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For mom, who wouldn’t let me play violin. Good call.
she preferred “Numb” and “Creep” to traditional love songs. Something always felt forced about songs written about falling in love. She preferred playing the anti-love songs. The arrangements were always better.
he was looking at you like I’m about to look at the Grubhub delivery guy. Ready. For. A. Meal.”
She was a double espresso in the body of a wiry Chinese girl.
What destination did she want?
Take your time was the worst expression in the human language. Take your time, but everyone is watching. Take your time, but don’t take too much time.
they didn’t want to fuck him. They wanted to fuck the music.
he hit the record button on his music writing software and picked up his bow. When he was done, when it was out of him, he clicked save. The computer asked him what to call it. He didn’t want to title it yet, but the file needed a name. He typed: Not a Love Song. And he believed it for a few weeks.
don’t let anyone tell you what you’re capable of. Even if it sounds like a compliment.”
“That one’s Victor.” She grinned and said, “So, you don’t discriminate?” He started uncoiling a cord, eyes focused on his hands. “Well, Victor doesn’t go between my legs.”
if you worry about who’s listening, you’ll never be fully playing.”
She’d had orgasms before. She’d had plenty of orgasms before. She’d had plenty of good orgasms before. What she hadn’t had was an orgasm with another person. Ever.
“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but—” “Anything.” Black eyes looked down on her, and he took a shaking breath. “Everything.”
He didn’t need Gwen, he just wanted her.
She concentrated on rage. That was an easier emotion.
“No drugs. No subway home after one a.m. No private after-after-parties with men you don’t know.”
“You’re too young and beautiful to be dressing like a violinist,
I’m not good with words, I’m not good at speaking things. I’m good with notes on a page. I’m good at music—and that’s what I tried to tell you on that stage just now.”
“If you don’t want to be with me, together with me, I can understand,” he said, and she felt her knees wobble. “But, Gwen, please make music with me. I need you in my life. I need to be in your orbit in some way, and if you don’t want me to touch you and kiss you and fuck you, then let me make love to you onstage every night because it’s the most alive I’ve felt in ten years—”
“Who’s Barry?” “No idea. Let’s go find one.”
yeah, her imagination had held out on her.
she didn’t want it to be over. She wanted it to begin.
She should go for a run. But she never went for a run. She wasn’t even positive she knew how to run.
I’ve lived with the music and the applause my entire life, but I never chose it.”
“Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to do it for the rest of your life.”
“please don’t try to convince me that you’re not talented.”
“Why are you getting dressed?” he asked. “I can’t fight with you while we’re naked,” she muttered.
“You look like someone poisoned your cat, and then ran it over with a car.”
Even if you work at being perfect, people leave.
Xander is just that part of you that stopped trying to please anyone but yourself.”
re-recording the tracks from our first two albums.” “‘Alex’s Version,’”
“It’s about a cello who fell in love with a violin.”
