When I reach the school, I’m half an hour early, so I head to Mr. Barner’s class to practice, and get lost in the music.
When I open my eyes, I jump a little. Kingsley is sitting about three feet in front of me, smiling. “That was absolutely beautiful.”
I feel the flush creeping up my cheeks. I stand quickly and return my cello to the cupboard. When I turn around, he’s leaning against a desk with his arms crossed, watching me. “What?”
He smiles. “Nothing.”
I frown as I brush by him to grab my bag. “What are you doing here anyway?” I look at the time. It’s ten past nine. Shit. I’m late. We’re both late.
“I wanted to see you.”
I freeze up midway through heaving my backpack onto my shoulders, and it smacks against my back.
He pushes himself off the seat and walks towards me. “Mr. Barner mentioned something about paying for you to get a tutor for your classes.”
Oh. God. No.
“I can tutor you if you like.”
I laugh, and that smile across his face turns into a small frown. “Hell, no.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because!”
“You’ve never been good at excuses.”
I roll my eyes. “Kingsley, you’re not tutoring me.”
“I don’t see why not. Chemistry and English are my strongest subjects. I can help you.”
Fuck. He even knows what classes I suck at? Next time I see Mr. Barner, we are definitely having a word.
“We’ll study before we practice the set.”
I tap my foot on the floor, my hands tightening around the straps of my bag. I do need help, and I can’t afford a tutor. I bite the inside of my lip, contemplating. There’s no smugness in his expression now, and I don’t know why I’m letting him get to me anyway. I release the breath I was holding. “Fine.” There’s no reason for me to be embarrassed around him.
His smile breaks into a grin, and I don’t know why that pleases him so much. I shake my head and head for the door.
Kingsley
I’ve never felt like this before. Not with anyone. This is different. This is real. Holy shit. I sit in class, lost, thinking about the lull of the cello, the complete stillness of her face. Her smile, her dark blue eyes. Fuck. She hypnotizes me.
Maddison
As soon as the last bell rings, I shove through the hordes of people to the music room, knocking into a girl who gasps, then shouts after me.
“What the fuck is your problem, you hobo? Can’t you see where you’re going through all that tacky makeup you wear?”
I stop in my tracks, grind my teeth, and clench my jaw. I slowly turn around to face the stupid bitch who snapped at the wrong time.
Great. Suzie the psychopath. My best friend. We’ve had several confrontations over the years, and ever since I’d stopped fighting back, she’d picked up a lot more confidence. My hands turn into fists at my side, but I take a deep breath and think about everything I have on the line. I glare at her before I turn around and start heading down the hall again, but I don’t get very far before she bursts out laughing.
“What’s wrong, tramp? Worried about being kicked out of school like your piece of shit friend?” I don’t even register when the switch flicks in my mind, and it’s already too late to stop. I spin around, lunging forward and gripping her by the hair, shoving her towards the floor. She screams and grabs my wrists, attempting to pull them out of her hair, but I have a good hold. “Let go of me you, bitch!”
Wrong choice of words. I yank harder and she falls to her knees. Her nails are scratching and digging into my hand, but I don’t care. My mind clears and I realize what I’m doing. I still, my body tensing up. A mass of people surround us, their loud calls of encouragement drawing attention. I panic, let go and step back. Her hands go to her head, then she slowly stands back up, sneering. Her face is red and she’s staring daggers at me. “Is that all you’ve got?”
I do have to give her credit. The girl is feisty. But I can’t bite back, and that’s only growing my rage. With the commotion going on around us, I know there will be teachers here soon. I turn around again, and I take two strides before a sharp pain starts at the top of my scalp and shoots down my neck.
“Fuck!” I stumble back, her hand wrapped around my hair. Once I’ve gathered my footing, I grab her wrists, spin around, and shove her to the floor. I will suck up my pride for a few words, but not for physical contact. I will not be humiliated in front of all these people, and I don’t think she was expecting my sudden change in temperament. I’m on my knees above her. My fist is about to land squarely on her nose, when a firm hand clasps my wrist. Suzie releases a breath and rests her head back onto the floor in relief. I look up, and Kingsley is staring at me. His green eyes are cold, and his jaw is clenched. As he looks from me to Suzie, his eyes flash with anger. He pulls me to my feet, and Suzie scoots up out from my hold.
“Let me go,” I growl, but his grip only tightens, as he glances past me to Suzie.
“Suz, go home,” he says, just as Mr. Barner shows up.
Shit.
“What’s going on here?” he asks. His thin lips press together, and not just panic consumes me, but guilt. I promised him I would stay out of trouble.
“It’s nothing, sir,” Kingsley says, his voice firm.
Mr. Barner glances at me, frowning. “Practice. Now.” Then he disappears down the hallway, most likely following Suzie—probably to stop her from narking on me, because if I got in trouble, my audition would go out the window.
Kingsley finally releases my arm and says into my ear. “What was that all about?”
I shove past him and enter the music room. I grab my cello from the cupboard, pace to my seat and sit down, letting my bag fall to the floor.
Kingsley pulls out a chair in front of me and sits down. Does he ever give up?
The stern features I witnessed earlier have gone. Thank God. I don’t know why that made me so uncomfortable. “Why’d you stop me? She needs a good smack in the head,” I mutter as I clip my cello into place.
He laughs, and I can’t stop the smirk that spreads across my face. I lean back in my seat, pull my phone out from my pocket, and text Cynth.
Me: Fucking Suzie.
I rest my phone on my knee and look up at him. “Are you going to play the piano, or what?”
He quickly gets to his feet, bringing his hands up, “Yes, please don’t fight me,” he says sarcastically, and I almost throw my bow at him.
My phone vibrates, and I read the message across the screen.
Cynth: What the bitch do now? U need me?
I snicker and text back. I sorted it. See you tonight?
Cynth: That’s my girl. Yup. X
When I look up, he’s leaning against the piano. “You ready, Jackie Chan?”
Fuck. He’s funny. I force the laugh back down my throat and roll my eyes. He’s grinning. I loosen the strangle hold I have on my bow, and begin.
The piano stops, and I open my eyes. “My hands are cramping. How can you play for so long?” He stretches his fingers.
I chuckle and he shakes his head. I glance at the clock. It’s only seven. I still have a few more hours before I have to pack up.
“Come on. I think you’ve had a long enough day, anyway. Let’s pick this up tomorrow,” he says, closing the lid to the piano then walks towards me.
I was kind of over everything, and I did want to see Cynth and my siblings.
“Yeah, fine,” I say as I stand and clear my things.
We walk out of school towards the parking lot in silence. I’m glad he hasn’t brought up the Suzie situation again. I don’t feel like talking about it, and I really don’t feel like reminding myself that I almost jeopardized everything I’ve sacrificed so much for.
He opens the car door for me and I roll my eyes, but that only makes the smile across his face widen. He shuts the door behind me, then slips into his seat and pulls out of the lot.
> He turns off on Seventh, heading towards town, instead of the opposite direction towards my house . . . or Cynthia’s house. “Ahh, you’re going the wrong way.” I turn to face him, and that dimple is embedded into his cheek. “Where are we going?” I demand.
He shrugs his shoulders but keeps his eyes locked on the road. “I’m hungry.”
My stomach defies me as it grumbles. Shit. His eyes flit to my face and then to my stomach. “Good, you are, too.”
I narrow my eyes on his, but his smile only grows. He turns his stereo on, and the music that blasts is one of my favorite songs: Resistance by Muse. I arch an eyebrow, and then he sings. Holy shit, as if the gods haven’t already blessed him enough? Oh, there’s no hope for the rest of us.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know this song,” he shouts.
“Who doesn’t know this song?” I lean back into the comfort of the seat and listen to the smooth melodies of his voice.
When we finally stop, I have no idea where we are. I’ve never been in this area before, and I know why—his Porsche isn’t the only nice car in the lot.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
He turns to face me. “Getting dinner,” he says casually, then opens his door, and shuts it behind him before I can say a thing. My heart picks up an extra beat. I look down to my clothes, and it beats even faster. Then my door opens, and he holds his hands out towards me. Sure enough, I’m about to have a heart attack.
“I thought we were just—”
He crouches down so we are at eye level, and smiles. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m taking you out on a date.” He winks, and I feel my face heat up even more.
He grabs my hand and before I can protest, he is pulling me out of the car, and my heart is leaping out of my chest.
When the cool air clears my head, I tug my hand from his. He steps in towards me, and I take a step back but have nowhere to go, so my back presses up against his car. He places his hands on the roof on either side of me, boxing me in. His face is so close to my own, my breathing hitches. I’m staring at his lips again, staring for too long, when he sinks his teeth into the bottom lip. Oh, God. My eyes dart up to meet his, and they’re the brightest shade of green I’ve ever seen.
“Unless you want this to be a date?” Those lips pull back into a smile, and I seriously have to pull myself together.
“You wish.” My voice comes out ragged, and I internally scold myself. He finally pulls back, snickering, and I suck in another deep breath.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I pull my shoulders back and brush my hair out with my fingers. I can feel his gaze on mine as I straighten my clothes. Every person that passes us looks my way and I feel more insecure than ever.
I let my gaze fall to the ground and feel him step in towards me. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs. My heart starts racing again. So, that’s what it feels like when someone says that.
I couldn’t let him see what those three small words did to me, so I scoff and look up, but am immediately caught off guard again when those piercing green eyes stare deep into my own. I have no choice, I have to give in and look away.
Every woman I see is in a dress and heels, and here I am in my leather jacket, black jeans, and Chucks. Fuck me.
“You could have at least warned me. I would have dressed better.” I don’t own heels or a dress, but I could have found some . . . or I could have gotten out of this situation in the first place. Yes, I definitely would have avoided this—at all costs.
“You would have come with me if I told you we were going out to dinner?” he asks.
I smirk at him.
“And that’s exactly why I didn’t.” He takes hold of my hand again. Okay, seriously, what is going on? His hand is so warm, so large, so firm, so irrevocably doing away with whatever barrier that continues rebuilding itself, and he leads the way into the restaurant.
Every person we pass glances my way, and I wonder if he notices as well. It doesn’t seem like it. Then again, he probably just doesn’t want to embarrass me. Well, too late for that, buddy.
“Mr. Kingsley, how are you this evening?”
“Fine, thank you.”
The waiter is impeccably dressed in a tux. His eyes flick to mine and he smiles at me. At least one person is trying to hide the fact they think I don’t belong, although, it’s his job. He has no choice. “Right this way.”
Kingsley’s hand is still gripped firmly around mine as we follow the waiter through the restaurant. Chandeliers hang from each and every corner, and then the thrum of my life catches my attention and my gaze darts to the other side of the room where we were heading. A Jazz band is playing the most entrancing music.
I almost bump into someone as I’m lost in a trance. Thankfully, Kingsley is guiding me across the room, his hand on the small of my back. I don’t protest—I can’t.
When we near a table directly in front of the band, I glance at Kingsley, but he doesn’t meet my gaze. And I wonder if that’s intentional. “This isn’t just getting dinner,” I mutter.
He pulls me in closer, his mouth close to my ear. “Yeah, it is.”
I’ve never seen a live jazz band play before. “Not for me,” I mumble.
The waiter pulls out a chair at the table directly in front of the cello, and gestures for me to sit down. He places a napkin on my lap and offers me a glass of wine. I wonder if he knows we are both underage, maybe Kingsley knows the owner or something. I nod a bit too eagerly, watching him fill the glass, and I want to tell him to keep going when he stops far too soon.
“For you, sir?”
Kingsley shakes his head while keeping his eyes on mine from across the table. The waiter bows then walks away.
“You don’t want to drink?”
“I’m driving. Can’t drink.”
Huh, I’d never have pegged him as being the responsible sort.
The music pulls me back. It’s a six-piece band. Saxophone, piano, trumpet, bass, drums, and a cello. It is outright the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life. They all play together harmoniously, and I find myself lost in the music once again.
“Good, huh?”
I gulp. Nod. Did he plan this? If he did, it was kind of perfect.
“Would you like to eat?”
I turn to face him.
“That’s why we came, remember? To eat.” But the brightness in his eyes tells me something else.
I pick up the menu, scanning it over and come to the conclusion I have no idea what type of restaurant we are in, and the explanation of the dishes don’t give it away, either.
“I’ll just have what you’re having.”
He isn’t looking at his menu. His hands are lightly folded across each other resting on the table. He cocks his head to the side and smiles coyly. “Are you sure?”
I nod hesitantly. I wasn’t about to tell him I don’t understand a fucking word on the menu, but the wry look on his face makes me second-guess my pride. Please just don’t be pig’s liver or some gross rich person delicacy. A good burger and fries would do just fine. But as I glance around the restaurant, I know that wouldn’t even scrape onto the kid’s menu.
He calls the waiter back, and says, “The usual, for two, please.”
“The usual? How often do you come here?”
He shrugs his shoulders, leaning back into his seat. “Most nights.”
“You come here every night?”
He glances at the band, and mumbles, “When I want to get out of my house. So yeah, most nights.”
I thought about what that meant for a second. He didn’t want to go home. “So, we really are just grabbing something to eat for you then?”
He is looking back at me now. “I told you it wasn’t a date.”
I sigh in relief. This, whatever this is, isn’t so serious anymore.
“But I did request this table for you.”
Oh shit.
“Anyway, if it were a date, it would be much more roma
ntic.”
What on earth could be more romantic than this? Anything more would be cringe-worthy. If the jazz band wasn’t here, this would be extra cringe-worthy. But the cello in the background is like my calming net, so smart move. I purse my lips, and lean back into my seat.
“What, you don’t think I’m a romantic?” he asks.
“I know you’re not,” I chide.
He arches an eyebrow.
The deep, rich notes of the cello pick up on a solo and quickly catch my attention. Each note tugs at my insides, drawing me closer and closer, further away from reality. When the solo finishes, I turn back to Kingsley, and of course, he is staring at me. “What?”
“I like watching you when you listen to music. It’s peaceful.”
Heat settles in my stomach and I try to tamp it down. I quickly change the subject. “What was wrong with you today?”
“What are you talking about?”
“First period. English. Something was up.”
He tilts his head. “You noticed?”
I scoff. “Everyone notices when Mr. Kingsley’s pouting.”
He laughs loudly, not caring about any of the attention he is drawing. “Let’s just say that’s why we’re out for dinner.”
I was right. “Problems at home?”
“Something like that.” He shifts his gaze towards the band. If it’s making him that uncomfortable, it must be bad. Crap. Perhaps I was presumptuous by assuming he had a perfect life.
The waiter serves up what looks like a bit of everything off the menu. “God, how much do you eat?”
He grins. “A lot.”
I have no idea where to start. I don’t think I know what any dish is apart from the salad.
“What do you like? Beef, chicken, seafood?”
“Uhm . . .”
“Do you like spicy foods?”
I quickly shake my head. “Okay, well, that dish is out the window.” He points to what looks like beef. “This is chicken. I’m sure you’ll like it. The others aren’t spicy, so just try them.”
I do as he says and place a bit of each on my plate. I take a bite of the chicken dish, and it melts in my mouth. Holy shit! A moan makes its way up my throat, and Kingsley’s eyes brighten.
Stolen Songs Page 7