Tranquility

by Ava O'Shay

  The girl had retrieved her notebook and was standing behind them watching the conversation.

  “What’s her name?” Cori asked.

  “What?” Quill was extremely uncomfortable.

  “Her name, what is it. You had your dick in her. At least tell me you know her name.” Cori huffed then turned on the girl. “Do you know his name?”

  The girl looked confused at the question.

  “What are you, the hook up police?” Quill flipped his hat up and down narrowing his eyes.

  “No, but I proved my point.”

  “Which was? That coffee in your vocabulary is another word for sex?”

  Cori shook her head. “No. That you don’t really want to have coffee with me anymore.” “And how do you figure that?”

  “You know my name. All deals are off once you know their name.”

  .six

  Quill Diaz

  September 10

  8:45 a.m.

  Quill turned to the girl from last night. “You want another go?”

  Her blue eyes opened wide. “Thought you’d never ask.” The idea of what he was proposing seemed to intrigue her. “Where?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “My dorm is across the way. My roommate is in class until lunch.” Quill shook his head. He didn’t want to know where she lived. “Then where,” she pouted.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hall. He looked both ways and decided to go to the left. There were practice rooms around here somewhere. She giggled behind him as he dragged her along. Somewhere deep inside his head was a voice telling him to let her go.

  Telling him he had nothing to prove. Cori wasn’t the only woman in the world, and her calling him out on his shit didn’t make him any less of a man.

  Hell, all he’d asked for was a cup of coffee. She’s the one that turned it into a conversation about sex.

  But the devil on the other shoulder beat down the voice, reminding him he needed to fuck his past away. He wasn’t the fag the men told him he was. He wasn’t the guy girls turned down. He found the practice rooms, and after finding the first two occupied, he pushed into the third.

  The curtains were already pulled down, and with a quick click, he had them locked in the sound proof room.

  “The walls will block all the sound from leaving this room.” He shoved her against the door with his body. “I’m going to make you scream.” He took her mouth hard and fast. She raised her hands to grab his head, but he caught them before she could touch him. “Don’t touch me,” he growled down her neck.

  He turned her around, then grabbed her hands and lifted them above her head, using one hand to hold them there. With his other, he began to rub against the front of her underwear. “Skirts may not be the best clothing choice for you,” he hissed into her ear.

  “If you’re around they are.”

  She was trying to be sexy, but Quill could feel what he thought to be the start of a hard on fade. Maybe it was just her voice that had him wilting. He tried to think of the irritation Cori had provided with denying him a cup of coffee, of the need to dominate a woman as he ground his half-mast dick into her back. It wasn’t working. He closed his eyes tight and tried to envision some past encounter to give himself a jump start. Nothing came until a memory of last night and the guy in the band appeared again. He moaned, and the girl he’d sequestered groaned back, pushing herself into his hand until her body started to quiver under his touch.

  His arousal came full force with the vision of the guy’s dark hair and unusual eyes looking at him like he was a God. With a quick hand, he finished the girl off, unzipped his pants, and rubbed one out on her back.

  “God dammit,” she complained. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Don’t have a condom, and I’m not about to go bareback with a girl that lifts her skirt so quick.”

  “You don’t seem to be complaining too much,” she snapped, pulling a sweatshirt out of her backpack and using it to wipe off her back.

  Quill leaned against the piano set up in the room and packed himself back into his pants. “Do you know my name?”

  “What?” She looked very confused. “My name. What is it?”

  She hesitated. “Quinten?” “Yeah. No. Look… “ “Miranda.”

  “Miranda. Look, we fucked last night. And now we sort of fucked again. If you want a relationship, you are looking at the wrong guy. I don’t usually do seconds. This was a fluke. I don’t know names. I don’t care about the girls. I was drunk, and you were willing. End of story.”

  “Who says I want a story?’

  “You seem kind of needy.” He shrugged.

  “You’re hot. You’re a good fuck. Why not take it when I can from a guy I know doesn’t want all the shit that comes with it?”

  “Good lord am I talking to myself?” Quill laughed. “A note for you, stud?” She straightened her clothes. “Yeah.”

  “Girls don’t expect relationships with guys who bang random girls. You aren’t relationship material. The piano girl?” She pointed toward the door. “You never had a chance.”

  “Fuck you,” Quill snapped then threw his backpack over his shoulder and walked out the door.

  He was too late to make it to his Algebra class, so he made a mental note to track down the girl he sat next to for notes and assignments.

  It was too early to head to his last class for the day, so he headed off campus to the local bakery for the coffee that had been the topic of so many conversations in the last few minutes. The Perk, where Ren worked, had the best coffee in town, but it was too far of a walk, and Ren made a point of not letting him have a key to her car. So, within walking distance he was limited to a shop simply called The Bakery.

  Rounding the corner onto Main Street, he pulled his zipper up around his throat. It was late fall and a chill was in the air today. His mind wandered back to a year ago. The anniversary of his grandma’s death was a few weeks ago. He and Ren really needed to take some flowers to her grave. She saved them from the system. Saved them from their mom. She deserved a little remembering. He’d have to talk to Ren later.

  A new shop had moved in to the building across the street from The Bakery. Quill might have missed it if it weren’t for the man wobbling on a ladder while trying to hang a large musical note made from fluorescent lights, from a pipe sticking out the side of the building. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and cocked his head, watching the man nearly fall to the sidewalk before grabbing at the pole to right himself. Quill looked up and down the street before jogging over to hold the bottom of the ladder for him.

  The man looked down, surprised by the stability it provided. “Thanks.” “No problem.” Quill nodded up at him.

  With the added stability, the man was able to place each of the metal rings over the hanging hooks and secure the sign. With deliberate steps, he descended to stand next to Quill and admired his handy work.

  “Looks good,” Quill said.

  “Thanks for the help.” The man held out his hand. “Don.” Quill waited a beat, then took his hand in a firm shake. “Quill.”

  “You go to the college, Mr. Quill?” The man was tall and thin. A long ponytail hung down his back, and he was wearing Birkenstock sandals. He was the quintessential hippie.

  “Quill is my first name. And yeah, was heading over to get a coffee and a donut.” Quill tilted his head across the street.

  Don nodded. “Want to see the place?”

  Quill looked across the street again, then at his watch. He was one for two already, so what was the point. “Sure.”

  Quill followed Don into the small shop. The musical note was a giveaway to the type of store it was, but he hadn’t expected the walls to be covered in various types of guitars.

  “Wow.” Quill turned around in a circle, taking in the colors and sizes. “You play?”

  “Hmm? Yeah a little,” Quill said absently.

  “Here, help me out with this.” Don moved across the store to a small bench. A
bright blue Fender guitar sat in a holder. Two small speakers were set up on each side of the bench. Don grabbed the neck of the guitar, picking it up to hand to Quill.

  “Oh no.” Quill held up his hands. “I have an old acoustic thing at my house. I can’t play that.”

  Don’s eyebrows pulled together. “Sure you can. It’s the same. Just need to see how it looks from the window. I have these headphones so kids can come in and try out any of the guitars. You know, jam a little. But I need to see if the bench is in the right spot. If, from the window, you can see someone really rocking it.” He fluttered his hands around. “Sit and play. Whatever you feel like.” Don shuffled around a little before heading out the door.

  Quill stepped over the cords to settle on the bench. He glanced up to see Don standing outside the large window of the shop. He waved his arms, encouraging Quill to play. Quill gave him a quick nod, then placed the headphones over his ears and settled on the bench. The guitar was heavier than his small wooden one. The weight felt good in his arms. The color was vibrant, and the minute he strummed his first cord, he was having a love affair with this guitar.

  He closed his eyes and let the notes flow through the head phones directly into his soul. He began to mimic the songs Cori had played earlier. Slowing the rock songs down until they sounded like ballads, then changed the tempo to sound more classical than top forty.

  When Quill ended his redo of the earlier performance, he opened his eyes to see Don standing in front of him.

  “Perfect.” He smiled.

  Self-conscious of his total abandonment into musical daydreaming, Quill pulled the headphones off, stood up, and replaced the guitar into its stand. “Sorry about that. It’s an awesome guitar.”

  “Yes it is.” Don had a silly grin on his face, and his hands stuffed in his loose jeans. “Well I better get heading over for my coffee.” Quill stepped around Don, moving toward the door.

  “Would you like to work here?” “What?” Quill stopped.

  “My daughter works in between classes, but I could use another person to cover the hours she isn’t available and putting you on that bench with a guitar in your hand? It will bring every girl at that university to our window.”

  “They won’t buy anything. Are you going to charge them to watch me?” Quill laughed. “Oh they’ll buy guitar lessons from you.” Don smiled.

  “I can’t teach anyone the guitar. I play by ear. I don’t know the notes or how to hold it correctly or anything.”

  Don came up and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Quill, you, my son, have a gift. I cannot in good judgment let you short yourself on the extent of your talent. Besides, I can send you home with a book, and you’ll learn enough in a few days to be able to fake it until you get it.” He laughed and shook Quill’s shoulder a little.

  “What do you pay?”

  “Minimum. Percentage of the lesson fee. But if we get people in here, I can be persuaded to give a raise.”

  “Just me and your daughter?”

  “Well, the only time you’ll be together is if you have lessons scheduled at the same time.

  Corrine is a piano player. She uses the room on the left. She tends to collect things, a bit of a hoarder when it comes to instruments, and she’s always trying something new, so I wouldn’t venture into her room too far. The guitar room is on the right. You guys would rotate schedules for the store front. Hopefully she has classes when you don’t and we can flip flop.” Don looked quite proud of himself and this arrangement. “Of course, I’ll be here, too.”

  Quill needed a job. Ren would be happy if he could help out with rent and put some away for a rainy day. Then Jolin’s mom wouldn’t be sneaking money to them and bringing groceries all the time. It sounded like something he’d enjoy, and the fact that there weren’t other employees was an added bonus. He couldn’t get fired for nailing a cashier in the back room.

  “I’d love the chance to work here. When do you want me?” Quill smiled.

  “Awesome man.” Don slapped him on the back and led him to the door. “Tomorrow afternoon work for you?”

  “I’m done with class at two. Can be here by two-thirty?”

  “I’ll see you then. And here.” Don shuffled back to a stack of music books, grabbing one and shuffling back. “Read up on those notes. I have a feeling we are going to have a run on guitar lessons.”

  .seven

  Quill Diaz

  September 10

  6:30 p.m.

  “I got a job,” Quill said over his shoulder when Ren walked in the apartment. “Am I in the wrong apartment? Someone just say they got a job?”

  “Ha ha, you’re hilarious.” “Prostitute?”

  “I helped the guy when he almost fell off a ladder. And I think the correct term would be gigolo.”

  “And had sex with him? Please tell me you aren’t selling drugs.”

  “What? No. God, Ren, give me a break. I was on my way to get a donut… “

  “Are you working at The Bakery?” Ren came over to sit crisscross in the chair opposite him. “I love their donuts. Can you bring day olds home? Wait. Don’t. I’ll get fat.”

  “No. How many cups of coffee did you drink today?” Ren glared at him. “I had a bad day.”

  “Counseling?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Quill looked her up and down. “You take something?”

  Ren flipped him off but didn’t deny it. Instead, she grabbed a box of crackers and started stuffing them in her mouth. He frowned. Something was up. He thought back to Jolin yelling at him for not asking her about what was bothering her. He gave it a try. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

  Cheeks full of crackers, she glared at him, then swallowed. “All I do is talk about shit¸ and it is making it worse.” She swallowed again. “So no, Quill. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” At least he tried. “I got hired at a music store across the street from The Bakery. I’m going to give guitar lessons.”

  “You don’t play the guitar.” She spit a few crackers out when she talked. “And you didn’t make coffee before Brenda hired you.”

  “I don’t think making coffee is the same as learning to play the guitar.” Ren got up and went to the kitchen, grabbing another box of crackers.

  “It is if you’re the poor sap that bought one of your first attempts at coffee.”

  “They don’t know it sucks until they walk out the door and take a sip. You’ll be sitting in a room with someone who expects you not to suck when you play.”

  “I know how to play… sort of. I have a book that will show me what I don’t know.” Quill held up the book Don had given him.

  “You’re going to read a book to learn how to play the guitar, and someone is going to pay you to then teach them what they themselves could have learned from a book? What’s the catch?”

  “There isn’t one. Give me a break. I got a fucking job. I thought you’d be happy.”

  Ren shoved some more crackers in her mouth. “Why’d a guy hire you instead of someone that can already play?”

  “Seriously, Ren, I am not going to talk to you when you’re spewing crackers all over the counter. What are you on?” Quill grabbed a towel and swiped at the mess she was making. “He thought if I sat and played the guitar in the window, the girls would come and watch and buy lessons.”

  Ren frowned. “So you are a gigolo.” “No.”

  “He’s sitting you out there to draw in customers. He’s using your looks to draw in women. Which is why he could care less you if you can play the guitar.”

  “I can play.”

  “It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t want you for that.” “What are you implying?” Quill asked.

  “I’m not implying anything.” Ren shifted on her seat. “I’m saying he hired you as a piece of ass.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. He gave me a job because he thought I had talent.

  Dammit Ren, stop being such a bitch al
l the time and get laid already. Mrs. Daniel’s expecting us soon so you better get whatever cracker eating substance you took under control or the shit’s going to hit the fan.” Quill headed to the bathroom to attempt to wash away his afternoon sex.

  Ren followed him and stood at his door. “His mom’s going to be happy you got a job.” She followed him down the hall.

  “At least someone will be.” Quill pulled his shirt off over his head.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Ren leaned against the doorframe. “Nothing’s going to happen.” He grabbed a towel and turned on the shower. “I’m teaching guitar not disarming bombs.” “I know.” She yawned.

  “Don’t tell her about last night.”

  “Not my deal. I won’t hang you out to dry. But I bet she’ll know.” “Jolin?”

  “No, he wouldn’t tell. She just has a way of knowing things. Jolin never gets away with anything.” She brushed past him. “Got to change.”

  “Shit.” Quill covered his face with his hands. “Maybe if I shave and take a shower… do you have Visine?”

  “Won’t matter. She’ll know. She has super powers.” Ren laughed.

  Ren and Quill went to Jolin’s house for dinner every Thursday for spaghetti and a large amount of left overs. Mrs. Daniel loved to cook and with it only being her, since Jolin opted to live in the dorms, she had an overabundance of food in the house and cooked for an army. She was constantly dropping food off for Ren at The Perk. At first Ren thought she was making excuses for checking up on them, but after a few weeks of cookies, cupcakes, and lasagna the real issue became clear. She was lonely and used food offerings to have a chance to visit.

  Quill hoped they didn’t hang out too long. He wanted to stop by The Warehouse and see if Cori was playing tonight. He’d promised himself he could go and listen without drinking or fucking anyone.

  “I’m taking my own car,” Quill said when Ren emerged in a new outfit. “Why?”

  “I might hit the club after dinner.”

  Ren started shaking her head. “You’re still hung over from last night. You have a job now.”