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You know those moments when something crashes to the ground in the middle of a crowd, and there’s silence for a few heart stopping moments as the people process that sound?Yeah.
Of course, it had to come from my own boss and best friend. “You were on the debate team?” He laughed.
My eyes narrowed on my friend. “What’s so wrong with that?” I blasted as I crossed my arms over my chest.
He held his hands up in surrender before backing up a few steps. “Nothing man. It just makes so much more sense now.”
I wasn’t sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult, but I chose to take it as a compliment and let it go.
“Do you play violin anymore?” A skinny boy asked hesitantly from the middle of the room.
My eyes moved to find a tall and skinny boy with large hands that he’d soon grow into. I resembled him sixteen years ago; down to the preppy clothes that didn’t help my popularity in the least.
“I can and do, yes, but that was never really my instrument. The fiddle is; I just settled for the violin since they didn’t have those in band.”
The boy looked confused, and I knew the exact question that was about to come out of his mouth.
“But aren’t the fiddle and the violin the same thing?”
Sebastian laughed beside me, drawing my eyes for a split second before they returned to the young boy.
“You can’t spill beer on a violin.”
I had to explain that a lot.
There was really no difference, instrument wise, between the two. The only real difference was the type of music one played on the fiddle. It wasn’t the classical shit that I was forced to play during band. My fiddle plays the song of my heart.
“Mr. Spada, we do not discuss beer at school.” Mrs. Threadgill reprimanded.
Oops.
Just as I was about to apologize to the old woman, the tones on our radios dropped.
“Engine one respond to a house fire at 122 South Fuller.”
I took one more look at Adeline and responded, pressing my finger against the radio clipped to my shirt. “Unit one responding.”
With a tiny tug on her ponytail, I walked out the door.
“Be careful!” She yelled at my back.
“Always.” I responded.
• • •
I took the stairs to Adeline’s apartment, two steps at a time, before coming to a halt just before her new mat.
“’Home is where the Harley is. Bikers welcome.’” I read aloud.
Without stepping on the new mat, I stretched my arm out and knocked on her door.
“Come in!” Adeline yelled from the door beyond.
Twisting the knob, I found Adeline with her blue jean short covered ass shaking in the air with her shoulders and head to the ground. She was looking underneath the couch muttering something about a ‘big bastard.’
My dick, which had been under control for nearly ten whole minutes after my hand action in the shower, roared to life; I had to shift and settle my dick down the right leg of my jeans to make it more manageable.
“You talking about me?” I asked stopping just behind her.
