Worthy of the Harmony (Mountains & Men Book 2) (7 page)

“Don’t be gross!”

“Hey,” I begin to say with my mouth still full. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation at all if it wasn’t for you. Which brings me to point number two—I’m a one woman show now, which means you
knock
. Got it?”

“Believe me—I got it,” she mutters, setting my sandwich beside my bowl.

“Hey.”

“What?”

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side, pressing a quick kiss on the top of her head. She might be a pain in my ass sometimes, but she’s still my best friend.

“Thanks for the sandwich.”

She circles her arms around my waist as she looks up at me. “So, is she your girlfriend, then?” I shrug, not sure what label to put on
us
while, at the same time, not caring one way or the other that we seem to be undefined. I know she’s not dropping her panties for anyone else and, for now, that’s enough for me. “I want to meet her.”

“Yeah,” I reply, choking out a laugh as I reach for my bowl. With my arm still wrapped around her shoulders, her head is locked against my chest. She grunts and attempts to push away from me, but I’m stronger than she is. “Next time, you might want to make sure she’s wearing
clothes
.”

“Make sure who’s wearing clothes?” Derrick asks as he joins us. He’s in a pair of running shorts and tennis shoes, his iPod strapped to one of his bulky arms. Fresh from a run, he’s still working to catch his breath as he brings his water bottle to his lips.

“Rose, here, walked in on Sage and Millie doing the dirty,” Maddox is quick to clarify, pointing his chin in our direction.

Derrick scrunches his face at Rosemary and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Yikes. Bet seeing his naked ass was a bit traumatizing.”

“Actually, now that you mention it,” she mumbles, still smushed against my side.

“Whatever. I’m a fucking piece of art. Don’t hate.”

“Ew! God, Sage, let me go!” She pushes against me again, but I pretend not to notice as I take another bite. “You stink, by the way. I’m surprised she wanted to be anywhere
near
you.”

“Rosy, Rosy, Rosy—don’t you know she smelled the same way walking out of here? Scent of the Magic O, baby girl.”

“Oh, dear god! Get the fuck off, Sage!”

Derrick and Maddox both laugh as I set her free. I reach over and palm the top of her head, turning her face toward me. “Don’t talk like that,” I teasingly chastise. She just rolls her eyes.

“You’re gross. Now I feel like
I
need a shower. I’m getting out of here. But before I go, I have to tell you what I
originally
came over for.”

“Shoot.”

“I met this guy last night.” I frown at her, already not liking where this is going. “Chill out, would you? This isn’t about me, this is about
you
. Well, Mountains & Men. He plays the bass and he’s looking for a group. I told him I’d put you in touch.”

“Nice work, sis.”

“We’re doing auditions Tuesday,” pipes in Derrick. “That is, if we can line up a few more guys.”

“Guess we better get to it, huh?” asks Maddox, jumping down from the counter.

“Just need to shower.”

“Me, too.” I abandon my now empty bowl and grab my sandwich as I begin backing out of the kitchen. “Garage in twenty?” The guys voice their agreement and then I look to Rosy. “You out of here?”

“Yup. Do your band thing. I’ll catch you later. Oh—and the next time you talk to Millie, will you apologize for me?”

I offer her a nod and a smile, knowing she’ll probably feel bad about this far longer than Millie or I will remember to care. “I got you, little lady.”

AFTER SAGE DROPS
me at home, I head straight for the shower. With plans to spend the rest of my afternoon catching up on some grading, I know I need to rid myself of the scent of him. I ignore any and all meaning behind the truth that he’s able to distract me even when we’re not together.

The apartment is quiet and feels a bit empty with just me home, especially after spending the night at Sage’s house. Not that Sarah and I make a habit of frequenting the same room. In the brief time that we’ve been living together, I usually only see her in passing. Her mornings start before the sun and, with Brandon in the picture, she’s gone more times than not. Recently, she’s even stopped coming home to sleep, except for a night here or there. I’m certainly not complaining. What she does with her time is her business. Furthermore, if she’s happy, then she should keep doing whatever it is that she’s doing.

I suppose, for some women, not all men leave.

Now, though, with her being out of town, the silence is different. Her parents were in a horrific car accident and she’s gone to care for them. I have no idea when she’ll be back, only that she left from work in a panic yesterday afternoon. Our neighbor, Aria, was kind enough to relay as much information as she could after she and Sarah arrived at the hospital where her parents were taken. Fresh from a shower, I decide to send Sarah a quick text, asking how Mr. and Mrs. Prescott are doing.

I suppose, for some people, not all moms and dads make you want to run away.

I know that it makes me sound like a god-awful person, but I cringe at the thought of what I’d be expected to do, as my mother’s only child, if she were to ever get into an accident that left her in need of my help. When I left New Jersey eight years ago, it was with the intention to never go back. Not for holidays, not for birthdays, not for a random weekend visit. There’s nothing about that place that I miss.

Growing up, it was just my mother and me. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins—to me, they are simply a myth. After my dad left, even my
childhood
became more of a concept than a reality. I didn’t leave behind anything that I wish to get back. Truth be told, if it weren’t for my mother’s phone calls—every other Saturday evening, like clockwork—I’d have absolutely nothing tying me to my past.

To a lot of people, loving one’s mother is natural. It’s not something they think about, it’s just something they do. Even mothers far worse than mine are loved, sometimes to a fault. But my relationship with my own mother is more of an obligation than anything else. It’s hard to love someone who stopped taking the time to show you love, even if she did give birth to you. No, my awareness of love is derived from the loss of it. I know the pain of love more than I know or understand its joy.

A text from Sarah pulls me from my thoughts. I shake them away, raking my fingers through my damp hair, unsure how long I was wandering around in my head. Drawing in a deep breath, I check my phone. Apparently, both of Sarah’s parents are in better condition today than they were yesterday, which is definitely good news. I tell her as much before I grab my school bags and head to the living room.

I spread out on the coffee table, stacking each pile of assignments in order of priority. Once I’m all set, I head to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat. I'm certainly not a chef, even less so when I feel pressed for time, so I settle for a yogurt and a granola bar. Once finished, I make myself comfortable on the couch and lose myself in work.

I have a bit of a thing for numbers. I always have. They are constant. Reliable. I can trust them—trust that they won’t ever change; trust that, no matter what ugly equation you put them in, they will always serve as your tool to solve the problem. Math has been my strongest subject since I learned addition, and calculus is my favorite level. I enjoy teaching it. To me, it’s fun to interact with the students who truly get it—whose minds are carefully, brilliantly sculpted calculators. It’s also incredibly rewarding getting to help those who don’t always understand. Chasing after that light switch, working to explain it in such a way that it all clicks in their mind—it's one of the best parts of my job.

I’m not like Sage. I’ve never really been a dreamer. I didn’t dream of becoming a college professor. I didn’t exactly chase after it, either. It just made sense. I earned my bachelor’s, then my master’s and then found my way back to the classroom—just on the opposite side of the desk. I’ve only been teaching for a couple of years, but as far as jobs go, I got lucky.

Thinking of Sage pulls me out of my numerical trance. Temporarily distracted, I notice that I’ve been working for hours. Having put a significant dent in my tasks, I decide to break for the rest of the night. Sage still lingers in my thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. I haven’t heard from him since he dropped me off hours ago. Not that he owes me a call or a text. He doesn’t. We have plans to see each other in a couple days and that’s enough.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I check my phone and spot not one new notification.

After I put away my things in preparation for the beginning of a new week, I opt for take-out and order Chinese. While I wait for it to arrive, I pluck a book from my shelf. Tonight, it’s
War and Peace
. I read until there’s a knock on my door and then I break only long enough to answer, pay the delivery man, and plate my food.

When I start to nod off, I clean up and then get ready for bed. I try not to think of Sage; try not to remember waking up in his arms this morning; try not to think of his lips all over my breasts; try not to think of the taste of his cock—I try not to miss him. I long for him. He’s stolen a tiny fraction of my heart and I can’t deny that I
do
long for him—but to miss him is dangerous. To miss him is something deeper than longing. So, as I crawl between the sheets, setting my phone on my nightstand, I try to push him out of my mind.

It’s when I close my eyes that my mobile alerts me to a text.

I ignore the tingling sensation in my stomach when I see who sent me a message.

Sage:
Hey, doll face. You up?

Me:
Just heading to bed.

Sage:
Too bad I’m not with you.

I press my lips together, fighting a smile as I try and combat the memory of his hands all over my body.

Me:
I could use the sleep…it’s probably better that you aren’t.

Sage:
I’m the perfect lullaby, baby. Didn’t you know?

I pull my lip between my teeth as a chuckle forces itself from my chest, then roll my eyes.

Me:
Goodnight, Sage.

Sage:
Sweet dreams, gorgeous.

LITTLE BIRD CAFE IS,
hands down, the greatest job I’ve ever had.

That is, unless you count the band. But to me, that’s never been a job…more like a privilege.

Two years ago, after I quit the student life, I started working at my favorite coffee shop. Truth be told, when I first heard about the place, it wasn’t because of their coffee. A couple times a month, they host an open mic night. The guys and I used to do an acoustic set when we could. That was back when we didn’t have a regular spot at The Brew. In any case, the first few times I came here, it was all about the music. Then, when I needed a job, one conversation with Lori and I was in.

Lori used to own the joint before she sold it to Brandon. She was a really great boss, totally supportive of my music. I never got any grief about the times I needed off in order to play a gig. She understood, being the dream chaser that she is. Brandon’s the same way. He’s big on making sure he doesn’t hinder his employee’s abilities to have a life outside of work and, in some cases, school. My part time hours and wages aren’t going to have me retiring any time soon, but they keep a roof over my head and food in the fridge. With five of us guys living in the house, rent is dirt cheap. Plus, with the money we earn from gigs, we do alright.