anything.
Finally, the desk guy came back out and met me at the front of the store near the how-to books for playing music. “We’re looking for a stocker. You interested?”
“Yep. I am.”
“Great.” His voice was dry. He pulled a couple of pieces of paper from the front pocket of his red smock. “Fill these out and bring them back. Sue, the owner, will talk to you when you do.”
I took the papers and left the store.
Hungry, I took a left at the intersection and found some food. I loved Mexican food, especially tamales. Fortunately for me, this town had one helluva restaurant within walking distance. The waitress sat me in a booth at the back. I ordered then spread the papers I’d picked up from the music store in front of me. One page turned out to be a standard application. I scribbled my information on the sheet then moved onto the next. It was a questionnaire. Damn, they were serious about this place. A smile spread across my lips while scrawling the answers to the questions.
Favorite genre of music: Anything with a decent rhythm.
Favorite Beatles album: To pick just one is too difficult. The Beatles are a legacy.
Do you know how to play an instrument: Yep, guitar. Both acoustic and electric.
Best advice to give a person when they come in and tell you to recommend some music: Find out what their mood is and what they want to do with the music. There are different suggestions based on what you’re doing: relaxing, focusing, etc.
I dropped off the application and by the time I left the store I had a job. Only one thing had the ability to make my happiness fade. Well, she wasn’t a thing so much as a person and she stood outside the store. Her hands crossed over her chest and her head tilted back against the shop window. Chelsea looked like she was sleeping. I knew the best course of action was to walk past her without a word. Just my luck, she didn’t agree. As soon as I passed within in her reach Chelsea snagged my waist and pulled me close.
She perched on her toes up against my back and whispered in my ear, “Where you headed, cutie?”
I whirled around. Chelsea stayed inches from my face. I felt her warm breath cross my lips, the sensation made me pause. I took a deep breath, placed my hands on her shoulders, and with a gentle push moved her away. “What happened to trying to help me?”
Chelsea tilted her head to the side and her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I am trying to help you.”
I brought my hand up, but stopped and made a fist then snapped my arm down to my side. I violently shook my head. “The fuck you are. A few days ago you were all nice and angelic. In the last couple of hours you’ve turned into something worse. You said you’d help me, and yet, all you’ve done is come on to me.” Chelsea straightened her shoulders and stood with her hands on her hips. I continued, “Look. You’re pretty. Hell, any guy would probably love for you to show them the attention you’ve shown me. But I’m not any guy, and you aren’t who I want. Now, if you want to help me, great. If not, then I’ll see you later. Keep one thing straight; I don’t want you for anything more than a friend. Period.”
Chelsea stayed silent for a minute. As soon as I made to turn she spoke, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do want to help you. And whoever’s stolen your heart should feel damn lucky.”
“Great. Today’s not a good day though. I’ve got to do some begging and pleading—no thanks to you. I’ll see you back at school next week.”
Chelsea didn’t try to stop me. She let me brush her shoulder on my way back to the office. I hoped she took me seriously and wouldn’t push the issue. If she thought being nice and giving in would earn her brownie points she was dead wrong.
On the way back to my car I came up with an apology difficult to forget. If luck stood in my favor, Stacey would see that I had good reasons for giving dating a shot. I climbed in
Finally, the desk guy came back out and met me at the front of the store near the how-to books for playing music. “We’re looking for a stocker. You interested?”
“Yep. I am.”
“Great.” His voice was dry. He pulled a couple of pieces of paper from the front pocket of his red smock. “Fill these out and bring them back. Sue, the owner, will talk to you when you do.”
I took the papers and left the store.
Hungry, I took a left at the intersection and found some food. I loved Mexican food, especially tamales. Fortunately for me, this town had one helluva restaurant within walking distance. The waitress sat me in a booth at the back. I ordered then spread the papers I’d picked up from the music store in front of me. One page turned out to be a standard application. I scribbled my information on the sheet then moved onto the next. It was a questionnaire. Damn, they were serious about this place. A smile spread across my lips while scrawling the answers to the questions.
Favorite genre of music: Anything with a decent rhythm.
Favorite Beatles album: To pick just one is too difficult. The Beatles are a legacy.
Do you know how to play an instrument: Yep, guitar. Both acoustic and electric.
Best advice to give a person when they come in and tell you to recommend some music: Find out what their mood is and what they want to do with the music. There are different suggestions based on what you’re doing: relaxing, focusing, etc.
I dropped off the application and by the time I left the store I had a job. Only one thing had the ability to make my happiness fade. Well, she wasn’t a thing so much as a person and she stood outside the store. Her hands crossed over her chest and her head tilted back against the shop window. Chelsea looked like she was sleeping. I knew the best course of action was to walk past her without a word. Just my luck, she didn’t agree. As soon as I passed within in her reach Chelsea snagged my waist and pulled me close.
She perched on her toes up against my back and whispered in my ear, “Where you headed, cutie?”
I whirled around. Chelsea stayed inches from my face. I felt her warm breath cross my lips, the sensation made me pause. I took a deep breath, placed my hands on her shoulders, and with a gentle push moved her away. “What happened to trying to help me?”
Chelsea tilted her head to the side and her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I am trying to help you.”
I brought my hand up, but stopped and made a fist then snapped my arm down to my side. I violently shook my head. “The fuck you are. A few days ago you were all nice and angelic. In the last couple of hours you’ve turned into something worse. You said you’d help me, and yet, all you’ve done is come on to me.” Chelsea straightened her shoulders and stood with her hands on her hips. I continued, “Look. You’re pretty. Hell, any guy would probably love for you to show them the attention you’ve shown me. But I’m not any guy, and you aren’t who I want. Now, if you want to help me, great. If not, then I’ll see you later. Keep one thing straight; I don’t want you for anything more than a friend. Period.”
Chelsea stayed silent for a minute. As soon as I made to turn she spoke, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do want to help you. And whoever’s stolen your heart should feel damn lucky.”
“Great. Today’s not a good day though. I’ve got to do some begging and pleading—no thanks to you. I’ll see you back at school next week.”
Chelsea didn’t try to stop me. She let me brush her shoulder on my way back to the office. I hoped she took me seriously and wouldn’t push the issue. If she thought being nice and giving in would earn her brownie points she was dead wrong.
On the way back to my car I came up with an apology difficult to forget. If luck stood in my favor, Stacey would see that I had good reasons for giving dating a shot. I climbed in
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