Very Bad Things

I pushed Leo out of my head and checked out Sebastian, standing there in his skinny jeans and retro Beatles shirt. With expensive Italian loafers. This guy was so LA.

He wagged his finger at me. “I knew you’d like me. I’m hard to resist,” he grinned.

I shook my head at his arrogance.

“So, do you have a lot of words in your head?”

“How many do you think is a lot?” I said.

“My mom had like a hundred of those porcelain things, sitting around everywhere.”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say I repeat different words in my head about five times a day. So that’s about thirty-five new words a week.”

“Damn,” he whispered out.

“Yeah, it’s what Mother calls a serious problem.”

My phone rang, and I saw it was the black bunny.

“Hey, can you give me a few minutes?” I said, nodding at the phone. “It’s my best friend, and I need to talk to her about what happened to me last night. She tends to worry.”

“Sure, come on down when you’re done,” he said, walking away.

And so, after I’d assured Mila I hadn’t been arrested or kidnapped by two lunatics, I made my way downstairs, ready to face Leo and his brand of justice.

I heard music, and I followed it to a big room at the end of the hall. The first sound I heard when I walked in the room was the rhythm of a slow piano melody and then a smooth drum beat that echoed behind the piano’s tempo. It sounded less stylized but a lot like one of my favorite indie bands, and I was proven correct when Sebastian started singing the opening bars to “Transatlanticism,” a song about two lovers who’d lost each other. The intense, driven sound captured me, and I lost myself in the music, letting my head bob to the beat. It’s true I spent the last several years studying classical piano, but this was the kind of music I loved and Mother hated.

While Sebastian crooned in a sexy voice, Leo was the one who drew my eyes as he played guitar. He might not be the front man for the band, but it was obvious he had talent the way his fingers flew across his guitar, grinding out the gritty sound. And he was delicious. My eyes ate him up, taking in the low slung jeans and tank. He’d hardly even looked at me during breakfast, so when his blue eyes met mine and held, my body got heavy and warm. The same excitement I’d felt for him last night came barreling back. Sure, he was older and possibly dangerous to my heart, but I didn’t care anymore about doing the right things.

On drums was a teen Latino girl with dreads, her head bouncing up and down as she sang backup. The piano player was a young guy, maybe in his early twenties, whose body rocked back and forth in a weird motion as he played. I paused, noticing he had a 35mm camera around his neck. What kind of musician carries around a camera while he plays?

I sat down in a chair to listen, enjoying the piano once again becoming the predominate instrument at the end. As the piano guy stroked the keys, the music took me away to a place where I fooled myself into believing I was happy. After the song was over, I let out a satisfied sigh. I loved their sound.

Leo sat his guitar down and walked over to me. “Come on and meet the band,” he said, surprising me by taking my arm and leading me to the young drummer. “This is Mary Beth, but she only answers to Vixen. She may be young, but she’s one of the best drummers in the Dallas area.”

Vixen blushed prettily.

“You were great,” I told her. And stunning, I thought to myself, now that I was closer and could see her perfectly smooth caramel skin and oval face that was shiny with sweat from working the drums. She looked to be sixteen or seventeen.

“Where did you learn to play?” I asked.

“Parents taught me,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. “What do you play?”

“Piano since the age of ten, and I sing in the shower, too,” I joked, feeling shy and unsure. These guys were talented, and I wasn’t anything special at all.

“Oh? Well, Teddy here’s a great piano player. I guess that’s why Leo said we needed you,” she said, smirking at me. I wrinkled my brow. What did she mean?

“And this is Teddy,” Leo said, interrupting my confusion at Vixen’s statement and guiding me to stand next to the baby grand where the young man sat. He had curly brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed, and his plaid shirt was buttoned up wrong. My fingers itched to fix him.

“He doesn’t read music, but plays by ear. But what’s cool is once he hears a song, he can play it back,” Leo said looking at Teddy. I detected pride in his voice.

“You’re a fortunate person,” I said to Teddy. “And great song choice. Death Cab for Cutie is a favorite band of mine.”

Teddy rocked back and forth on his seat, his head tilted awkwardly.

I glanced back at Leo, uncertain how to take Teddy’s unusual demeanor. Maybe he was super bashful?

“Say thank you to Nora,” Leo told Teddy matter-of-factly, like he’d said those words before. “She’s the one who’s going to teach you new songs.”

I managed to sputter out, “P-Pfftttt, yeah.” What did he mean?

“Thank you, Nora,” Teddy piped up loudly in a sing-song voice, his eyes darting around the room but never connecting with mine. “Playing piano is fun. Bob Seger’s song ‘Old Time Rock and Roll’ is the best. It’s in the movie Risky Business with Tom Cruise where he slides on the floor in his underwear. What’s your favorite song, Nora?”