His New Jam (4 page)

Her arms shot up as she asked, “And you think playing drums is?”

He scrunched his hat in his hand and tried to explain. “No. Teaching is. I'm an education major. I want to teach kids. I'm a passable drummer, but I don't know enough to teach it. I don't know where I'll land next year, but I want to be ready for anything. Have you ever heard of a middle school or high school without a slew of kids wanting to be drummers? Drums are cool. Trumpets? Not really.”

“You're going to teach?”

“Is it that hard to believe?”

“Well, you're . . . I don't know . . . a fun guy, like the class clown. I can't picture you all buttoned up and serious.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. What the fuck? He had no idea that being fun and being a good teacher had to be mutually exclusive. Two people within an hour telling him he couldn't be serious bugged the shit out of him. He could be serious when he needed to be. “Whatever.”

He turned to grab his sax from where he'd set it.

“Wait. I wasn't trying to offend you.”

Hunter stopped, but didn't turn.

“Is this paying gig at Andy's?”

Chuckling, he faced Sydney to see that she'd moved closer again. “No. You really think my band is a group of forty-plus-year-old guys? My regular band has a gig at The Garage on the weekends.”

“Oh.”

“Does that mean we have a deal?”

“I'm no teacher, but I can play. I don't know if I can give you what you're looking for. I know you won't ever play the drums like you played the sax last night. That's something that can't be taught.”

“I don't need the feel-it-in-your-bones love for drums. I need to be able to help kids who feel that passion understand it and act on it.”

He must've said the right words because Sydney smiled. A slow lift of her lips, almost like she didn't want to but couldn't help it. She shoved one stick into her back pocket and her hand darted out in front of her. “We'll give it a shot.”

He took her hand, which was stronger than he'd thought, and shook. “Cool.” Then he yanked her arm to pull her off balance and toward him. “Now you'll have to give me your phone number so we can keep in touch.”

She braced a hand on his chest, dropping her other stick in the process. “Nice try, Tenor. This is a business arrangement. Nothing else.”

He liked her hand on him and wanted to keep it there, but she righted herself and pulled back.

“Friendly business, though.”

“Whatever.” She picked up her stick.

Pulling out his phone, he added a new contact. “What's your number?”

She grabbed the phone and typed it in for him. He liked her take-charge, no-bullshit attitude.

“We practice tomorrow night. I'll text you my address.”

“Do I have to bring anything?”

“Nope. I have all the instruments. Do you want our lesson to be before or after band practice?”

“Doesn't matter to me.”

“After, then.” That way, they would have time to get to know each other alone without interruption. “Assuming you won't be too worn-out after practice.”

She shot him a cocky grin. “Don't worry about me. I can keep up. Can you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she returned to her drums and began beating out a rhythm. He took the hint and turned back to the door. As he swung it open, she stopped playing and called out, “Hey, Hunter.”

He jerked back at the sound of her actually using his name. When his eyes met hers, she lost the cockiness and was dead serious. He thought maybe she had changed her mind.

“You can't tell anyone about this. Especially at band. It's just between us.”

A strange request, but he had no issue with it. Band wouldn't be over until right before break, so even though he didn't think anything between them would cause trouble, he didn't want to take any chances. Her demand made him wonder about her reasons, though. “Sure.”

He winked and slid out the door.

Chapter 4

S
ydney rolled down the street for a third time looking for a parking spot. Hunter hadn't said anything about his street being permit parking only. Her phone buzzed in the console. A text from Hunter:
Let me know when you get here. I have a permit for you to park.

Figured. She pulled over in front of his apartment and answered.
I've circled three times trying to find a spot. Would've been good info to have. I'm in front.

While she waited, she took in the quiet neighborhood. Not at all what she expected from a guy like Hunter. An old two-flat with flowerpots on the front porch. They were empty now, but she could imagine a riot of color spilling out in the summer. Many of the cars on the street were SUVs and minivans. The neighborhood screamed young families. What the hell was she doing here?

A blur ran past her windshield and it wasn't until he thunked against her window that she realized it was Hunter. She rolled the window down.

“Here.” He shoved a piece of paper on her dashboard. “Park anywhere on the street. Want me to wait?”

“No. I got it.”

“Good. It's freaking cold out here.”

“Go figure. Late November in Chicago.”

She rolled her window up as he ran by again. This time she noticed he didn't wear a jacket and it looked like he only had socks on his feet. Stupid guy.

She found a spot easily this time since it was still early in the evening. Mulling over the state of the neighborhood bought her some more time before going in. It wasn't just Hunter's home making her nervous. She was expected to work with his band, one that was established and had relationships and routines.

Neither of those things were her forte, which was a huge part of why the bands she'd started failed so quickly. She took a deep breath. If nothing else, this would be one hell of a learning experience. She'd find out how a successful band works, whether she had it in her to give drum lessons, and if she could fight the urge to crawl all over Hunter naked.

She grabbed her bag with the beginning drummer books she'd brought, shoved the door open, and let the cold air hit her. Hunter was all kinds of bad for her and she knew it. Unfortunately, she was always drawn most to what was bad for her.

Running up the sidewalk to the house, she was shocked to see the door swing open before she hit the porch. Hunter stood there waiting with a grin on his face that she knew attracted anything with two X chromosomes.

“What took you so long? I was beginning to think you changed your mind.”

Rather than answering his question, she asked, “Where do we practice?”

“In here.” He led the way into the first-floor apartment.

Inside the door, she paused. The entire living room was set up like a music practice room. What she wouldn't give to have this. He had an entire wall lined with instruments. One guy sat and strummed a guitar. The drum set was used, but in good shape. She looked behind Hunter and saw the dining room acted as their living room. She pointed to the instruments. “How does your roommate feel about the noise?”

“He knew I was like this when we moved in together. He doesn't care. He works a lot and does his own thing in his room.”

She squinted to see more of the apartment, but everything past the dining room was dark.

“This is Jay. He's lead guitar. The other guys will be here soon.”

Jay nodded at her and continued to strum. She waved at him.

“Okay.” She set her bag on the floor near the door and dropped her coat on top of it. “You want me to hang out and get a feel for it today, or am I actually playing with you guys?” She rubbed her cold hands together.

“Uh, it's up to you. Kevin will be here, but he's cool with being done this weekend if you're ready to take over.” He watched her hands twist. “You want a drink or a tour or anything?”

She shrugged. “A water would be good.”

“Come on.” He touched her arm and nodded toward the dark end of the apartment. He spread his arms out. “This is obviously the living room.” As he got to the end of the room, he flipped a switch, bathing a small hallway in light. He pointed at a door on the left. “That's Adam's room.”

He turned and brushed against her as he moved. She didn't know if it had been intentional, but the heat from his body felt good. He reached into the next room. “Bathroom.” Then he turned again and pointed at another closed door. “My bedroom.”

He winked, but didn't open the door or offer to show her around. He got some points for that.

“Kitchen's back here.” Again he stepped around her, the barest of touches as he moved. It was a tight fit, but if he put in the effort, he could've moved without coming in contact with her. He said nothing more as he continued to walk away, so she followed. Before she even crossed the threshold of the kitchen, he had the light on and the refrigerator open. He pulled out a bottle of water.

She accepted it even though she wasn't thirsty. She'd wanted the tour, but didn't want him to know.

“We also have beer if you prefer.”

“No. This is good.”

She stood staring at him for a minute, just to take him in. This guy was a pile of contradictions. Playboy on the field, serious jazz player, teacher wannabe; she wondered which one was really him.

“What? Do I have food on my face or something?”

She smiled. “No. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing important.” Behind them, the noise in the living room increased, letting them know the rest of the band was there.

“I want to thank you for accepting my offer.”

“Maybe you should hold that until after we have the first lesson. You might regret it yet.”

He stepped closer. “Not likely.”

And there it was again. The sizzling charge in the air between them that they both were aware of but didn't quite acknowledge. She gripped her water bottle tighter and swallowed. “We should probably get started. Your band is waiting for us.”

He continued to stare intently into her eyes, but whispered, “Yeah.”

For another second or two, neither of them moved, trapped by the buzz of attraction, until she blinked and stepped back. Hunter shook his head with a smile and led the way through the living room.

She was going to need a whole lot more strength to succeed with this arrangement. Hunter wasn't even trying and her brain was fuzzing out on her. She twisted the cap on her water and took a couple of gulps.

Practice had never felt like it lasted so long as it had tonight. They practiced their regular set plus a couple of other songs. Sydney sat in on the songs she knew and took notes when she didn't. Something about watching her scribble in a tiny notebook while her purple-tipped hair flounced around made him want to touch her, mess with her, grab her attention.

Because she wasn't giving him anything. Other than listening to basic directions, she focused solely on Kevin, which he supposed was good because she was taking over for Kevin, but Hunter half expected her to at least notice him. He wanted her to give him one of those looks she occasionally threw at him when they were on the football field, maybe a cocky wink because she sounded so damn good playing, but again, nothing.

While the other guys packed up their gear, Sydney continued to sit behind the drums. She looked like she was made to sit there. Jay and Kevin both glanced at her and at him like they were waiting for some confirmation that there was something else going on between them. Lance was oblivious, as usual. Hunter said nothing, knowing that if he did, Sydney would be pissed. Pissing her off on their first night together wouldn't be a smart move.

She shifted on the stool, like she wasn't sure what she should do while waiting for the guys to leave.

At the door, Jay looked at her. “See you Thursday?”

“Yep.” She gave him one of her rare friendly smiles.

A little ping of jealousy hit Hunter. He wanted one of those smiles for himself instead of the cocky, barely flirtatious ones he usually received. He enjoyed the flirty ones, but he'd never gotten the softer version. He briefly wondered what he'd have to do to earn one.

When the door clicked behind the guys, Hunter asked, “How do you want to start? Want another drink?”

She shook her head. “I'm good.” Standing, she pointed at her bag near the door. “I brought a couple of my old beginner books for you to look at. I don't know how much you know.”

He dragged a chair closer and sat. “I don't think I need to start like a six-year-old. I do understand music.”

She puffed out her cheeks as she exhaled. “I told you I'm no teacher.”

“What's the most important thing for me to know about drums?”

She closed her eyes and tipped her chin up a notch. “Rhythm. Nothing else matters.” She dropped her sticks at her feet and began slapping her thighs.

Her eyes popped open and she nodded at him to follow her lead. He felt silly slapping his legs, like a little girl playing at camp. But then as soon as he thought he had the beat going, she changed the rhythm. It took him a second to adjust, but he did.

After a few minutes, she added a foot stomp in between beats. He continued, but it was pretty damn boring.

Finally, he asked, “What does slapping my hands and stomping my feet have to do with playing the drums? I know how to count off notes and find the beat.”

Her palms smacked her legs one last time and stopped. “The drummer is the heart of the music. It's not just counting off notes. It's setting the tone for every piece.” She straightened, and then added, “I get that you're used to playing with both hands. A lot of people have a hard time coordinating, so you start simple.”

She slapped her right thigh. “Tom one.” She slapped her left. “Tom two.” She stomped her foot. “Bass.”

“So you think when I'm teaching kids, I need to start with patty-cake?”

This time her sigh was pure irritation. “Kids who love the drums will feel the beat. They might instinctively understand rhythm, but you need to be able to explain it to them so they'll be able to read music. If they're some kind of savant, they'll play by ear and never need you, but most kids need some hand holding.”

“Can we assume I am at least at the stage after hand holding? Since I have experience reading and playing music?”

“Of course. I thought you needed help teaching it, not just playing it.”

Damn. She was right. He wouldn't be able to skip steps with most kids. “Wait. Sorry. You have a point. I thought if I understood how to play, I'd be able to teach it, but clapping like this never would've occurred to me.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I'm sure other teachers would help you.”

“How long do I keep up the slapping and stomping?”

“Until they understand the difference between eighth and quarter and sixteenth notes.”

“That might take a while. Kids are impatient.”

“So mix it up. Teach some rhythm. Let them hear and try to figure out the notes when a professional plays. Let them hold the sticks.”

“The sticks?”

“Sticks are cool.” She bent and grabbed hers, twirling one in place.

“That's the problem. Kids think they can sit down and start right there.”

“Of course. So let 'em try and fail. Then they'll want you to teach them.”

For the first time in years, nerves took over his body. He wouldn't be able to sell this. Kids would see right through him.

“Sometimes, you need to give them a taste, so they know what's coming.”

“Huh?”

“Come here.” She stood and backed away from the stool.

Hunter took her place and she handed him the extra sticks he'd left by the kit. He wrapped his fist around each stick.

Sydney leaned over his shoulder and reached for his hand. She peeled his fingers away and repositioned them. “Grip matters.”

Her sexy whisper skittered across his neck and his dick perked up.

“Not too hard. You're not choking someone. And not flimsy. Nice and firm.” Her fingers curled over his, warm, smooth, and firm.

He closed his eyes because he could totally imagine her whispering those words while they were naked. His pants were noticeably tighter. He shifted to find some relief and his shoulder connected with a tit. He expected her to pull away, but she didn't. She might've even leaned a little more into him.

“Find your rhythm,” she said and then stepped away.

He stared at the two toms and struck the same beat they'd done against their legs.