CADENCE
“And don’t forget your Baroque period project due next Monday. Nothing except death will be accepted as an excuse for not turning it in. And even then, I want a death certificate signed by the state coroner. You’ve had all term, people.”
With a wave of my hand I dismiss my last class to the sound of scraping chairs on the floor and chatter about everything but school work. I sink into my chair, exhausted, kicking my shoes off and rubbing one foot against the other.
The cacophony of five hundred teenagers fleeing the confines of high school slowly dissipates and I let my body hang, completely lifeless in my desk chair, feeling the day seep slowly away from me.
But a part of it just won’t budge.
Say ‘fuck’, I can still hear his voice taunt me. And the curve of his lip, goading me.
But it wasn’t what he said but how he said it.
“Fuck.” I turn the word over in my own mouth, remembering the way it sounded coming out of his. He made it sound like a proposition. One I’d have trouble refusing.
God, he was hot.
From the way his relaxed denim jeans had ridden low on his hips, showing his taut, ripped stomach when he reached up with his arms, to the red-tinted brown stubble on his strong chiseled jawline. From the infuriatingly long lashes that framed his jade green eyes, to the way his long fringe hung over his forehead, covering one eye. Even the small vertical scar that ran just across his top lip was provocative. Everything about him screamed sex. And it wasn’t a scream I’d been receptive to recently.
But damn, he was a jerk. The cocky way he’d grinned when he made the comment about spanking him. I’d wanted to slap the arrogance right off his face.
Until he kissed you, that is, the annoying voice inside my head reminded me.
“He didn’t kiss me,” I argued back, out loud, while my cheek burned at the memory.
“Who didn’t kiss you?” A female voice pipes up and I turn my head to the doorway.
“Ugh, nobody, an asshole at the music store.” I tell my best friend and colleague, Sarah.
“But you wanted him to?” Her face lights up, always ready for a gossip, and always disappointed by my lack of ever having any.
“NO!” I yell, a little louder than I’d intended.
“WHOA!” I hear for the second time today. “So someone you didn’t want to kiss you...didn’t kiss you.” Sarah repeats, trying to make sense of something I don’t have sense of yet.
“Right.” I nod, hoping my apparent lack of information will stop her questions.
“So why are we talking about it?”
“We weren’t.”
“You were, alone here in your classroom.” She points out.
“I was just...processing...”
“Right. So um...what was this person like, who didn’t kiss you, even though you didn’t want him to?”
“He was....infuriating.” I scrunch up my face again, remembering his face as he winked at me before he ran out of the store.
“And?”
“He STOLE from me!”
“He STOLE?” She looks even more confused than before.
“Well, kinda?” Well, he did, kind of.
“What did he steal?”
“My cello rosin!”
“How did he steal it? From your purse?”
“No, he just took it. In the store.” Ugh, why isn’t she getting it?
“So he didn’t pay??”
“No. Well, yes, his friend paid.”
“He paid you?”
“No, he paid George, for the rosin.”
“So, he stole from George?”
“No, I told you his friend paid.” This was going nowhere.
“So it ...wait. What? So he didn’t steal at all!”
“Yes! It was mine!”
“Had you paid for it?”
“No...”
“So...”
“Shut up, it was just mine, OK, and he took it. And then left.” I cross my arms indicating I was done talking about this.
“Without kissing you.” Ugh, again with the kissing. You’d think he’d kissed her.
“Yes. Well...” Technically...
“Wait. He DID kiss you?”
“Well, just on the cheek!”
“Way to bury the lead! Tell me about this cheek kisser!” Sarah jumps up at the word ‘kisser’ entirely too excited about nothing.
“I told you, he’s a thief!” I frown at her. Whose side was she on?!
“You gotta let go of the rosin, babe,” she sighs.
“Never! Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I wave my hand, dismissing any more questions.
“Fine. What are you doing tonight, other than not thinking about rosin-thieving cheek kissers?”
“Nothing. Which is exactly what I want to be doing, so whatever you’re thinking, no.”
“Come on, I have tickets to this amazing group called No Strings Attached, they’re a string quartet playing mashups of classical music and rock covers.”
“Wow. That sounds absolutely...horrendous.” I shudder at what that might sound like.
“Why?”
“Er, hello. I’m a classically trained pianist and music teacher.”
“Don’t be such a snob. Trust me, they’re brilliant. They just won a Grammy, first ever non-lyrical Brand New Artist winner! Anyway, you never go out anywhere with me. You know I have to live vicariously through you now that I’m married.”
I did feel a little bad. I had been so busy with work lately that we’d hardly spent any time away from school together. She’d been there through everything good and bad in my life and I guess I could give her one night out.
“Fine. But I’m bringing a book.” I warn her.
“YAY! Pick you up at 7:00.” And she skips out of the room before I can change my mind.