Just a Crush

by Tabatha Kiss

  I swallow hard. “How are your boys?” I ask.

  “They’re fine. Thank you.”

  “And how is she?”

  “She’s... Marla,” she answers. “Less Marla than usual lately — in a way that does concern me a little, which is why I came to see you.”

  I lean forward. “Okay.”

  Angie takes a breath before continuing. “Jonah, I’m not sure how much my daughter has told you about our home situation.”

  “She’s mentioned a bit,” I say.

  “We’ve been through a lot, she and I. On top of it all, she’s seen me stumble through one bad relationship after another and I’m ashamed to think that’s tainted her views a bit. Trust doesn’t come easy to her but it was nice to see that she took to you.” Her head tilts as she stares at me. “I’m obviously not the best judge of character when it comes to men but I assume you’re a decent enough guy to have offered us assistance of some kind.”

  I nod. “I have.”

  “And, knowing the daughter I raised, I assume she turned that down faster than the words could come out of your mouth, didn’t she?”

  My lips twitch. “She did.”

  She bounces her brow. “I would have done the same.”

  “Angie, whatever you two need, it’s a yes.”

  “I’m not here to ask you for anything, Jonah,” she says. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here at all, to be honest, but it’s definitely not to beg.” She fiddles with a loose string on her apron. “I guess I just wanted you to understand this family a bit better. It no doubt looks a little different than yours does.”

  I shake my head. “Not as much as you’d think.”

  Angie smiles, that same half-smile I adore on Marla so much. Must be genetic. “She misses you,” she says.

  “I miss her,” I say.

  “She won’t admit it to me but I can tell. Used to be I could barely even get her attention because of the earbuds in her ears all the time but I haven’t seen her listen to music since...” She shrugs. “Marla goes to her classes, she comes home, she minds my babies, but she doesn’t smile, not like she used to when you were around.”

  I nod, relating to every word. Throwing every ounce of focus into my work is the only way I managed to get through the last week without her.

  Angie sighs. “I know she asked you to stay away and I respect the shit out of you for honoring her wishes but I wouldn’t be much of a mother if I didn’t at least try and make her life better... by asking you to be a little dishonorable sometime. I don’t want my nightmare taste in men to keep my daughter from something that could be really great for her.”

  I glance at my bruised, ink-stained fingertips. “I’m working on that,” I say.

  “Good to know.” She straightens up and reaches for her purse at her feet. “I should be getting back to work. Thank you for your time.”

  I stand with her. “It was nice to see you.”

  “You, too,” she says with a nod as she turns away.

  “Angie.” She pauses as I say her name. “Apologies if I’m overstepping here but my family has a really great private investigator, so if you ever want someone to track down your ex for you... just let me know.”

  She snorts to blow it off but then bites her cheek in thought. “I’ll think about it,” she says with a smirk.

  I bow my head as she turns and makes her way toward the exit. Once she’s gone, I head straight for the elevator, feeling far more motivated than I did before.

  Hang in there a little longer, my love.

  It’s almost done.

  Thirty-Four

  Marla

  I etch a line into my notebook right next to another just like it. Professor Nealy drones on at the front of the lecture hall and while I usually have no problem paying attention, I find myself drifting in and out this morning.

  Three weeks ago today, I felt a tap on my shoulder in this very room followed by a gentle yet urgent whisper.

  I finished that song.

  I want you to listen to it.

  Butterflies, attack.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I reach for it, embracing the distraction from my current spiral of thoughts.

  I have a new text message from… Rian?

  Did you see this? it reads, along with a link to the official Criminal Records website.

  I hesitate. I honestly haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to them since I hit a giant pause button with Jonah. Just one note is enough to bring tears to my eyes but I know I have no one to blame for that but myself.

  I turn my head around and search a few rows behind me for where Rian usually sits.

  He makes eye contact with me with his phone discreetly perched on one knee, one thumb tapping away at the screen.

  My phone vibrates again. I look down to read it.

  You’re famous!

  Famous?

  I click the link and the website loads quickly on a blog post dated for this morning.

  Criminal Records releases surprise new single, ‘Marla’s Song’

  I spin around to Rian again and he smiles beneath wagging eyebrows.

  “That’s it for today, class,” Nealy finally says. “We’ll continue this on Monday. Please read chapters twelve and thirteen before then.”

  Everyone else instantly stands up to leave but I bend down to rifle through my backpack for my earbuds.

  Marla’s Song?

  Jonah, what did you do?

  My classmates struggle around me but I ignore them in favor of answering that question. I connect the earbuds to my phone and shove them into my ears before tapping on the link to stream the song, not wanting to miss a second of it.

  With eyes closed, I block everything else out to listen for the next three and a half minutes.

  It begins with Jonah.

  His voice, nothing more, echoing and tempting shivers dance up and down my spine as he sings the lines we wrote together.

  It’s our song.

  But he named it for me.

  A gentle piano fades in behind his voice and I feel my smile creeping in. I picture it all. Jonah standing on stage with his bass guitar and Katrina perched at her keyboard behind him. Knox’s electric guitar joins in, signaling an epic tempo change. I hold my breath with the quiet hum of Addison’s background vocals layered with Jonah’s. I shed a tear with the gentle thud of Bronson’s sticks playing along.

  It’s everything I imagined it’d be and more.

  As a fan, I’m satisfied. And yet I’m devastated in the best of ways.

  How could they ever top this?

  It ends as it began with Jonah’s lonely voice and my dancing shivers.

  I open my eyes and wipe the tear from my cheek. Another class has already invaded from the hallway and a few strangers gawk at me with curiosity as they take their seats near me. I make a quick wave to show I’m all right as I scoop my backpack off the floor and rush outside.

  I keep the earbuds firmly in my ears.

  I push play again. And again.

  And again.

  Thirty-Five

  Marla

  The bus drops me about a quarter mile away from my street. I don’t mind it for a moment. The longer the walk, the more I get to listen to this song.

  Just one more time.

  That’s what I keep telling myself. Sooner or later, I’ll have to stop. I’ll have to acknowledge the outside world in some way, though this last half-hour has been a simple dream I never want to wake up from.

  I look up in the direction of my house. My stride slows to half-steps as I spot a lightning blue car parked on the street outside. I pull the earbuds from my ears as I reach the front porch, pausing to take a breath and clear my thoughts before opening the door.

  My mother’s voice finds me first. It’s light and airy, complimented by the chuckles of toddlers.

  She sits on the couch in the living room, her body language pointed toward the boys’ playpen in the corner. They’re on the floor as usual, Samm
y with a plastic truck in his little hands and Dave sitting beside him with wide, amused eyes.

  And beside them kneels a man in a black business suit.

  Jonah.

  I gulp.

  “Okay, hold on…” he says at Sammy as he quickly stacks the last few remaining wooden blocks on the top of a two-foot tall tower. “Not yet…”

  The boys laugh in eager anticipation, waiting for the tower to get as tall as possible.

  Jonah shifts backward out of the way, the toe of his shiny shoe digging into the plush carpet. “All right. Go ahead!” he says.

  Sammy takes the cue and slams his truck into the center of the tower. It topples over and the boys erupt with happiness at the chaos and destruction.

  “Again! Again!” they say.

  “Again?” Jonah repeats.

  “Again!”

  He laughs and turns his head toward my mother only to notice me standing here for the first time. His smile digs in deeper and my eyes instantly fall to his dimples like always.

  Mom stands up. “How about we get some lunch instead, boys?” she asks. “Give Uncle Jonah a break.”

  Sammy and Dave clearly don’t want to but they take her hands anyway and pull themselves off the floor. She guides them toward the kitchen and casts me a purposeful smile as she passes me by.

  “Uncle Jonah?” I ask.

  “What?” she murmurs. “You want me to call him Daddy?”

  I cringe and laugh at the same time. “Please don’t.”

  She winks and continues on toward the kitchen.

  Jonah rises off his knee and casually fastens the second button on his suit jacket as he moves to face me. I take in the full view of him, from his beanie-free head to the blue and gold tie and perfectly-pressed slacks.

  He looks just like his father.

  “Sorry if I kept you waiting,” I say. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  He waves a hand and glances down the hall behind me. “I haven’t been here long. Thirty minutes tops.”

  “And how long have they made you do that tower thing?”

  He exhales. “The entire time.”

  I chuckle. “Sorry.”

  “I used to make Graham do it for hours when I was little.” He smiles. “Should have known karma would catch up to me eventually.”

  “It usually does.”

  Jonah nods in agreement, taking a moment to allow his eyes to wander. He looks me up and down as his shoulders roll back and his expression shifts.

  “Can we talk?” he asks.

  I admire his suit. “Is this business or pleasure?”

  “Believe it or not, it’s business.”

  “Business?”

  Jonah doesn’t bother repeating himself. He merely slides his hands into his pants pockets and stares at me above that freshly-shaved, square-shaped jawline.

  “Okay, then.” I gesture down the hallway. “How about we step into my office?”

  The weight of Jonah’s shadow follows me as I walk down to my room. My heart pounds in my ears, effectively smothering the sound of my mother corralling my brothers around the kitchen table.

  “So, I, uh…” I close my bedroom door behind us. “I heard your new song today,” I say.

  Jonah’s brow rises, as if that’s not the exact reason why he came out here today. “What’d you think?” he asks, curious.

  I extend the moment as long as possible, watching his eyes flush is nerves. “It’s perfect,” I answer truthfully.

  “Be honest,” he says, furrowing that brow.

  “I am being honest, Jo. It’s more than I ever could have imagined it to be. I really mean it.”

  He smiles. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “But…”

  “Ahh.” He chuckles. “Here we go. Let it out. What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it, it’s just…” I wet my lips. “You called it Marla’s Song?”

  “We thought it was fitting,” he answers with a nod.

  “We?”

  “The band.”

  “The entire band?”

  “We all went back and forth on the title for a bit there but, ultimately, it was always your song,” he says. “Well, our song, but Marla and Jonah’s Song doesn’t roll off the tongue as nicely, so…”

  I breathe a laugh. “I don’t know what to say,” I mumble. “Having a Criminal Records song named after me is… overwhelming.”

  Jonah smirks. “Then, you’ll probably want to sit down for this next part.” I freeze as he stands even taller somehow. “You didn’t happen to check the metadata, did you?” he asks.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head once.

  “You should,” he simply says.

  “Why?”

  Jonah doesn’t bother explaining himself. He just stands there, wide and intimidating, until he gets what he wants.

  Definitely a Botsford.

  I give in and reach into my pocket for my phone. As I swipe and scroll, Jonah sidles closer and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me so he can glance at the screen as well. After a few taps, I navigate to the single’s general information tab.

  “Okay…” I say, scanning the page. “Vocals by Jonah Botsford, Knox Benton, and Addison Abbey. Strings by Katrina Benton—”

  “Further down,” Jonah interrupts.

  “Music by Jonah Bots—”

  “Down, down… baby,” he adds, smirking.

  I playfully glare at him and swipe down to the bottom. “Lyrics by Jonah Botsford and…” I pause. “Marla Gorchinsky?” I blink twice at Jonah’s sly grin. “You gave me credit?”

  “You wrote it. Of course you get credit.”

  “I… okay, yeah, I did a little bit, but…”

  “No buts, Marla. You deserve as much credit as I do. Those are your words.”

  I open my mouth several times to offer some kind of rebuttal but I’ve got nothing.

  “Marla, you okay?” Jonah asks, his concerned, happy eyes on mine.

  I nod. I swallow hard. I die. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. I’m just…”

  “Overwhelmed?”

  “Very.”

  “Well…” He slips his hand into his inner suit jacket pocket and pulls out a few folded sheets of paper held together with a thick paperclip. “It’s time to get the boring bits out of the way.”

  “Boring bits?” I ask, eying the papers.

  “Contract bullshit,” he says as he steps to my desk. He grabs a black pen from my pencil cup as he lays the papers flat. “No big deal. Just a few formalities with the record label.”

  “Oh.” I step forward to stand beside him. “Cool.”

  He hands me the pen and points at the forms. “They just need your name here and here, a phone number there, and an address to send the royalty checks to there.”

  My pulse skips several beats. “Royalty checks?” I repeat.

  Jonah nods, his face stricken by the boredom of dotted lines. “Oh, yeah. And given that this track was inching in on ten-thousand streams on my way over here…” He cants his head, impressed. “In a few months, those checks might be quite significant.”

  I stare at him. I stare a little longer. “What?” I finally spit out.

  “And once the radio stations start picking it up…” he winks, “that’s when that songwriter credit really starts working for you—”

  “Jonah.” I inhale sharply. “What is this?”

  “It’s your contract,” he says. “I had our lawyer, Stella, look over it to make sure it was more than fair. You did the work. Now, you get paid.”

  Is this really happening to me?

  It’s been a constant thought of mine over the last several weeks. From the moment he hopped over the counter to help me and spent hours talking to me — me, of all people — it’s been on an endless loop. Then, the tap on the shoulder. The long nights rhyming and shifting words around to suit the melody. The night we made love.

  And now, this?

  Is this really happening?
r />   “I’d like to sit down now,” I say.

  I slowly lower onto my desk chair. My breaths come only halfway and I begin to feel a little lightheaded as Jonah casually leans his hip on my desk and smiles down at me.

  “This is what you needed,” he says. “You can start paying down your student loans. Your mom can hire a nanny to help out with the boys. You can relax and I mean really relax because no one can take this from you, Marla. Not even me. Contractual impossibility.” He picks up the pen again and holds it out to me. “All you have to do is sign.”

  I laugh. What else can I do? “This is crazy, Jonah.”

  “Only if you say no. That’d be crazy.” He towers over me and smiles, those dusty eyes burning a hole right through me. “Sign it. Then… come back, Marla.”

  “Come back?” I ask.

  “To me.” He shakes his head. “I miss you. I can’t sit down with my guitar without looking over and hoping to see you sitting beside me. I don’t want Marla’s Song to be a one-time thing, I want it to be an every single day thing. And…” his shoulders bounce once, “if we happen to have sex again every so often, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “I…” I feign confusion as I flip through the contract pages, “don’t recall reading that in here…”

  Jonah snatches them from my fingers and grabs my arm, effortlessly pulling me out of the chair to his level. His left hand comes to rest just beneath my right ear, his digits softly brushing the hair at the back of my neck. “Come back to me,” he whispers. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  I tilt my head, lightly pushing against his strong hand as my fingers curl around his tie. “Wow,” I say. “Your dad really did raise a businessman.”

  Jonah smirks and leans in close. “Don’t tell him.”

  Our lips graze once, twice, and again before finally coming together in a deep kiss.

  As we pull apart, his eyes naturally drift over my shoulder to the pegboard above my desk and his smile tweaks to a glare of suspicion.

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  I follow his gaze. “What’s what?”

  Jonah reaches toward a paper pinned to my board and my stomach sinks as I realize what he’s looking at.