Tranquility

by Ava O'Shay

  Quill sighed. “I asked you to coffee.”

  Cori gave him one of the stares he thought only Mrs. Daniel knew how to do. The ‘I don’t believe you’ but nice try.

  “Really. It’s something about the music. I want to feel that way about you. I’ve tried to convince myself I want sex from you. But I don’t. It’s the music. I feel a connection but not with my dick.” He hoped he’d made sense. He really liked Cori, and he didn’t like that she could see his short falls when it came to women.

  Cori stared at him for a bit too long, and he squirmed under her assessment. “You like Assad,” she finally said.

  “What?” A too loud laugh burst out.

  “It’s okay. I do, too. He’s an incredible guy. He likes you. Don’t break his heart.” Shit, Quill thought to himself. He’d already fucked that one up. “I’ll try my best.” “So friends?” Cori held out her hand to shake.

  Quill took her hand in his and squeezed. “I’d like that.”

  If music could be the bridge to their friendship, then that was the path he’d take.

  -oOo-

  They’d lost track of time buried in their music. Cori’s suggestions immediately took his song from very good to great, and Quill jotted down some notes so he’d remember the changes when he performed at the end of the semester. Cori shared some of the music she’d been working on, and he magically transposed it for her when she asked. She was amazed by what he did. Quill wished he knew the trick, but it just came out naturally.

  “Assad said you got into Julliard but deferred,” Quill finally said.

  Cori’s hands stilled. It was something he found intriguing about her. The fact her hands rarely sat unmoving.

  “Yes. I did.”

  And that was all she said.

  Quill picked up a banjo sitting against the piano and started plucking at the strings. “Why?”

  “Why what?” She tapped her fingers lightly on the keys, not hard enough to pull a note out, but enough to make a tink, tink.

  “Why’d you defer?”

  She shrugged and picked up her pencil to scribble something in the notebook.

  “I’d think it’d suck being around all the hacks here at the university when you could be with the big boys in Julliard.”

  “They aren’t hacks. There is a very good music program here.”

  She wasn’t going to answer his question, so he moved on. “Why does someone as talented as you sing cover songs at a seedy bar?”

  “Why does someone with a talent like yours bang drunk chicks in hallways at seedy bars?” she shot back.

  Quill laughed dryly. “So we’re going there are we?” She gave him a smirk.

  “Are you referring to my musical talent or my talent at fucking?” Her face showed a little surprise at his crass use of the word fucking, and Quill gave himself a mental head slap for being vulgar. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sworn.”

  “I was referring to your musical talent,” she said. “And I’m not offended by your swearing, but it does show a lack of imagination when it comes to expressing yourself, which I know you can’t possibly have since you are musically inclined.

  Quill stilled his banjo playing. “I guess I didn’t realize I was talented. Just used it to calm the nerves when I was stressed out.”

  “Are we talking about fucking or music?” She smirked. “Touché.”

  She cocked her head at him. “You have amazing musical talent. You don’t have to be so vulgar.”

  Quill ducked his head and plucked lightly at strings. What could he say? Sorry I’m a fuck up?

  Finally, Cori continued, “I like old eighties music. It’s simple and uncomplicated. It’s a way to get out of my head and all the composing. It’s fun.”

  “You have a great voice. You should sing there more.” Quill continued to work out a tune on the banjo.

  “I’m helping my dad out a lot so… “ She shrugged, and Quill thought she’d brushed off the conversation until she spoke again. “Assad said you’re going to sing with us?”

  Quill coughed back a ‘fuck no’ that wanted to escape. He wasn’t ready to see Assad yet. “He said you were going to play your song next week. You know, we should push it back a week or two and set up a few more songs. You’ll love it on stage.”

  “Would you help?” He doubted Assad was going to be offering up any help after the way they left things. Quill had to wonder if the invite was even out there anymore. He’d run for the hills if a girl puked after he touched her. Quill couldn’t blame Assad for doing the same.

  “We can work on them after the store closes a few nights this week and be ready to roll by the end of the month. I’ll let Assad know.”

  Quill didn’t want to get into it with Cori so he remained non-committal. There was a canyon between him and Assad right now, and he wasn’t sure if it could or should be mended.

  “Maybe we could just put a few songs together and play it by ear. I’m not sure I’m ready for the big time.” Quill was a mess, and Cori pulling him in to her friendship circle beside Assad added a new layer. It was easier keeping his crazy hidden when he didn’t have friends.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll call him and see if he can make it later.” She pulled out her phone and before he could stop her, called Assad.

  Who calls anymore? Why didn’t she text him? Quill began a mantra in his head as his upper lip started to sweat. Please don’t’ pick up, please don’t pick up.

  “Assad,” Cori said cheerfully. “Hey, I’m working with Quill on some tracks and thought maybe we could work him in for a few more songs and try to put something together for the end of the month. Are you around to help?”

  She looked down at the keyboard while she talked, playing silent notes. Her forehead frowned. “Yeah,” she said not looking at Quill. Her gaze flicked up at him, then back down. “We’re at the store.” Her voice got quiet. “Okay sure.” She pulled the phone away from her face and looked over at him. “He isn’t sure he’ll be available this week. He said he’d have to let us know. I’ll talk to him later, see what’s up, and if maybe next week he’s more open.”

  Quill already knew what was up. He’d done just what he promised. He destroyed everything good that came into his life.

  .seventeen

  Assad McVee

  September 27

  4:00 p.m.

  Cori was sprawled out on Assad’s bed, flipping through some music magazines while he worked on his computer, inputting grades from the Psychological Statistics class he was a graduate assistant for.

  She rolled onto her back and crossed one knee over the other. “Quill just blew me away this morning. I don’t think I even compare to his ear for music. He was walking around the practice room picking up different instruments and just playing them. By the time he left, I heard him play the guitar, cello, banjo, and piano. He can’t read music, but he can hear anything once and play it perfectly by ear. Then he can transpose on the fly. I can’t wait until we get in there and figure out some stuff for the club. It’s going to blow the lid off The Warehouse.”

  “So you two are best buds now?” Assad leaned in to check the accuracy of his rows. “Well we kind of talked about how friends was a good place for us to be.” She rolled back over on her stomach. “Does that bother you since you and him are—friendly.”

  “We’re not, and I’m not going to be sitting in on your musical friendship. I got a ton of work to do before finals.”

  Cori didn’t say anything for a minute and Assad hoped she would drop it but knowing her, she wouldn’t.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened to your face?”

  Assad sat back in his desk chair and linked his fingers behind his head. “No.” “Are you going to tell me what happened between the two of you?” She tried. “No.”

  Cori frowned and got a pouty look on her face. “We tell each other everything.”

  “Not this time.” He rocked the chair back. “It’s complicated.” “Does he know you’re a
grad student?”

  She seemed to be skirting around the issue she really wanted an answer to, but he thought he would humor her. “No.”

  “So he doesn’t know you’re mister analyze and interpret personalities.” “No,” he said again.

  She growled in frustration and pushed off the bed. “Don’t you think it is important he know you are a grad assistant for the University in the psych department. That for all practical purposes, you’re an instructor?”

  He put his arms down and swung the chair back around to face the desk. “First off, he isn’t in my department so it’s a mute-point. Second, he wanted the same thing from me as he wanted from you. A quick fuck. He didn’t want my story and wasn’t willing to share his. We didn’t sit around and braid each other’s hair and eat cookies. It was a fuck.”

  “He seemed really nice.” She walked up behind Assad and started kneading his shoulders.

  “Yes he was. For a while.”

  “Before he hit you? Were you an asshole?” Her fingers ran up the back of his head, her nails tickling through his hair.

  Assad closed his eyes and wished Cori’s soft touches were Quill’s. Unfortunately, he doubted soft touches were in Quill’s repertoire. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  Cori pushed his chair around and climbed up on his lap. Assad grabbed her hips and positioned her more comfortably against his chest.

  “So was it bad sex?”

  He laughed, Cori’s head bounced against his chest. “We didn’t do the deed.” “Was that the problem? You couldn’t seal the deal?”

  “God, Cori, stop.” Assad grabbed her to push her off.

  Cori held on and laughed. “I was joking. Geesh take a pill.”

  “I’m not in much of a joking mood.” He settled her back on his legs. “You’re a psych major. You’re almost a doctor,” she started. “Analyze it.”

  “I have two and a half more years at the least.” He rocked them slowly back and forth. “And I don’t want to analyze it.”

  “You don’t need years of schooling to see Quill is one messed up dude.” She stretched her legs out and got up, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Even my dad sees it, and he’s oblivious most of the time.”

  “Thanks for the news flash but my jaw is making it pretty clear his issues run deep.” Assad rubbed a thumb over his bruised face.

  “So it was him.”

  Assad conceded. She’d get it out of him eventually anyway. “We were messing around, and I pushed too far.” He paused and looked at her. “I know. It’s my MO.” He laced his fingers together and rested his hands across his chest. “I pushed, and he threw up.”

  Cori’s eyebrows furrowed. “He threw up?” Assad nodded. “Puked.”

  “Maybe he was sick.”

  “I made him cum in my hand and as soon as he shot his shit, he puked all over. He wasn’t sick,” Assad verbalized a moment he was trying very hard to forget. “My touch made him puke.”

  “I don’t think it was you.”

  “No, I’m sure any guy jacking him off would have had the same response. I was just the lucky one.”

  “He was probably overwhelmed. I mean, I remember the first time I had really good sex, I was emotional.”

  “It wasn’t like that. It was more like I made him physically ill. I don’t want to get into this with you.”

  “Maybe I can help you sort it out?”

  Assad scrubbed his face with his hands. “I really liked this guy. I know I tend to find guys on campus and keep things light. Nothing serious. Mutual attraction and all that. But with him. It was like lightning struck when we kissed.” He leaned back and groaned, running his hands through his hair. “God dammit Cor. I pushed him. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t even kissed a guy and here I am stroking his stuff and getting him off. It was too much.”

  “Have you apologized?” Cori touched his shoulder. “Has he?”

  “I did. Over and over, but he kicked me out without a word. He drove me home and dumped me on the doorstep like a one night stand. Couldn’t get me out of his house fast enough. I was so pissed that he hit me, and then I was pissed because I was blaming myself for causing him to hit me—I feel like shit about the entire thing, and I’m embarrassed. So as you can see, jamming with him isn’t really on my to-do list.”

  “He doesn’t come across like a violent guy,” Cori said.

  “No. But I’m not going to get involved with a guy that hits me no matter what shit he has going on. And I don’t like feeling like I deserved it. It isn’t healthy.”

  “Now there’s the psych I know and love. I’d give him a break. I think he needs people in his life, and I don’t think he has many.”

  “If he keeps punching them, they aren’t going to stick around.” Assad rubbed his jaw again. “I can’t be showing up for class with a shiner. It looks bad in front of my professor. I have to at least give the illusion I’m a responsible adult.”

  “My dad really has a heart for him,” Cori said. “All I hear is Quill did this, Quill said that. Isn’t Quill amazing? He’s really brightened my dad’s life.”

  “Tell your dad not to touch his dick.”

  “I doubt that was on his agenda.” Cori flopped back on the bed. “I have a date this weekend.”

  Assad spun around in his chair. “Excuse me?” Cori giggled. “I have a date.”

  “With?” Assad loved to see the happiness, the giddiness of his best friend that had been dead for the past months.

  She shrugged as if she announced a date every day.

  “You haven’t been out for months.” Assad decided to remind her. “Who finally got the golden ticket?”

  “He’s a friend of the family. He’s flying in from New York.”

  “Just to see you. That sounds kind of serious. Why haven’t I heard about this stud?” Assad frowned. It was one thing for him to keep Cori in the dark about his escapades, but it ticked him off that this was the first time he’d heard of this mysterious New Yorker.

  “I stayed with his family when I auditioned last year. We hung out.” She continued to evade his questions.

  “Does he have a name?” “Simon.”

  Assad sat back and let the name sink in. “Simon? Why does that sound… holy shit the record guy? So when you say you stayed with his family, you mean like his wife and kids?”

  “No,” she said snottily. “And he isn’t that old.”

  “He has a real job and has had a real job for a while. You’re a junior in college. You’re twenty-one.” Assad heard the crazy overprotective big brother voice and wondered when he became so old.

  “What’s the difference in age between you and Quill? He’s a freshman, and you’re a grad student. Twenty-three and what? Maybe at the most nineteen?” She shot back.

  “That’s four years, Cori. Simon’s six? Maybe seven years older than you. And if you missed the last ten minutes of conversation—we aren’t dating.” Simon worked for a record producer. He’d lived in Portland for a few years when they were in elementary school. He of course was in high school. Cori and Assad had followed Simon around like he was a God. All punk rocker musician and shit.

  Cori sighed and reached out to take his hands in hers. “I get you’re being protective, and I appreciate it. Simon and I have been messaging, and I really like him. He’s twenty-six. That’s five years older than me, but I’m not in the same head space as the guys my age. I not only lost my mom, but I watched her die for almost a year. I can’t go off partying and living it up when I see how fragile life can be. When I saw the all-encompassing love my parents had for each other. How do you settle after being a part of a great love? I like him. And I didn’t really think I would find that again.”

  Assad nodded. He understood how you couldn’t choose who your heart fell for. At least Cori had someone that felt strong enough about her to fly to see her and probably wouldn’t throw up when they touched. “Just be careful.”

  “You too. Now finish up your work so we
can practice. I don’t want to suck when Simon comes, so you need to get over whatever you have going on and be ready to play.”

  Yeah he didn’t think that was going to happen. “I’ll rehearse with you, but I don’t want to be in the practice room with Quill. Figure out what you’re doing, give me the music, and I’ll stand on the opposite side of the stage, but that’s it.”

  “You’re so mature,” she teased. “Shut up.”

  Cori fell back on the bed and groaned. “Damn you got it bad.”

  .eighteen

  Quill Diaz

  September 27

  4:00 p.m.

  Missy was sitting in a corner booth with two coffees in front of her.

  Quill had to admit, he was surprised she’d waited. After he was done with his lessons he’d spent at least an hour debating whether to come or not. The thing with Assad was bad and every cell in his body told him he needed a woman to prove he hadn’t enjoyed what had gone down. That he didn’t have feelings for a guy.

  But he did.

  He wanted the soft touches and emotional connection Assad had given him. He just wanted it with a girl.

  “Surprised you’re still here.” Quill sauntered up to the table. “Coffee’s probably cold.” Her voice was flat.

  “Can I sit?” He gestured toward a chair.

  “If you want.” She was playing the pissed off girl card, but Quill would show her it didn’t work with him. He’d have to care what she thought about him, and he didn’t.

  “What I want is something stronger than a cup of cold coffee.”

  She looked suspicious but went along with it. “What do you have in mind? It’s a Monday.”

  He shrugged. “Guess it depends on what you’re willing to do?” She leaned back and laughed. “I don’t like playing games.”

  Quill had to appreciate her straight forward personality. He laughed, too. “I appreciate that. Neither do I.”