Page 33 of His Surrender
And then they started playing “Happy Birthday.”
Laughing, I sat in the seat across from them and listened. I had the greatest students ever. They could improve even the worst of moods.
“Thank you,” I said once they were done. “This calls for an easy day, what do y’all think? Wanna watch a movie?”
That had been the plan anyway since they’d worked hard for weeks. Dillon rolled the TV from the back room, and I thanked him before holding up two movies.
“Which one do you want to watch?” I asked. “West Side StoryorPhantom of the Opera?”
They voted for the latter, so I started the movie and sat at the back of the room as it played. Foster put his bass clarinet back in its case before bringing his legs up and crossing them in the seat, his eyes glued to the TV. When he’d shown up to school with his instrument a week and a half ago, I’d been pleasantly surprised. It was a nice one too, probably costing upward of three hundred dollars.
“Uncle Jay bought it for me,” he had said, beaming with a smile and hugging the case to his chest like it was his most prized possession.
The memory of Jay’s lips on mine hit me then. The memory of his hands on me. Beneath that cocky exterior, I had caught glimpses of vulnerability, as if most of his playboy persona was just a shield.
A shield from what?
Maybe I’d never know.
After school, I went home and spent way too long sorting through my closet trying to find something to wear on my date. Nathan had mentioned he wanted to take me somewhere nice for dinner, so I didn’t want to look too casual. But I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard either.
I narrowed it down to two button-up shirts—one short sleeve and the other long—and just as I was weighing the pros and cons of each, my phone dinged.
BlondBastard:Getting ready for your hot date?
My heart beat faster, as it always did when I heard from Jay.
Me:Why? You jealous?
BlondBastard:Damn right I am. I don’t like the thought of some other guy putting his hands all over you.
Shocked, I read his message a few times. I hadn’t expected him to actually admit to it. Another message came through.
BlondBastard:I hate this texting shit. Here’s my number. Call me.
I had the mind to tell him he could go fuck himself… but the part of me that was kind of crazy about him won the fight. I plugged his number into my contacts and called him.
“Jay Foley speaking,” he answered.
“Do you really answer the phone like that?”
“What’s wrong if I do?” I heard a smile in his voice. “Is this a certain birthday boy?”
I shoved down the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Falling for Jay was about the most idiotic thing I could do.
“You told me to call you, so I did. What do you want?”
He tsked. “So hateful, Mr. Barnett. You really need to learn your manners.”
“I’m busy, Jay.” I refused to allow myself to be put under his spell. “My date will be here to pick me up in fifteen minutes. Whatever you want to tell me, make it quick.”
He was quiet for several seconds. And then, “Happy Birthday, Remi. I hope you get everything your heart desires.Do svidaniya.”
The call disconnected.
I stared at the screen before setting the phone on the nightstand, my hand shaking a bit. I had told him I didn’t have time to talk. Instead of being happy about it, I felt worse. Much worse. The tone of his voice before he’d hung up did something weird to my chest. Like a small crack had formed.
Damn you, Jay Foley. What are you doing to me?
