17. Nick
NICK
Helpless - Hamilton
This morning, June split her Acting While Singing kids into groups and told them to pick songs for each other to perform by the end of the week. I’m not needed for this part of the assignment, but as a besotted and obsessed boyfriend, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
I love watching June teach. She’s incredible with her students.
The kids hang on her every word, and I totally get it.
She gives each student all of her attention, and when her energy is focused on you?
It’s better than flying. That energy, and her passion—it’s contagious.
She makes it so easy for you to believe in yourself.
But then I remember what she said in the practice room and my molars grind together.
You could , but you won’t .
Despite my abysmal salary, I’ve got no student loans, so I have some savings. It’s enough to get me started if I couch surf with Natalia and Chessie, but that’s the first hurdle of many. And they only get higher.
June laughs at something Trayce says, and fuck, I love her laugh. Almost as much as her sighs and moans. I shift on the piano bench, and she looks back at me, smiling.
Quitting my job is only a thought exercise.
Because if I left, who’d care for my dad?
Even if I found an affordable apartment in the city, he can’t move with me.
He shouldn’t leave his doctors. Maybe I could budget a bus ride back once a week to take him to PT, help him grocery shop and run errands. But what if he has another accident?
It’s been the two of us for so long that I forgot about Shelley. I don’t expect to depend on her for help with Dad, though. And it’s not fair to assume a woman would jump at the chance to take over a caregiving role.
I spend the rest of class arguing with myself and watching June.
She breezes by the piano bench and runs her fingers through my hair as she continues on to another group.
It hits me all over again that she likes me .
The quiet, nerdy kid from high school who could barely string a sentence together around her.
That awe is replaced with a surge of acid in my gut. We promised to be truthful with each other, and I still haven’t told her about my high school crush. What was the point before I knew she liked me? But now, I should tell her.
Eventually.
Class ends, and as the students pack up or head to the restroom, I grab June in a hug.
I dip my nose to that spot below her ear, the one I’ve come to think of as mine, and breathe deep.
I wish I knew more about flowers so I could figure out what perfume she wears.
There’s something musky beneath the floral smell, maybe part of her perfume, or maybe just her.
“So, who’s your department store clerk tonight?” Naomi ambushes us and we break apart. I don’t know about June, but I forgot there were children present.
“Oh, I asked a counselor to yell the lines from off stage,” June answers.
Naomi’s face falls. “But that’s boring.”
I smile because I know where this is going. “What do you suggest?”
“I’ve watched a bootleg of Legally Blonde with Bailey Hanks and Christian Borle literally seven times. I basically have that part memorized. I could do it?”
I laugh, quickly turning it into a cough. I’ve known Naomi since she was a freshman chorus member in Guys and Dolls. Four years later, she’s starring in Les Mis and has really stepped into her own.
I catch June’s eye. “I’m game if you are.”
“We should run it through at least once,” she says, biting her lip.
“Are you doing Emmett’s costume change? Who’s playing for that?” Naomi asks.
“I’m going to play.” A brittle look steals over June’s face, eyes tight, mouth wavering.
“Let’s add Naomi in, then I’ll run those bars with you, June.”
The way she smiles at me, just for offering to rehearse. I’m not worth all that, but I’ll greedily take every smile she gives me. I sit at the bench and start from the beginning. June and Naomi stand on the other side of the piano.
Naomi doesn’t even pull the lyrics up on her phone; she rattles them off with perfect timing. Watching that bootleg seven times wasn’t an exaggeration.
I play it out until the end, startled when Naomi claps after the last chord. Her jazz hands are vigorous as she squeals, “Oh my god, you-guys-are-the-freaking-cutest-Emmett-and-Elle-and-I-can’t-stand-it-everyone’s-going-to-love-your-duet-and-tonight’s-going-to-be-fantastic !”
“That’s some impressive breath work.” June laughs. “You did great. Do you want to run it again, or are you good?”
Naomi sucks in a gasp of air. “I’m good. I told you I knew the show. I might have a teeny tiny, not weird at all, crush on Christian Borle.”
“When I was your age, it was Brian Stokes Mitchell in Kiss Me, Kate .” June elbows Naomi.
“Oh, I love that production! Marin Mazzie ate !”
“And left no crumbs,” I conclude.
The two women stare, mouths agape.
“What? My mom loved all the classic showtunes.”
Naomi grabs her water bottle and marches out. “I’m going to fill up before next class!”
Nat stands off to the side of the door to let her pass. “She’s right, you were both fantastic. You’re cute as fuck, too—for straights.”
“How kind of you.” I laugh.
She shrugs her shoulders, covered by a striped, cut off T-shirt. “Speaking of cute, my very adorable wife was wondering if you two are free on Sunday?”
Sunday. The first day June is off dorm duty.
“Totally.” June swallows, and the dainty gold necklace at her throat shifts.
It’s selfish, but I don’t want to share her with anyone, even my friends.
“Good, because we’re hitting up Split Happens,” Nat says.
“Chessie wants to go bowling?” I ask, smiling. Only in Sadlersburg is there a bar attached to the bowling alley, Memory Lane. Ethan and I used to play there.
“Okay, so I want to go bowling, and my wife’s going along with it because she loves me.”
“We’re in,” I answer, taking June’s hand and pulling her from the room.
As we cross the Commons, I ask, “Want to find an open practice room in DPAC and we’ll run your piano part?”
“You can’t say practice room like that,” June chides.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re propositioning me.” The faux scandal in her voice, the warmth of her hand in mine … I can’t help the grin splitting my face.
I open the side door to DPAC, leaning in to whisper as June passes me. “When I proposition you, you’ll know it, sunshine.”
She stops, and I hold my breath. Does she like that one? I step closer, placing my hands on her hips. She settles her back against me, her face turned to the side. “Almost, but not quite.”
“Damn,” I laugh, but it’s half-hearted. The pet name I want to call her has been on the tip of my tongue from the moment she looped her arm through mine at Shaker’s. But my mouth refused to speak it when this wasn’t real.
I press a kiss to the crown of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo before releasing her as we head for the practice rooms. This thing between us is very, very real now, but I don’t know how to say it.
Pet names are our inside joke, and if I speak the one banging inside my chest, and she laughs … I don’t know.
We find an empty practice room, and as we enter, I hang back to let June settle herself on the bench. I lean against one of the beige fabric-wrapped panels that provide the soundproofing. “Let’s hear it.”
She plays the opening chords of “Take It Like a Man,” and I should stay behind her so I don’t make her nervous.
But I creep closer, captivated by her face.
Her cheeks puff out when she concentrates, her mouth moves, muttering something inaudible, and she catches her lip in her bottom teeth when she plays a wrong note.
She finishes, heaving a giant sigh as her shoulders slump forward. “See? I can barely play.”
I study her, determining whether she’s downplaying her talent or truly thinks she’s that bad. Because she’s not. I’d never say it, because I’d sound like a massive dick, but I’d never have guessed that she plays that well. “Come on, you know that was good.”
“Passable. At best.”
I slide onto the bench, pressing my leg against hers. “Was this an elaborate ruse to get me alone?”
“Do I need an elaborate ruse?” Her voice pitches low, husky against my ear, and the back of my neck prickles.
“Not another one.” I pinch her waist until she yelps, savoring the sound, and trying to forget she pretended to date me before dating me for real.
She snakes her hand beneath my shirt and grazes her nails down my side, drawing a heated shiver across my shoulders. “Geez, you fake date a guy one time …”
“And—” You’ll never date anyone else . I snap my mouth shut so I don’t embarrass myself. Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do you want to run it again?”
June blinks fast, like maybe she hadn’t expected my question, or was thrown by the subject change. But it was either that, or she’d be completely turned off by my mortifying declaration. I have to tell her, it’s the right thing to do. But how do I broach the topic of my high school crush?
Speaking of elaborate ruses, remember that time at Denny’s when I drove you home? Well, turns out I maneuvered the drop-offs to make yours last just to be alone with you for ten minutes because I had a debilitating crush on you. One that never really went away .
Yep, sounds great.
June straightens and faces the piano. “Let’s do this.”
I lay a hand on the small of her back to get her to sit on the edge of the bench and murmur, “Shift forward.”
I move so I’m sitting behind her, bracketing my legs around hers. Was it necessary? Not to help her play piano, but I need to touch her like I need to breathe.
June sinks back into me. “Holy shit, a real-life Ghost moment.”
“Huh?” It’s hard to think with her ass pressed against me. I’m hard in general.
“The pottery scene in Ghost . Except, it’s a piano, not a pottery wheel. And, you know, you’re not dead.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
She turns, eyeing me over her shoulder, gaze bright. “You wouldn’t happen to know ‘Unchained Melody’, would you?”
I chuckle. “Quit stalling.”
She flips to the right page, and I feel the moment she tenses up before starting.
“Relax.” My hands slide to her shoulders, gently kneading them until they drop.
“Physically impossible.”
“Why?” I press my thumbs into the column of her neck. Humming in contentment, she lets her head fall back.
“I’m a little distracted from this .” She wriggles her ass against me.
I grunt, blood flowing south, but I’ve got a somewhat decent idea before all my blood leaves my brain. “Start playing, trust me.”
With a short intake of breath, June puts her hands on the keys.
She plays the right notes, mostly, but that wasn’t the problem.
Her rhythm’s off; she can’t find the flow.
And when she loses that, she hits the wrong notes.
So I curl my arms around her front, hands resting at the underside of her breasts.
She stutters from that feather-light touch, and her fingers slip, hitting a chaotic chord. “You’re supposed to be helping.”
“You’re supposed to be relaxing,” I counter.
She begins again, and I resume my slow strokes, fingers finding the grooves between her bottom ribs, sliding back and forth in the tempo of the song. She breathes deep, exhaling on a whimper when I put my mouth on her neck.
“You’re good, Juniper. You need to get out of your head.” I inhale, pressing my nose to the soft spot beneath her ear. My mouth goes dry with how badly I want to taste her.
Her playing continues, growing in surety, feeling the beat.
When she plays it through perfectly twice in a row, she finishes and lets her fingers rest on the keys.
“Thank you. For helping me … It’s hard to feel confident about my mediocre skills when I’m surrounded by people better than me, especially my dad. ”
“Please, he thinks you’re amazing. And you’re a better singer than me, but I soldier on somehow.”
“It’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because I have to be perfect and you do not,” she says it so logically, like it’s not something that would send a person to therapy.
“You’re perfect for me.” I kiss down her neck, her shoulder.
“You can’t say that to an eldest daughter.” She sounds indignant.
I laugh, asking, “Why not?”
“I’ll be chasing that high for the rest of my life. It’s up there next to my third-grade teacher telling me I was a pleasure in class.”
A low noise rasps in my throat. I can’t listen to her say the word pleasure without wanting to unbutton her shorts and show her the meaning of the word. “We should go, I don’t want you to miss lunch.”
“We should,” she agrees.
Neither of us moves.
I hug her tighter with every intention of letting go. Any second now.
June’s hand rests atop mine over her stomach, and she sighs. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
I kiss my favorite spot beneath her ear. “I did.”