Only For You Page 8

  Like any good warrior, I had a plan. I timed my arrival to Business Ethics seconds before class began. Avoidance was a valid defense tactic, I had learned; after class, employing the same avoidance tactic, I cornered the professor for clarification on a reading assignment, allowing enough time for the room to empty before my exit. I was cautiously optimistic that Hunter would not bother to wait around. Optimism can bite me.

  When I exited the classroom, he was leaning against the wall facing me. He embodied James Dean down to the fitted denim, white tee, and leather jacket—the only thing missing was the token cigarette. He inspected me from head to toe and smirked, as if knowing my intent.

  I walked past him as if he wasn’t there, but he fell in step with me and I felt him prepare to engage.

  “Are you ready to forgive me yet?”

  I kept walking.

  “Haven’t we reached the statute of limitations for your enmity yet?” he tried to coax a laugh.

  One foot in front of the other, I paid no attention to his ramblings.

  “I believe it’s your turn to forgive me.”

  I continued to employ my selective hearing.

  “Have you considered how this hostility will affect the children? Think of little Sam and Robbie.”

  Okay, that one was somewhat funny, but I gave nothing away.

  “Do you know if you asked my mother to choose one word to describe me what she would say?”

  Douchebag? No, his mom probably doesn’t curse.

  “Persevering, tenacious, persistent, unrelenting, and indomitable. That was more than one word, but mom is verbose.”

  Did this guy have a pocket thesaurus?

  “I won’t accept your refusal to forgive me. You would save yourself countless headaches and time if you caved now. I’m prepared to switch to guerilla warfare.”

  Was he threatening me now? I was not sure I wanted to know what his version of guerilla warfare entailed. He was intelligent and perceptive. Would he ransom my precious? Steal the spark plugs from Papa Smurf? Hide the coffee machine? No, even he would not sink that low. Besides, all of these acts would require breaking the law. He wouldn’t break the law, would he?

  “Last chance,” he warned ominously.

  I am woman enough to admit I was intimidated. Hunter wouldn’t physically harm me, but numerous items I depend upon to get through the day could be at risk. Stop! I must be strong. Cloaked in armor, I was prepared for combat. Bring it on Mr. Charles!

  And then he did it. I never saw it coming, could have never anticipated his attack. I was unprepared for its horror, the effects of which would stay with me for a long time to come. Hunter did the unthinkable…he began to sing…

  “This is the song that never ends

  It just goes on and on my friends

  Some people started singing it not knowing what it was

  And they'll continue singing it forever just because

  This is the song that never ends…”

  I tuned him out but his poisonous seed had taken root. As I strode away, I could hear him continuing the refrain over and over. It carried on the wind as if haunting me. My only consolation was that he, too, would now have the infernal song stuck in his head. When I reached my car, I turned the radio and sang along, certain it would remedy my condition.

  After the longest work shift of my life, the incessant song was still playing in my head on repeat. I had to admit his method, though shockingly juvenile, was staggeringly effective.

  By the time I arrived home, my mood was dark and violent. If Hunter had been near, I would have inflicted bodily harm so severe that if he ever attempted to sing the unceasing song again he would have to do so several octaves higher.

  Sam read my black mood while perched on the loveseat. She held out her arms in the universal gesture for a hug. I shook my head vigorously, not wanting comfort.

  “What happened? Was it Hunter again?”

  I nodded, not able to speak without shrieking in outrage.

  “What did he do?” I shook my head again ominously. “Tell me. You can’t keep it bottled up inside.”

  “Sam, you don’t want me to share this with you. Trust me.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “You’ll regret it, and then be mad at me for subjecting you to my suffering. You may kill Hunter and I have no desire to visit you in Riker’s Penitentiary.”

  “Now you’re just being melodramatic.”

  Melodramatic? She was picking the wrong time to be stubborn. “Fine! Just remember you asked for it! Hunter stalked me after class. He tried to persuade me to forgive him. I persisted with my silent crusade—”

  Sam interrupted, “Maybe you should forgive the poor guy. He seems genuinely sorry and you do like him. We all make mistakes. He could have had a reason you haven’t thought of.”

  “Sam, this is your last warning. Drop it.”

  “Just tell me already,” she shouted in her impatience.

  She asked for it, so I unleashed the insidious song.

  Sam stopped me, “Enough, enough! I’ll admit, it was devious, but is it really that bad? Might your hurt feelings from yesterday’s slight be causing you to overreact?”

  “I’ve been living with this curse for eleven hours. Talk to me in the morning and we’ll see if you still think I’m overreacting.” I sighed, defeated. “I’m going to bed, I’ll see you in the morning. Thank you for caring enough to want to share my pain.”

  “Goodnight, drama queen,” Sam called to me.

  I would not leave that cheap shot unanswered. “By the way Sam, in my head the voice singing, is Lamb Chop.”

  I left her with that thought, planting my own vicious seed. Now Sam would hear the irritatingly affected nasal voice of the lamb puppet singing the interminable song. When it came to retaliation, Hunter had taught me well.

  When I finally awoke Friday morning, it was afternoon. It had taken hours to fall asleep the night before due to the damn song cycling through my head. I ran into the kitchen to grab my coffee, but was horrified to find the machine was off. No coffee? Shit! As I walked out of the kitchen, Sam eyed me accusingly from the table.

  “I unplugged it as punishment for inflicting that song on me. I didn’t fall asleep until after 3:00,” she admitted resentfully.

  “Hey, I warned you repeatedly. If you want to be mad and exact revenge, look for Hunter.”

  “Make no mistake, he will get his. This is awful. How do you make it stop?”

  “I still haven’t found a cure. If you find one let me know.” I paused to study her, “Are we good?”

  “Yep, I already got my payback with the coffee pot. You being deprived of a cup before work has evened the score. Have a good day!”

  By Saturday morning, my nerves were frazzled. I had endured two nights with minimal sleep due to Hunter’s devil song. Every time I would get a reprieve, something would remind me of Hunter and the torment would begin again. Sam, luckily, had been able to shake the earworm with Robbie’s help. I was desperate enough to consider a one-night stand to find relief.

  Over coffee, Sam reminded me of our plans to go dancing with Robbie at The Stop.

  “Sam, don’t make me go. I’m grumpy. Hunter was supposed to come when we made the plans. Now I’ll be a third-wheel,” I whined. I didn’t want to enjoy myself—I wanted to sulk.

  “You make a commitment and you’re going to keep it. It will help you out of the doldrums. I could have Robbie bring a friend for you.”

  “No thank you. I don’t want to spend the night with one of Robbie’s frat brothers.”

  “Of course not. Robbie does have other friends, you know.”

  “I don’t need you to set-up a playdate. I’ll text Lincoln to see if he is going tonight.”

  “That is a good idea. You two always have fun when you dance together. He is a harmless diversion, precisely what you need.”

  I wasn’t sure if Linc would respond after my reaction when I last saw him. My phone alerted me to th
e incoming text, and I smiled my relief when I read his response.

  “Linc said he was planning to go tonight and he’ll see us there.”

  When I arrived home, Sam greeted me at the door—head full of rollers—and pushed me toward the bathroom.

  “Shower quick, we only have one hour to whip ourselves into Goddesses of Athenian proportions.”

  “I’m glad to hear we aren’t aiming too high,” I deadpanned.

  Sam executed a masterful upside down French braid that ended in a messy knot at the top of my head. The style was alluring and exposed my neck advantageously. In the back of my closet, I found the perfect sleeveless, mock neck dress with a keyhole back. It was made from black lace, and hugged my every curve. I accessorized with delicate gold chandelier earrings, and an assortment of gold and black lacquer bangles in various widths and patterns. I heard Robbie and Sam in the living room and hurried out.

  “Hi Robbie,” I greeted distractedly.

  He was dressed in dark wash jeans and a light blue shirt. He was handsome and more relaxed than I had ever seen him. His eyes were glued to Sam, drinking her in. Sam rushed us out to Robbie’s Range Rover, and after showing our IDs at The Stop, we headed for the bar. I scanned the crowd and spotted Linc waving as he approached. I introduced Robbie to Lincoln as we finished our drinks. Liquor ingested, we headed to the dance floor.

  The music was fantastic, beats and rhythms perfect to lose myself and move. The four of us danced together for an hour before I was dying of thirst and excused myself to get a drink. Linc left to talk with friends, but promised to find me later. Returning to the bar, I positioned myself for maximum visibility. Griffin finished with his customer and came directly to me.

  “What can I get you, pretty lady?”

  “I’ll have a belladonna and a water, please.”

  “Is that Sam’s boyfriend?” he asked while mixing my drink.

  “It’s still new, but I would say yes.” I smirked inwardly, realizing Griffin’s crush. Too late buddy—you snooze, you lose. Griffin nodded, understanding he had missed his opportunity.

  “By the way, I wanted to tell you how incredible you were the other night.” Griffin looked at me with confusion, clueless to what I was referring. “When you performed. You were amazing and the set list was killer. Sam and I both created a playlist of the songs you sang.”

  “Thanks, it was no big deal; we were in a bind so I had to help out. It was better than my stand up, but not much,” he shared self-deprecatingly.

  “You don’t perform often? You played like a pro and your voice is astounding.”

  “I perform occasionally but never here, that was a first. I have to go, they’re three deep. Sorry.” He left me with an apologetic smile and without payment.

  I finished my drink and guzzled water in an unladylike fashion. Thirst quenched, I rejoined Sam and Robbie on the dance floor. Robbie’s moves were typical—not bad, but not impressive. Sam seemed to enjoy his style as she ground her butt into his groin—someone was getting lucky tonight. I added a little space between Sam and I, to provide the illusion of privacy as their dancing grew more heated.

  I felt a body behind me and figured Linc had returned. When an arm wrapped around my waist and I saw the ring, I knew it was not Linc. I spun to face the owner of the encroaching arm, and the moment I met his phosphorescent eyes it started—Lamb Chop was singing over the music in the bar.

  I groaned pitifully.

  “Something wrong?” Hunter inquired, leaning in close to my ear.

  “You’re a freakin’ trigger. What are you doing here?” I asked with antagonism.

  “You invited me,” he offered amicably.

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you planted the Trojan horse in my head. I haven’t slept in days.”

  “Poor baby. I did caution you that withholding your forgiveness would be unpleasant.”

  “There is unpleasant and then there is fire ants crawling through your brain, your little stunt was the latter. I feel like I have an incurable disease.”

  “If you promise to forgive me, I’ll make it stop,” he whispered, his lips grazing my ear. I shivered, an irrepressible response to his proximity and touch.

  “You promise?” I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.

  “Yes, I promise. I have never lied to you Everleigh. Never.”

  “You have a deal. Cure me and you are forgiven.”

  “Not just forgiven—I want to be friends again.” He upped the ante. Hustler.

  “I’m promising forgiveness. I will give you the opportunity to regain my friendship but it’s up to you to earn it,” I counter offered.

  “Good enough. Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away from the masses,” he explained vaguely.

  Following him, I finally had an opportunity to assess his assets. Sweet baby Jesus! The man’s derriere could bring a woman to tears. He was wearing fitted black dress pants that lovingly caressed every curve. Hard muscular globes met my unwavering gaze. We must have reached our destination because he stopped walking. I, however, didn’t notice while struggling to contain my desire to fondle Hunter’s posterior. Instead of halting gracefully, I crashed into him, and Hunter pivoted to catch me before I teetered over.

  “You, miss, are a menace. First, you try to castrate me in class, now you try to take me down and thrash me. Violence is not the answer, Everleigh,” he teased while ensuring I had regained my balance.

  “Hey, I was behaving myself as you commanded. I dedicated myself fully to the lesson.”

  “What about just now? You weren’t trying to knock me over?”

  I decided that providing an honest answer about the cause of the collision wasn’t in my best interest. I needed to take evasive action.

  “Okay Doc, where is this cure you promised me? No more stalling.”

  “Scientists have conducted studies on how to get rid of a song that’s stuck in your head. Do you know what they found the best cure to be?”

  “If I did I would not still be suffering.”

  “Anagrams,” he provided simply.

  “The word games? My mom used to do those with me when I was younger. You just have to rearrange the letters to find the words, right?”

  “Exactly! Scientists found anagrams could force the intrusive music out of your working memory allowing the song to be replaced with other more amenable thoughts. If you’re cognitively engaged it limits involuntary memory retrieval.”

  “Thanks for the neurology lesson but that doesn’t help me at the moment, unless you have a book of anagrams in your back pocket.” I was frustrated to have a solution finally without the means to implement it.

  “In fact, I do. I brought a few anagrams with me tonight to fix what I broke.”

  “Hand’em over,” I said desperately.

  Hunter pulled a paper and pen from his pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded the document where a few anagrams were printed. He turned to offer me his back as I studied the lines:

  rm ehscalr si roysr .

  ot egovfir si nivedi .

  turnhe sisems ish nrdeif .

  anc eh vaeh ortahen hnceca ?

  I work on each one individually, word by word, writing my answer in pen beneath the original line:

  rm ehscalr si roysr .

  Mr Charles is sorry.

  Okay, I have to give him credit for creativity. As far as apologies go, this was impressive. Effort and advanced planning were required. I proceeded to the remaining lines.

  ot egovfir si nivedi .

  To forgive is divine.

  turnhe sisems ish nrdeif .

  Hunter misses his friend.

  anc eh vaeh ortahen hnceca ?

  Can he have another chance?

  If I had not promised to do so, I would have forgiven him anyway. After solving the last line, I wrote my answer on the bottom of the page:

  sye !

  I
handed the paper back to Hunter with the pen. He read it and laughed while pulling me in for a hug. I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck in return. He placed his mouth against my ear again, and goosebumps rose on my arms.

  “Thank you, I’m truly sorry. I wanted to remain professional during class, and Crystal is a work colleague. I could have handled it better. Please forgive me,” he whispered contritely.

  I slid my right arm from his neck, placing my hand on the back of his head, and pulled his ear closer to my lips.

  “You’re forgiven. I understand your intent and can respect it, but don’t treat me as if I’m disposable again. There is a middle ground between friends and strangers that is not hurtful. Try to stay in that zone,” I softly shared with more openness than I had planned. “Thank you for my anagrams, they were incredibly thoughtful.”

  He squeezed me to him. “I will, and you’re welcome. I’m not fond of silent Everleigh. It was against the laws of nature,” he joked as he released me from our embrace. “Come on, let’s go dance.”

  I followed him back to the dance floor where Sam and Robbie were simulating intercourse. Hunter and I looked at them, at each other, and back to them—then we laughed.

  We danced together, watching one another as we found our groove. I expected Hunter to be a good dancer since he was conscious of movement from lifelong study of martial arts and he was confident. What I didn’t expect was Hunter to be seduction personified on the dance floor. His movements were fluid and controlled, no over-the-top gestures or gyrations. He moved naturally from his core, his legs, arms, and neck working together to embody the music; it was beautiful and sensual. Hunter worked his abs and hips with mesmerizing expertise causing the women around us to watch appreciatively—I was waiting for someone to slip money in his waistband. He continually positioned himself between me and everyone else, guarding my personal space, protecting and allowing me to focus on having a good time.