His New Jam (3 page)

He had a natural ability for picking things up, but there were only so many hours in the day and so many classes he could take. Learning to play drums hadn't happened, but he knew that as a teacher, he'd encounter plenty of kids who would want to play.

Getting Sydney to teach him would accomplish a lot. He wanted to feed off her energy and love for the instrument. It wasn't enough for him to go through the motions. He could get that from watching a few videos. Plus, working with her would give him time to convince her to come to the New Year's Eve party as his date. By then, marching band would be over and he wouldn't have to worry about any repercussions. She'd be like any other girl he dated.

He scooped another handful of cereal into his mouth and crunched away, drowning out the voice in his head that clearly called him a liar.

Chapter 3

“C
ome on, Syd, please?” Trish whined from behind the closed bedroom door. “It's not like you have plans.”

“How would you know if I have plans?”

“Because you haven't had a date in so long, I can't even remember. Two years?”

Trish was right. It had been two years since she'd dated. Sydney had put it out of her mind for so long that it hadn't occurred to her to keep track of the time. Regardless, she had zero desire to double date with her sister and whatever boring guy she'd hooked.

Trish thumped against the door. “I'll owe you.”

Syd rose and flung the door open. “Why do you need me? Go alone.”

“Jenny was supposed to double date with us, but she's caught that horrendous flu going around. Dave's brother is in from out of town and Dave doesn't want to leave him alone. If I don't bring someone, he'll feel like a third wheel.” She pressed her hands together like she was praying.

Syd rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. She never liked any guy her sister dated, so she was sure this one would be a dud, too.

“It's one night. It's not like I expect you to fall for the guy. Just talk to him. Have dinner and a couple of drinks. That's it.”

“Fine, but you owe me big.”

“One more thing,” Trish continued with a slight cringe.

This couldn't be good.

“We're going to a club downtown, so you have to dress up. And maybe”—she pointed at Syd's arms—“cover the tattoos. Tame your hair. This is a nice place, not a college frat party.”

“If I have to make myself look like you, you owe me more than one.”

Trish laughed. “Not like me. Just a bit less like you. A tiny bit. I don't know how this guy will feel about tats and spiky hair. It's not like I'm asking you to recolor your hair. A little concealment.” She dashed out of the room, but Sydney didn't feel like following. Trish returned with one of her dresses. “Wear this.”

Sydney looked at the sweater material. It stretched under her fingers. “Fine. It better be good food and you guys are popping for high-end alcohol.” She winked at her sister. “It'll help keep me friendly.”

An hour later, Sydney sat in the backseat of Dave's BMW, the leather cold on the backs of her thighs. Dave's brother, Ken, sat beside her, staring out the side window. Other than a quiet hello when they picked up Sydney and Trish, he hadn't spoken another word until they parked.

As they walked down the street behind Trish and Dave, Ken leaned in and said, “I'm sorry about this. Blind dates usually suck. Don't feel the need to entertain me. I would've been fine if Dave left me at home.”

His admission made Syd feel a bit more at ease. She shrugged. “Let's make the best of it. Dinner and drinks on them.”

“Sounds good.”

They walked into Andy's, a place Syd had never visited, but Trish and Dave had gone often enough that Sydney felt like she knew what to expect. The interior was dim and a band was already in full swing onstage. As they skirted past tables and toward the rear of the club, Ken placed his hand on the small of Syd's back. It was a polite gesture, but it did nothing for her.

She sat across from Trish, something Trish maneuvered so she could give Sydney meaningful looks in case Sydney said or did something wrong. Ken sat beside her, and her back was to the stage. They ordered drinks and Trish volunteered suggestions for their meals. Sydney let her do whatever she wanted because the waiter set a twenty-dollar glass of whiskey in front of her.

As she sipped, Sydney allowed the smooth jazz to wash over her, making it easy to tune out the conversation at the table. A swift kick to her shin jolted her attention. Trish stared with wide eyes.

Sydney bit her lip on a smile before saying, “Sorry. I got caught up in the music.” She turned toward Ken. “I'm really into music. Although I'm a graphic design major, that's my backup plan. I play the drums. I hope to put together a band and start playing for money.”

“No need to apologize. I could sit here and watch your face while you listen. It's fascinating.”

Her cheeks warmed even though she didn't fully understand the compliment. She didn't think her face changed. Ken began telling her about his job—corporate attorney in Philadelphia. She tried to be interested, but the music kept tugging her attention.

After she finished her first drink, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and check out the band on the way. Just as she wound through the tables, the saxophone began a wailing solo, which reminded her of Hunter. She looked up and her heart thudded like a bass drum. Up on the stage Hunter stood front and center, backed by a group of middle-aged men.

Sydney froze and stared. His long hair had been smoothed and combed back neatly, but now fell forward. He looked like the music consumed him, but he loved it. She'd never seen him quite like this. Granted, she'd only seen him play on the field and then he mostly acted like it was a joke. This serious side of Hunter drew her in and made her want to plop down right there on the floor and absorb everything.

Jazz had never been her thing. She'd listened to it before. Any decent musician studied all kinds of music. This was the first time it made her feel something, even though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Slow and languid, almost like he was begging for something. Her heart wrenched at the same time her blood raced. Pieces of the song echoed through her, but she couldn't name it.

As the song neared the end, he looked up and straight into her eyes, but he couldn't have seen her because she stood in the shadows of other patrons and he had house lights on him. But she felt him searching. She pulled away, glancing at the ridiculous, so-not-her dress she wore, and scurried to the bathroom.

One thing she got out of this night was that Hunter Reed did not need her help with any kind of music.

Monday morning, Hunter packed up his sax quicker than he probably ever had after practice. He wanted to make plans to meet with Sydney to talk about drum lessons. Today might not be the best day to approach her since Daniel had been riding her ass since she strode onto the field. She wouldn't even glance in Hunter's direction. She couldn't possibly still be mad that he'd had words with Daniel last week.

Then again, he wanted to have a few more words with the asshole. But he didn't have time. He was supposed to meet with his adviser in less than ten minutes to talk about next quarter. He grabbed his case and looked for Sydney, but she was gone. He sighed and hoped she'd be in the practice room where he'd found her last week.

He ran to the education building and was only a little out of breath when he reached Dr. Hampton's office. She was waiting for him, as usual. He liked her because he knew she wanted him to succeed, but right now, she looked like he'd somehow managed to disappoint her.

“Hunter. How are you?” She stood behind her desk and gestured to the chair in front of her.

“I'm good.” He sat, setting his sax case beside him.

“Looking forward to the holidays and break, I assume?” She returned to her seat and folded her hands primly on the desk.

Everything about Dr. Hampton was prim. Her puffy cloud of gray hair never appeared to move. Her thin lips were painted pale pink, never any other color. Her suits were tweed. Like, all of them. He wondered if she owned anything else. She embodied the image of a stodgy old professor.

“Aren't we all looking forward to break?”

She nodded without actually agreeing with him. “I have some good news. We have you placed for student teaching.”

“Excellent.” All of his friends had gotten their assignments last week.

“You'll be at North Ridge High School. We were able to get both a history teacher and the band director to agree to work with you.”

The way her head tilted, he knew there was some bad news, too. He braced himself.

“There were some concerns, however.”

“Concerns?”

“When you completed your hours of observation at North Ridge, some of the teachers felt you were overly friendly with the students.”

Her pause indicated that she expected some response. Too bad he didn't have one. “I thought part of the observation process was to observe and learn. I wasn't inappropriate with any students. It's not like I asked girls out on dates. I talked to students to get a feel for the school culture.”

Dr. Hampton's palms separated and she moved her hands as she spoke. “That's all well and good, but the teachers felt you were not just learning, but trying to be friends with the students.”

“I don't know what I did wrong.”

“Hunter, you're a boisterous, friendly young man. People flock to you because of that. Your charisma serves you well. However, you need to learn to rein it in. If students see you as too laid-back, they'll take full advantage and your control will disappear. You have to find the balance between being friendly and being an authority figure.”

Her words sank in and although he understood what she said, he had no idea how to accomplish it. He didn't want to be an authority figure. He wanted to help kids learn, help them enjoy history and music.

Dr. Hampton chuckled. Just what he needed, someone laughing at him.

“You look like you were just diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. You'll be fine, Mr. Reed. Take your break, come back refreshed and ready to be a teacher.” She stood to let him know she was done.

He stood and said thank you as clearly as his tight throat would allow. He grabbed his sax and walked out. As the cold air blasted him, his mind cleared a little. He had over a month to figure it out.

He inhaled and the bitter sting of winter hit his lungs. The frigid air reminded him that he wanted to catch up with Sydney. He smiled at himself because he didn't really think she was cold, just reserved. Now more than ever he needed to have the best tools to be a teacher. He needed to prove to his adviser and other teachers that he would be good at this.

He jogged across the open quad to the arts building. The heated air warmed his numb cheeks. Hunter walked straight to the same room and hoped to find Sydney. Peering through the small rectangle of glass in the door, he was surprised to find her sitting at the drums, but not playing.

Shoving the door open, he didn't wait for her to acknowledge him. “Hi.”

She looked up and wrinkled her forehead. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. I tried to catch you after practice, but you have your vanishing act down. I figured you were ticked off at Daniel again, and I guessed this might be your go-to place to work off some steam.”

“Yeah, well, I can't play and talk, so what do you want?” She twirled her drumsticks, gearing up for another song.

“I need your answer. Can you teach me?”

She swallowed hard and then let out a low chuckle. “No.”

That was it. One word. No explanation. He'd expect that kind of response if he'd asked her to strip in the middle of the football field. “Why not?”

“You don't need my help. You don't need
any
help.”

“What are you talking about? Why would I ask if I didn't need help?”

“Maybe what I should've said is stick with what you're good at.”

In a few quick strides he was across the room. “I can't. What I'm good at isn't enough.”

“Look, I saw you last night. At Andy's.”

He jolted back. While he'd played he felt a niggling sensation of familiarity, but saw no one in the crowd. The thought of her being there made him uneasy. Playing at Andy's was personal and not something he shared. It rarely meshed with people's impression of him. Even though he was glad she hadn't, he still asked, “Why didn't you stop and say hi?”

“I was on a date.”

Oh. Emma had told him she was single. Must be a new thing. “Okay. What does my playing at Andy's have to do with you not being willing to teach me?”

She stood and rounded the drums to stand in front of him. He caught the slight scent of her perfume, spicy and warm. The purple tips of her hair flicked in the light and gave her a weird halo effect. “I saw you play. You were amazing. You don't toss aside passion like that to fiddle around with a new instrument because you think it'll get you into my pants. You keep at it and hone it. And I'm
so
not the person to help you hone anything slow and jazzy.”

Her eyes blazed while she spoke, like she was ready for battle. He reached up to shove his hand through his hair and forgot he was wearing his knit hat. Knocking it off and onto the floor, he growled in frustration. Sydney backed away as he bent to grab the hat. When he straightened, she'd moved far enough that he could no longer touch her, not that he would have. “I love playing at Andy's. The place is magical for me. But it's not enough. Andy's is not my life, my future.”