“What did you argue about?”
She growls, “Over him saying he wasn’t interested anymore!”
My jaw loosens as my heart starts pounding. “He said that?”
“Yes!” she shouts, throwing up her hand. “Can you believe it?!”
“No one has ever told you that before.”
“No shit, Sarah. You think I don’t know that? God, say something helpful here. I went over there like a fool, practically begging him to fuck me and he acted like I was a friend or something. We’re not friends!”
Walking to the couch I sit next to her with absolutely nothing to say for comfort because we have never been here before. Here I was thinking I needed to warn him, to protect him — and myself for when he came crying to me — and there was no need to.
He won’t be crying over Simone. He did the unthinkable, and became the first man to ever reject her.
“Sarah, how do you handle this? It hurts!”
Swallowing hard, I shrug. “I never want anyone, so it doesn’t usually hurt me.”
“Has it ever?” she asks, eyes cutting my way with curiosity.
“Yes.”
“When?”
I can’t tell her tonight, and last night, and the night before that. Instead I just shrug, dumbfounded. “It doesn’t matter when. It was just a guy who was out of my league.”
She sighs and leans her head on my shoulder. We rest against the back of the couch, her with her eyes closed and me staring off.
Before I know what I’m doing, I blurt, “You don’t really care about him. You just want him because he’s unavailable.”
She burrows into me and whispers, “I know.”
Inhaling relief that she was able to be honest, a spark of hope lights up in my heart, creating a soft glow. I don’t know why it’s there but I feel better suddenly. Like I might have a chance.
“I’m going to get him back,” she murmurs. “I’m going to make him sorry.”
The spark flickers and disappears.
Jason
Simone is the first to walk into my studio on the day we’re recording the choir. “Hello jerk.”
“Jesus,” I grumble, shaking my head and narrowing a bored look at her. It’s been a week since I saw her last and she’s still not over it. I know she doesn’t give a fuck about me, so my patience is zilch. “Are you going to be like this the whole day?”
On a superior smile she says, “Yep!”
Sarah walks in lugging a cooler that’s too heavy for her, large enough to diminish her already short frame. I rush forward and take it. “Here.”
Surprised and blinking rapidly she looks at me. I feel a tug in my chest at the eye contact. It’s powerful seeing her for the first time since New Orleans — outside of that fucking hand-wave last week. So strong in fact that I hesitate before pulling the cooler from her. I have to turn away quickly so I can get ahold of myself.
Didn’t expect the reaction I just had, no matter how many times she’s snuck into my thoughts.
“These for the kids?”
“Of course they are,” Simone snaps. “Moron.”
Gritting my teeth I face the spoiled beauty. She steps closer to fight but Sarah jumps between us, her arms out. The scent of her sweet shampoo instantly drifts into my nostrils.
“Okay, guys. We have to get to work here.” Sarah’s determined eyes lock onto Simone. “This is your hit, remember?”
Glaring at me Simone growls, “Yeah.”
“And Jason, you’re a professional. Or at least you can pretend to be one.”
I stifle a smile and step back, nodding to Sarah. “Still sarcastic, I see.”
“Did you think I’d change?” she smiles, her almond-brown eyes sparkling with their usual challenge.
“Didn’t want you to,” I admit. Sarah’s smile falters. She didn’t expect that coming from me.
Simone rolls her eyes, props her hands on her hips and looks toward the studio. “So, how are we doing this?”
“I’ve put several mics in there for the boys. We’ll record you separately—”
“—No! I want to sing with them.”
“That might make it more takes.”
“You’re the one who makes me do too many takes! Why not just use one of the first awesome times I sing it!?”
To Sarah, because I want to see that twinkle again, I mutter, “And you call me cocky?”
Intent on making her friend happy, Sarah sighs with an impatient look. “Jason, is it possible for Simone to sing with the boys?”
This day is going to be very long. Walking to my soundboard and fiddling with something that doesn’t need it, I mutter, “It is. It’s just not ideal.”
“It’s not ideal for you, you mean,” Simone counters.
“Fine! Jesus, I liked it better when there was just one bitch riding my ass. I’ll set up another mic.”
Before the fight escalates, in runs a five-year-old, dark-skinned boy, his mother close behind. “Simone!” he shouts.
Her crappy attitude transforms instantly as she bends down to receive a hug, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, yay! I missed you, Lewis!”
She’s coached them all week on Just For Me, and the affection is real and mutual. Another two boys come in and Simone’s irritation with me disappears completely in her distraction.
Sarah greets the first boy, “Hi Lewis!” and bends to hug him.
He announces with pride, “Sarah, I ate a carrot!”
Her face is glowing as she squats in front of him to be his height. “You did? That’s amazing! And you didn’t cry?”
Squishing his face up he announces, “I never cry. I just hate them!”
“Because you never tried them,” she offers, smoothing down his shirt. Beaming at her he nods and she continues, “And now you have. What did you think? Did you like them?”
He shakes his head, blanching. “Uh uh. I still hate them!”
On a laugh, she glances up to me. Her smile falters as she realizes I’ve been staring at her. I can only imagine the look in my eyes, because seeing her with that boy flashed an image of her as a mother in my mind. And I liked what I saw.
Sarah holds my look a second and then stammers to Lewis, “Well…that’s perfectly fine. At least you gave it a shot.” Rising up, she glances to me once more as other parents and children file in, the studio growing louder by the second.
In a volume meant for only her I confess, “It’s good to see you.”
She frowns then mumbles back, “I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Jason!” Mr. De Silva interrupts, holding his hand out.
“Hi!” I shake it and greet the room. “Everyone! I’m going to set up an extra mic, move some things around in there, and then we’ll get started.” Lots of people nod and the greetings continue as I maneuver my way to the sound booth’s door and disappear inside to make this work.
It’s silent in here except for my footsteps on the thick carpet, and the swishing of cables I drag out from storage. It’s giving me a chance to think about these feelings I have for Sarah.
Glancing to the glass window while I carry a mic stand to the center of the others, I see Simone easily chatting with Mr. De Silva, her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. It’s understandable why I went after Simone, but I wish I could take it back.
I’m a dick for wanting to get between those two women. Selfish, you could call me. You’d be right.
But what am I supposed to do? I saw something in her I’ve never seen before in any woman. I saw her with that boy and imagined her talking to our son. I didn’t ask for that image to pop into my mind. It came from deeper and I can’t ignore it.
I know now that I can’t just walk away.
As I slide the microphone into its stand and check the chord to make sure the connection is secure, I glance over and meet Sarah’s eyes. We hold the look before her head dips, eyelashes fluttering to the ground in thought.
That wasn’t her checking to see if everything was ready. She’s torn, too.
I saw it.
She cares about me.
A grin spreads on my face as I do one final test of my equipment. My chest is full, my lungs light and my body awake more than it has been since the depression set in right after New Orleans.
Strolling with a carefree air, I return to tell everyone, “Okay, let’s get you boys all set up.” Meeting Sarah’s eyes, I add, “We’re ready to go.”
Sarah
All the boys inside the soundproofed recording room are so excited to be singing in front of microphones. Their parents and Mr. De Silva are stuffed into this room with Jason and me, quietly watching so that Jason can focus.
Lifting his hand from one of the dials, he pushes the button to talk to the singers. “Great take, boys. Simone, that was perfect. How did you feel?”
She’s been very professional with him since she gained an audience, so there’s no hostility behind her answer, “Great. It sounded good from in here.” She touches her lucky headphones and leans into the mic to ask, “Go again?”
“One more time please. But I think we got it. Hey boys?”
They’re all staring at him through the glass, some nodding.
“You’re doing an incredible job. One more time?”
Almost all of them shout, “Yeah!” while the shyer two just nod, smiling wildly.
Jason glances to me, his gorgeous green eyes alight with enjoyment. His finger is off the button as he says, “I think they’re having fun.”
Several of the parents chuckle. Jason winks at me, and turns around, pushing the button to say, “Count in, Simone.”
“Four, three, two, one…”
Their little mouths open and beauty drifts out. It’s enough to make your eyes water. Mr. De Silva and I share a look where I nod to him that he’s done so well with these children. Jason’s fingers are traveling all over his digital soundboard, his eyes shifting from the choir and Simone to the dials and levers as he slides this one and turns that.
The ethereal choral arrangements have a melancholy to them that is perfect for the song’s finish. Even as she says that she just needs herself and she’s doing ‘this for me,’ you can hear that what she really wants is someone to share her life with, just like we all do.
As the final choral notes drift toward silence, Jason pulls two levers and holds his other hand up, tapping the air as he counts the ending down.
When they all go silent, he leans back in his chair and starts clapping. All the parents join in.
I leap forward to hit the button so Simone and the boys can hear the applause.
Jason whispers low enough so only I can hear, “You got rid of the vanilla.”
Without answering Jason, I nod to my best friend and call out, “That was so beautiful! Boys, you are wonderful and I love you all!” I back away and hug myself, emotions pooling in the corner of my eyes.
Jason pushes the button to tell them, “You can come on out. That’s a wrap! We got it.”
Turning in his chair he meets my eyes. He noticed I didn’t answer him. Mr. De Silva traps his focus, offering his hand on the wistful, “I don’t know how you can tell the difference between all those nobs, son!”
Jason grins, “I don’t know how you can handle a group of eighteen artists. I have trouble with one.”
The older man laughs and claps a hand on Jason’s arm. I watch him gripping the bicep and wish I was that hand. “Well done, Jason.”
“You too, Mr. De Silva.”
Simone is all smiles and laughter as she hugs the boys one at a time, and then comes out to hug the parents, too. Each is thanked from a genuine and joyous place in her heart. That’s always when she’s her most beautiful, and I keep waiting for Jason to stare at her like he used to do.
But he keeps watching me and not her. While he’s talking to one of the parents about how long he’s been in music, where he studied, and answering other curious questions they have for him, he keeps glancing to me.
There’s a secret happiness behind his eyes that I can’t understand. Is he just like her? In his element and having a great time? Or is my gut instinct telling me the truth…that he’s…
No way.
Oh shit…I know what it is.
He’s paying me this attention to get her jealous. Or pissed off. To get back at her.
He just lifted Dylan high in the air, both of them laughing.
Oh my aching ovaries. I mean, really? The kids love him and he’s so good with them.
He’d make a wonderful father…
“Sarah!” I turn to her as Simone asks, “What’d you think?”
With guilt all over me, I force a reply, “It was ridiculously beautiful, Simm. You guys were magic.”
She grins and glances to Jason, the light in her blue eyes faltering. “What’d he think?”
Tightness locks my lungs up but I manage to mumble, “He’s really happy with it.”
She winks at me, “Good.”
As the final family leaves, Jason walks to the two of us. “Job well done, ladies.”
Simone’s smile twitches as she glances to me. I know what she’s thinking, that I had nothing to do with the success of today. I’m not going to argue with her secret thoughts. I’m not the one with all that talent.
“Thank you. It was a lot of work, but I pulled it together.”
His eyes narrow slightly, realizing she took it personally that he didn’t give credit where it was due. “You did well, Simone,” he coldly says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to work on combining what we did before, with today’s recording.”
He turns his back to us. Simone blurts, “I can’t believe your fucking attitude.”
He tenses and slowly turns, cocking his head. “Simone, I’m trying to be civil.”
“Civil?!” she explodes, her previous euphoria evaporated. Motioning to the crotch area of her dress, her eyebrows rise up. “Just a month ago your face was here!”
I almost laugh because it’s such a strange thing for anyone to say aloud, and I have a weird sense of humor.
But Jason isn’t amused. He looms over her, eyes flashing with restraint as his voice deepens. “And then you had a temper tantrum before your show and acted like a fucking baby. And danced for some fucking frat-type lowlifes like I didn’t exist. So excuse me if I’m –”
“—It was one night! I acted like a brat for one night!”
“No, Simone, you acted like a brat many times. I just didn’t see it until the domino effect of that concentrated, pile-of-shit evening.”
I back away, but can’t take my eyes off of them. No one would be able to. Two gorgeous blondes getting in each other’s faces and fighting with sharp tongues and resentment to spare. Quite the show, and for very personal reasons I have to know how it ends.
“When did I act like a brat?”
“Are you kidding? Remember when I suggested the Time Travel theme? You pouted and said you wouldn’t be able to be an angel with that idea.” He mimics her, badly, “’I have to be an angel for my party, Jason! There are no angels in history.’ I was like, what the fuck? Really? Ever read the Bible?”
“I would have had to explain it to everyone,” she seethes.
“And the time the pizza guy showed up with sausage instead of pepperoni and you called him incompetent!”
“He was!”
“You don’t talk to people like that,” Jason growls. “Maybe someone else had handed him the wrong one. Maybe we said sausage on the phone! Maybe someone died in his life and he had an off night!”
She throws her hands on her hips, “Oh please.”
“You never know.” Jason points at her. “And I could name countless times when you snapped at people just because they inconvenienced you. At least your friend Sarah here was a cunt for a reason!”
My mouth drops open. “Uh, thank you?”
As if he didn’t hear me, he continues, “When she’s pissed it’s because she’s looking out for you. But she doesn’t need to do that, does she? Not with how much you loo
k out for your-fucking-self!”
Simone’s lips get all tight, then she throws those daggers my way. “Oh, I see. Sarah’s a cunt, but somehow she’s perfect. You just had to hold her hand. You accidentally kissed her! And now she gets to be a cunt and I don’t because somehow you’ve rationalized it in your twisted head? Why don’t you just ask her out, Jason? Huh?”
My mouth closes abruptly and heat turns my skin dark red. It’s all of my guilty wishes being spoken out loud and I want to run.
Jason glances to me, deeply frowning. He shakes his head like asking me out is the most absurd idea he’s ever been offered. “Simone,” he growls, “I think you’re very gifted and I’m happy to finish this album for you. But the veil is off my eyes now and I see that you and I should never have dated. It was a mistake.”
Oh my God. I take two steps back to avoid the impending shrapnel of the bomb he’s detonated.
“A mistake?!!!” she screams, eyes wide. “Fucking me was a MISTAKE?”
“I said dating!” By his expression he believes that’s somehow better.
But he doesn’t know how women think.
He’s about to learn.
I cover my eyes as she snarls, “Oh, so you’d fuck me but you wouldn’t date me? You’d take my body but not buy me dinner?! Do you think I’m some sort of low-level slut you can just use and toss aside?”
“No, I never said that,” he mutters. “I just meant –”
“—Do you have any idea how many men would love to be with me?”
I peek out, thinking, no Simone. Don’t go there. Just walk away.
But she’s already en route, dignity be damned.
“Jason, do you know the emails I get? The messages on social media? I have over eight-hundred-thousand followers on Twitter! And they all want me.”
“Oh God, make it stop,” I whisper.
Jason is sucking on his lips. “I just meant,” he tries again. “…that working together has worked out better than dating you.”
“Really?” she screeches. “Because I think it’s been a disaster!” She grabs her purse and motions for me to follow her.
Jason shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. I meet his eyes and without talking he conveys that he didn’t mean for it to go this badly. I give him a nod that I understand and run out after her.
Cocky Romantic: A Hot Romantic Comedy Stand Alone (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 4) Page 10