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“I’ll be back on Monday,” I say, tapping her on the arm, as amicable as I can while keeping a professional distance.
“Okay,” she says with a bitter smile. “See you Monday. Bye, Eric!”
They high-five, and I leave feeling slightly jealous of her. It’s been eons since I got one of those.
“How do you know Ms. Rockwell, dad?” Eric asks, eyes looking up to me.
“She’s a client, Eric,” I reply, calm. “I’ve been taking care of her safety. Did you know she’s a famous singer?”
Eric shakes his head. “She’s not famous yet. But she will be. She’ll play with Sweets Tyler, you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
We get to the car. I open the back door for him while he removes his backpack, and then I focus on the driver’s door, jumping inside as soon as he’s in.
“Buckle in,” I say.
“No need to ask!” Eric says, putting on his seatbelt. Sometimes I wonder if he’s always so eager to strap in because he feels I’m a bad driver.
“How long has Ms. Rockwell been your teacher?” I ask curiously as I pull away from the curb.
“About three months,” Eric says nonchalantly. “She came in to replace Mr. Merrick while he had surgery.”
“Oh, I see. Is she nice?”
“She is cool. Always teaches us good music.” I look at him through the windshield mirror. He’s looking through the open window, hair rustling in the air.
“What’s the coolest song she taught you?” I ask.
“She didn’t teach us… But once she brought her guitar and played that song you like.”
“Which song?” I raise an eyebrow, genuinely interested.
“That one!” He says impatient. Then he belts out a few lyrics while drumming on the dashboard.
“Oh!” I tilt my head back. “So, she teaches classic rock? Not just pop rock?”
That makes me like her even more.
“Yup,” Eric nods. “And then she told us about homeless people and how we need to be respectful of them. Then she talked a bit on the chords she used.”
“Nice,” I nod too.
So, she’s talented, sweet, a demon in bed, and is good with kids.
I’m counting down the days until I see her again on Monday.
Chapter Seven
LILY
“Hey!”Sandraexclaimswhenshe sees me climb up the stairs to the recording studio. “How was your weekend?”
“Did you know that my apartment is now under surveillance 24/7?” I reply, bitter. “And that Fryars guy is a robot. He doesn’t even speak! And I was not allowed to leave unaccompanied.”
Sandra shows no reaction except for the lift of an eyebrow. I almost would rather take my chances with this stalker guy than live like this.
“Nothing noteworthy from your Saturday or Sunday, then?” She asks, looking like she needs a coffee.
