Twenty-Four
Reluctantly, Brock and I talk about Bianca on Sunday afternoon. After he showed me that he has all the original files of the songs she stole, at least we know she can’t try and flip the tables on him and claim that he stole her songs. Of course, there are other ways she could try and make trouble for him, but we agreed not to worry about it unless it happens. Or in my opinion, when it happens.
We spend the evening watching old movies and making out on his couch. When we turn in for the night, I ask him to bring another fantasy of mine to life. And he is more than willing to oblige. With a great amount of delight, I ask him to tie me to the bed. After asking if I was certain, he kissed me and pulled out what was necessary. Then he spent the next hour making me mindless with his sweet torture and incredible pleasure. I think we both fell asleep with smiles on our faces that night.
The next week passes the same as the last. When he can, he comes to my office to eat lunch with me, or we walk somewhere close by instead. This week, however, I continue to dress in the clothing he likes me to wear. And I’m getting more and more used to wearing, too. By Friday, I think the rest of the staff has figured out the reason why. When I’m questioned, I happily tell them about Brock and me. Even the Dean of the School of Music stops by to express his delight for our relationship. Without my asking, he tells me why.
“That Bianca was no good for him,” he says lowly. “And knowing that she’s making a name for herself with his work is even more disgusting.”
“You know about that?” I gasp.
“I do,” he sighs. “And only because he made a habit of composing songs alongside his students when he was teaching composition.”
“Oh,” I breathe. “Does he still teach that class?”
“Unfortunately, not,” he grimaces. “He asked for someone else to take that class when Bianca left him.”
This is news to me. And I wonder why he never mentioned it. But when the Dean tells me he’s more than welcome to take that class over again, considering his success thus far in the contest, I promise to pass along the message.
Since Friday is a short day for both of us, we don’t see each other until my day is finished. But these last two Friday’s have been blemished by Bianca’s appearance at his office. I’m hoping there’s not a hat trick today. Once I’ve gathered my things, I head in his direction. My smile happens on its own when I see that his door is ajar. And today he’s on his guitar singing something new. When I push the door open, his eyes immediately lock with mine and he smiles. I shut his door and settle in the chair in the corner to listen.
“Only you can make my life complete,” he sings. “Only you can inspire my heart to beat. Only you can make my dreams come true.”
He strums a few more chords and stops. Then he laughs.
“That’s the fifth start I’ve had in the last hour,” he grins. “What are you doing to me, woman?”
“Hopefully everything you like,” I smile.
“That you are,” he says as he stands.
Then he sets his guitar aside and walks over to me. I sit up and meet him halfway for a kiss.
“You look gorgeous,” he says as he takes me in. “I wonder how long it will take before other men try to steal you away from me?”
“Then can try all they want,” I laugh. “Because you have completely ruined me for any other man.”
“Good to know,” he growls as he kisses me again.
I’m about to ask him about the composition class when there’s a knock on his door. I let loose a growl that makes him chuckle. Then he tells me it’s probably John. I don’t relax until he pulls open his office door and I see that he’s right. Apparently, John reached out to Brock earlier this week and asked him for a little help with his second song. He shakes Brock’s hand before nodding to me in greeting. Then he walks over to the piano and sits. I smile as Brock walks over to look at what he’s got before he even starts playing.
Their subsequent conversation is like listening to an alien language. Or at least for me it is. He asks about chord progressions, flat thirds and fifths, modulations, and something called a common tone. I’m literally in awe of the fact they even understand each other. In about a half an hour, whatever John was having trouble with falls into place. I listen with a small smile on my face as he sings through the problem line until he’s satisfied with it. Then I’m surprised when he asks for my opinion.
“What do you think, Miss Sadie?”
“I think it’s beautiful,” I laugh. “But given the conversation the two of you just had, I know there’s more to it than I’ll ever understand. So, as a simple music lover, I love it.”
“Thank you,” he smiles. “Well, I guess I’ll get out of your hair. I don’t want to keep you from your own song.”
“I’m almost finished,” Brock laughs.
“Really?” John asks.
“Yes,” Brock smiles as he winks at me. “When you have a muse like Sadie, song inspiration doesn’t take long at all.”
John laughs at this and seems almost embarrassed. Then he bids us a good day. Once Brock shuts the door, he pulls me up and into his arms.
“He’s talented,” he smiles. “He could make the top four.”
“Maybe,” I smile. “I already know that you will.”
“You’re biased,” he chuckles.
“Perhaps,” I say softly.
He kisses me again, then pulls back on a frown.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quickly. “Is it Bianca?”
“Not exactly,” I sigh. “I just…why didn’t you tell me about not teaching composition anymore?”
The look on his face says it all. But I’m going to let him explain anyway.