Worthy of the Harmony (Mountains & Men Book 2)

by Martin, R. C.

  “Whatever. I’m a fucking piece of art. Don’t hate.”

  “Ew! God, Sage, let me go!” She pushes against me again, but I pretend not to notice as I take another bite. “You stink, by the way. I’m surprised she wanted to be anywhere near you.”

  “Rosy, Rosy, Rosy—don’t you know she smelled the same way walking out of here? Scent of the Magic O, baby girl.”

  “Oh, dear god! Get the fuck off, Sage!”

  Derrick and Maddox both laugh as I set her free. I reach over and palm the top of her head, turning her face toward me. “Don’t talk like that,” I teasingly chastise. She just rolls her eyes.

  “You’re gross. Now I feel like I need a shower. I’m getting out of here. But before I go, I have to tell you what I originally came over for.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I met this guy last night.” I frown at her, already not liking where this is going. “Chill out, would you? This isn’t about me, this is about you. Well, Mountains & Men. He plays the bass and he’s looking for a group. I told him I’d put you in touch.”

  “Nice work, sis.”

  “We’re doing auditions Tuesday,” pipes in Derrick. “That is, if we can line up a few more guys.”

  “Guess we better get to it, huh?” asks Maddox, jumping down from the counter.

  “Just need to shower.”

  “Me, too.” I abandon my now empty bowl and grab my sandwich as I begin backing out of the kitchen. “Garage in twenty?” The guys voice their agreement and then I look to Rosy. “You out of here?”

  “Yup. Do your band thing. I’ll catch you later. Oh—and the next time you talk to Millie, will you apologize for me?”

  I offer her a nod and a smile, knowing she’ll probably feel bad about this far longer than Millie or I will remember to care. “I got you, little lady.”

  AFTER SAGE DROPS me at home, I head straight for the shower. With plans to spend the rest of my afternoon catching up on some grading, I know I need to rid myself of the scent of him. I ignore any and all meaning behind the truth that he’s able to distract me even when we’re not together.

  The apartment is quiet and feels a bit empty with just me home, especially after spending the night at Sage’s house. Not that Sarah and I make a habit of frequenting the same room. In the brief time that we’ve been living together, I usually only see her in passing. Her mornings start before the sun and, with Brandon in the picture, she’s gone more times than not. Recently, she’s even stopped coming home to sleep, except for a night here or there. I’m certainly not complaining. What she does with her time is her business. Furthermore, if she’s happy, then she should keep doing whatever it is that she’s doing.

  I suppose, for some women, not all men leave.

  Now, though, with her being out of town, the silence is different. Her parents were in a horrific car accident and she’s gone to care for them. I have no idea when she’ll be back, only that she left from work in a panic yesterday afternoon. Our neighbor, Aria, was kind enough to relay as much information as she could after she and Sarah arrived at the hospital where her parents were taken. Fresh from a shower, I decide to send Sarah a quick text, asking how Mr. and Mrs. Prescott are doing.

  I suppose, for some people, not all moms and dads make you want to run away.

  I know that it makes me sound like a god-awful person, but I cringe at the thought of what I’d be expected to do, as my mother’s only child, if she were to ever get into an accident that left her in need of my help. When I left New Jersey eight years ago, it was with the intention to never go back. Not for holidays, not for birthdays, not for a random weekend visit. There’s nothing about that place that I miss.

  Growing up, it was just my mother and me. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins—to me, they are simply a myth. After my dad left, even my childhood became more of a concept than a reality. I didn’t leave behind anything that I wish to get back. Truth be told, if it weren’t for my mother’s phone calls—every other Saturday evening, like clockwork—I’d have absolutely nothing tying me to my past.

  To a lot of people, loving one’s mother is natural. It’s not something they think about, it’s just something they do. Even mothers far worse than mine are loved, sometimes to a fault. But my relationship with my own mother is more of an obligation than anything else. It’s hard to love someone who stopped taking the time to show you love, even if she did give birth to you. No, my awareness of love is derived from the loss of it. I know the pain of love more than I know or understand its joy.

  A text from Sarah pulls me from my thoughts. I shake them away, raking my fingers through my damp hair, unsure how long I was wandering around in my head. Drawing in a deep breath, I check my phone. Apparently, both of Sarah’s parents are in better condition today than they were yesterday, which is definitely good news. I tell her as much before I grab my school bags and head to the living room.

  I spread out on the coffee table, stacking each pile of assignments in order of priority. Once I’m all set, I head to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat. I'm certainly not a chef, even less so when I feel pressed for time, so I settle for a yogurt and a granola bar. Once finished, I make myself comfortable on the couch and lose myself in work.

  I have a bit of a thing for numbers. I always have. They are constant. Reliable. I can trust them—trust that they won’t ever change; trust that, no matter what ugly equation you put them in, they will always serve as your tool to solve the problem. Math has been my strongest subject since I learned addition, and calculus is my favorite level. I enjoy teaching it. To me, it’s fun to interact with the students who truly get it—whose minds are carefully, brilliantly sculpted calculators. It’s also incredibly rewarding getting to help those who don’t always understand. Chasing after that light switch, working to explain it in such a way that it all clicks in their mind—it's one of the best parts of my job.

  I’m not like Sage. I’ve never really been a dreamer. I didn’t dream of becoming a college professor. I didn’t exactly chase after it, either. It just made sense. I earned my bachelor’s, then my master’s and then found my way back to the classroom—just on the opposite side of the desk. I’ve only been teaching for a couple of years, but as far as jobs go, I got lucky.

  Thinking of Sage pulls me out of my numerical trance. Temporarily distracted, I notice that I’ve been working for hours. Having put a significant dent in my tasks, I decide to break for the rest of the night. Sage still lingers in my thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. I haven’t heard from him since he dropped me off hours ago. Not that he owes me a call or a text. He doesn’t. We have plans to see each other in a couple days and that’s enough.

  Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I check my phone and spot not one new notification.

  After I put away my things in preparation for the beginning of a new week, I opt for take-out and order Chinese. While I wait for it to arrive, I pluck a book from my shelf. Tonight, it’s War and Peace. I read until there’s a knock on my door and then I break only long enough to answer, pay the delivery man, and plate my food.

  When I start to nod off, I clean up and then get ready for bed. I try not to think of Sage; try not to remember waking up in his arms this morning; try not to think of his lips all over my breasts; try not to think of the taste of his cock—I try not to miss him. I long for him. He’s stolen a tiny fraction of my heart and I can’t deny that I do long for him—but to miss him is dangerous. To miss him is something deeper than longing. So, as I crawl between the sheets, setting my phone on my nightstand, I try to push him out of my mind.

  It’s when I close my eyes that my mobile alerts me to a text.

  I ignore the tingling sensation in my stomach when I see who sent me a message.

  Sage: Hey, doll face. You up?

  Me: Just heading to bed.

  Sage: Too bad I’m not with you.

  I press my lips together, fighting a smile as I try and combat the memory of his hands
all over my body.

  Me: I could use the sleep…it’s probably better that you aren’t.

  Sage: I’m the perfect lullaby, baby. Didn’t you know?

  I pull my lip between my teeth as a chuckle forces itself from my chest, then roll my eyes.

  Me: Goodnight, Sage.

  Sage: Sweet dreams, gorgeous.

  LITTLE BIRD CAFE IS, hands down, the greatest job I’ve ever had.

  That is, unless you count the band. But to me, that’s never been a job…more like a privilege.

  Two years ago, after I quit the student life, I started working at my favorite coffee shop. Truth be told, when I first heard about the place, it wasn’t because of their coffee. A couple times a month, they host an open mic night. The guys and I used to do an acoustic set when we could. That was back when we didn’t have a regular spot at The Brew. In any case, the first few times I came here, it was all about the music. Then, when I needed a job, one conversation with Lori and I was in.

  Lori used to own the joint before she sold it to Brandon. She was a really great boss, totally supportive of my music. I never got any grief about the times I needed off in order to play a gig. She understood, being the dream chaser that she is. Brandon’s the same way. He’s big on making sure he doesn’t hinder his employee’s abilities to have a life outside of work and, in some cases, school. My part time hours and wages aren’t going to have me retiring any time soon, but they keep a roof over my head and food in the fridge. With five of us guys living in the house, rent is dirt cheap. Plus, with the money we earn from gigs, we do alright.

  “Oh, shit,” I mutter, spinning around on the stool I occupy behind the counter. I face Brandon, who has a pad of paper in his hands where he’s scribbling something down as he takes inventory of what supplies we’ve got at the bar. I probably shouldn’t bug him, but considering the topic I’ve got on my mind, I’m sure he won’t be bothered. “I haven’t asked about Sarah’s parents. How are they?”

  Just as I suspected, he stops what he’s doing to address my inquiry. “They’re a little better,” he says, sliding his pen behind his ear. “They moved her dad out of the ICU this morning. Hopefully it’s not too long before they’ll both be released from the hospital.”

  “That’s good. Any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “No,” he answers simply, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m sure it’ll be a few weeks, at least.”

  “That’s rough.”

  I’ll admit, I feel for the guy. He’s got it bad for that girl. I’m talking head-over-heels-pussy-whipped in love. I know it’s only been a couple days since he’s seen her, but I can tell he misses her.

  “Yeah. You’re telling me,” he says with a halfhearted chuckle. “But she’s where she needs to be. I’ll go down and see her Saturday night.” He draws in a deep breath, as if steeling himself for the reality of the next four days. “What about you? What’s going on with you and Millie?”

  I can feel it as a grin spreads across my face and I can’t even try and play it cool. No matter; Millie’s definitely worth a smile. “Actually, I’m taking her out on a date tomorrow. A real one. Just the two of us.”

  “Nice. Where are you taking her?”

  I open my mouth to respond and then frown when I realize I have no idea. We didn’t talk about it. Granted, I could pick a place and call it good—but what if she doesn’t like the restaurant I choose? I definitely don’t want our first date to be a dud.

  “Good thing I asked,” Brandon says with a laugh, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Damn. You’re right. I don’t usually do the dating thing. Feeding them isn’t really my M.O., if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeeeaah,” he replies with an amused scowl. “Look, it’s not rocket science. What does she like?”

  “Uh…” I reach up to scratch the back of my head. “Grilled cheese.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What? It’s true!” I say with a shrug.

  “Right. Well, if you want a second date, I wouldn’t advise taking her out for grilled cheese.”

  “No shit. Any recommendations?”

  “Honestly, with the foodies around this town, you could go anywhere. Just find out what she likes. You won’t lose your man-card for asking.”

  I nod at him, grateful for his advice. “Good call.”

  “Got your back, young blood,” he says, clapping his hand on my shoulder before he heads to his office.

  I pull out my phone with every intention of shooting Millie a text, but then I see the time. Noting that I’m off in twenty minutes, I wonder if it would be better if I called her. I haven’t heard her voice since Sunday. I’m not too proud to admit that I miss it. Just like I miss her face. Her lips…

  I slide my phone back into my pocket, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I just got an even better idea. At two o’clock on the dot, I bag up two cinnamon swirl coffee cakes, baked this morning by Brandon himself, and then head around to the opposite side of the counter so that Rachael can ring me up.

  “Two, huh?” she asks, taking my cash. “Either someone’s feeling hungry, or…” She let’s her sentence hang unfinished, clearly seeking for me to finish it for her.

  “Yup,” I say with a wink.

  “That’s for a girl, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll see you later, Rach,” I reply, backing my way through the lobby.

  “Sage!”

  I offer her a wave, chuckling as I make my exit.

  “MILLIE, WAIT UP!”

  I stop walking, adjusting the straps of my tote over my shoulder at the sound of her voice. Lindsey Clark is a fellow math professor. Her office is located just across the hall from mine. As I look back at her while she hurries to catch up, I assume we’re both headed for the same place.

  I'm the youngest professor in the entire math department, but Lindsey isn’t too much older than I am. At thirty-two, she exudes both maturity and youth—or, at least, the glow of youth. Much like my roommate, Sarah, there’s something bright and timeless about the woman. Today, her rich brunette locks are contained in a chignon at the nape of her neck—a few curls hanging loose around her face. The purple dress she has on seems to make her brown eyes even darker, while the cut accentuates her admirable bust, thin waist, and curvy hips. She’s taller than me, even when I’m in heels and she’s in flats; so today, as we’re both in heels, she towers over me.

  It’s her smile that makes her so eye catching. It lights up her whole face. She’s the closest thing I have to a friend on campus and when she stops me, always genuinely happy to see me, I’m not bothered in the slightest.

  “Good afternoon,” I greet her as she closes the distance between us.

  “Hey. Heading to your office?” she asks, pointing to the building just across the way.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Mmhmm,” she hums. We both resume walking at once. “I didn’t really get a chance to chat with you yesterday. How was your weekend?”

  Immediately, my mind is filled with thoughts of Sage. Up until now, I’d had a pretty good handle on my craving for him. Other than a few texts here and there, I haven’t had any significant interaction with him since Sunday. I embraced the distance, knowing it was necessary; but, truth be told, a part of me…dislikes it. Now, it’s as if the floodgates have opened and my entire body yearns for him. His touch. His kiss. His voice.

  “Um, it was good,” I finally manage. “Yours?”

  “Totally boring,” she says with a groan and a laugh. “Errands. Chores. Work. I haven’t been on a date in weeks, which is really starting to kill me. I’m going to need to fix that soon, before I become a cat lady or something. Tell me your good weekend was more eventful than mine.”

  “I went out,” I reply evasively. I haven’t told her about Sage. In fact, I haven’t mentioned him to a single soul that he doesn’t know. I can’t really explain why, but it doesn’t seem like a very safe idea.

  “Oh, yeah? Where’d you go?”

&n
bsp; “Uh,” I stall as we make our way through the doors of our building.

  The sound of our heels echo through the quiet halls, amplifying instead of drowning out my silence. I take a breath and decide that telling her about Mountains & Men is not the same as telling her about Sage. I can share at least that much.

  “I went to a concert, actually. A bunch of local bands were playing at The Moxi in Greeley.”

  “See? Now that sounds like a good time. Look at you, living it up! I’m impressed, Millie.”

  I laugh, not because what she’s said is particularly funny, but because she has every right to be impressed. Me at a concert on a Saturday night is definitely a new, recently developed, and reoccurring habit.

  “Millie, aren’t your office hours in the morning?” she asks as we round the corner to our destination.

  “Yes. Why?”

  She smiles at me as she points in the direction of my door. There, sitting with his knees propped up and his focus glued to his phone, is Sage. As per usual, he’s wearing a pair of jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a pair of Chucks. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. Or maybe my sudden inability to breathe correctly has more to do with the erratic beat of my heart?

  “Student of yours?” Lindsey whispers softly as we approach.

  Before I can answer, Sage looks our way. When his eyes meet mine, his signature smirk curls his lips and he winks at me.

  “Or an admirer?” Lindsey hums, elbowing me.

  I look up at her, unsure what to say, and then back at Sage. He’s standing now, looking devilishly handsome. I swear, I don’t know how he manages to make jeans and a t-shirt so incredibly sexy. And don’t even get me started on those glasses.

  Lindsey giggles, pulling me from my thoughts and beckoning my attention. “Whoever he is, he’s freaking hot! I expect an explanation later. Details, my friend. Lots of details.” I say nothing in reply, which she seems not to mind. She waves at me and then slips into her office.

  “Hey, doll face,” Sage murmurs, leaning against the wall just beside my door.