amazed that he seemed to know where he was going. His steps measured, his head tilting toward sounds, his cane mapping out the path. True to his word, he took the lead, but it was different than the way most guys took the lead. Ben was protective of me, whereas most guys were greedy, trying to see how far I’d let them go.

  I liked the protective vibe.

  As we walked, my heart beat faster and my smile spread. Oh yes, I liked bass boy Ben; my black-coffee-drinking, cane-wielding, guitar-playing, panty-melting, sweet, sexy rocker.

  And I kind of liked him more because he turned me down.

  Chapter Seven

  Ben

  My hand swept back and forth in front of me, the tip of my cane scraping along the sidewalk lightly. It was a sound that was as familiar to me as my own voice. Most of the time I didn’t even notice it until it was broken up by an unfamiliar sound, something that would let me know I’d strayed off course.

  When the tip bumped up against the grass closer than I’d expected, I corrected myself, veering slightly to the left to keep from tripping over the edge of the sidewalk. These paths were burned into my memory. My feet remembered where all the cracks were even if I couldn’t see them. I knew the campus layout as well as the creaks and obstacles of my house back home. I was a firm believer that my lack of sight made me more perceptive, to notice the little details most people overlooked.

  As I neared the intersection of Route 1, the sun was warm on my back. I figured I still had plenty of time to get back to the Pike house where Leo was meeting me. I could pull out my phone and check the time with a simple voice command to be sure, but I liked to go with my gut. My gut told me it was 3:45 and I had fifteen minutes to spare.

  Leo had offered to meet me at the building where my last class was and suggested that he could walk home with me...like I was a toddler that needed my hand held.

  His concern was appreciated, but what he didn’t understand, even after years of friendship, was that I’d been taking care of myself for so long I didn’t know how to let others do it for me. Even if I knew how I’d never be able to bear it. It would feel like giving up, accepting I had a disability.

  That word sparked hatred inside me.

  I liked to think of my blindness as a different allocation of strength. I couldn’t see, but to me, not having sight was the same as someone who didn’t have a good singing voice or couldn’t stand up in front of a crowd and give a speech. I refused to be limited by my eyes or to accept I was at a disadvantage.

  I relied on me, and me alone.

  My stubbornness and independence could be blamed on my mother dying before I’d learned to walk and wasn’t around to teach me, or that my father cured his depression by tipping a bottle back. I think my desire to be self-reliant was because my brother Nate never treated me as anything but his equal.

  When Dad would pass out on the couch surrounded by empty bottles, Nate and I would go outside to escape the mess and explore. Nate would run off, calling for me to follow him. He didn’t hold my hand, he led me with the sound of his encouragement.

  When I first learned to climb a tree, Nate didn’t place my hands and feet where they needed to go. He directed me with a few words and I was left to discover how to do the rest on my own. I liked it that way. With his innocent, childish belief that I could do anything he could do, I learned that I could. And so I did.

  That’s how I knew Lakefront so well. When we were kids, it was basically our backyard. I’d grown up playing with Nate in the park, learning the layout of the lake by falling in one too many times, and listening to the free concerts every chance I got.

>   Those concerts were where I first fell in love with music. Lying on the grass with Nate were some of my best memories. Later, after the concerts, my brother and I used to make our own instruments out of things we found—pots and spoons for drums, tissues boxes and strings for guitars—and we’d pretend to have our own band right on our ratty front lawn while our dad slept off his hangovers.

  One day when the next-door neighbor saw us with our makeshift instruments, she brought over her son’s old bass guitar and gave it to me. The first time my fingers touched the strings of the hand-me-down bass and the notes tumbled out, I felt like I’d been given a way to finally see the world in color.

  She even bought a pair of drumsticks for Nate which meant he spent all his time after that whacking them on anything that would make a sound. He later switched over to guitar, but it all started with that old bass and the drum sticks.

  Music had become my passion and it was all because of Nate. If it hadn’t been for him forcing me to discover the world around me, I might have grown up sitting in a dark room all day, never knowing there was anything out there to miss.

  The alarm at the intersection indicated it was time to cross. I shook off the old memories, marveling at how that one act of kindness by our neighbor had shaped my life today. Both Nate and I had scholarships in the music program at UMD. Nate also managed Honor Bound, getting us the gigs that allowed our band to do what we loved while still paying our bills.

  As I stepped off the curb to cross the street, I could hear whispering to my left. A girl was pointing out my cane to her friend. That led to a worried conversation that I was blind and walking around by myself. Her tone was surprised as if I was a puppy who needed an owner and a leash. That assumption used to bother me, now it just amused me. Chances were, I knew my way around campus better than she did.

  Despite the fact that I made it across the street in one piece, the girl was still incredulous as I continued to walk alone through town. I was always amused that because I couldn’t see, people figured the other parts of me didn’t work either. They often acted like I was deaf as well as blind.