Page 26 of My Infatuation with Isabella

Tommy walks over to the computer and inserts the USB that has the set Jason pre-recorded so that he wouldn’t have to come to the studio and actually work for a living. That guy is such an asshole, and Tommy is a bigger asshole to do Jason’s work for him while he goes gallivanting with his friends. The equipment in this room is no joke. There are a million buttons all over the console, but Tommy has covered for Jason so many times that he knows exactly which ones to press.

While Tommy starts dusting, I sit down on the opposite side of the console because I don’t like being near all those gadgets. “What kind of music mixes does Jason pre-record, anyway?” I ask, spinning around in the office chair.

“Take a listen.” Tom hands me a wireless headset, which looks like something a fighter pilot would use because the microphone is attached to the right earpiece. I place it over my ears and at first, I think I’m listening to an ad, but then I realize what it is. “Is this classical music?”

“Yep.”

The confirmation confuses me more. “Isn’t this a college radio station? Why would college kids listen to classical music?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. When I told Scotty I was working here, he told me he used to listen to Jason’s show all the time while he was studying. Apparently, classical music is good for reducing stress levels and helps boost your memory or some shit like that. He said people play it for their babies to make them smarter.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, Scotty is smarter than both of us. He knows math better than I know my way around a cock. That’s genius level, so maybe there’s some merit to it.”

I remove the headset from my ears and hang it around my neck instead. “So, you’re saying that we’re going to be here until eleven o’clock and we don’t even have good music to keep us entertained?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

He moves behind me to wipe the desk, and after he’s done, he pulls up a chair to sit beside me. He grabs another headset from the table and puts it on. Dropping our heads against the backrest, we stare up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Izzy. This is so relaxing. I could fall asleep just like this.”

He closes his eyes, allowing the soothing sound of the piano to lull him. His breathing starts to slow, and I think he might just doze off. I initiate a conversation because I’m not going to sit here bored out of my mind while he sleeps. He fricken told me to come here.

“I have an important question for you, Thomas.”

“What?” he replies lazily.

“How much wood could a wood slut suck if a wood slut could suck wood?”

He pulls the headset off and hangs it around his neck the same way I have so he can give my question serious thought. “With my vast experience of sucking wood, I would say...thirteen.”

“At one time?”

He nods. “Mm-hmm.”

“I would probably tap out at four. Lockjaw and all. But you commit! You really are a wood slut.”

“Yep.” He throws his arms out and twirls in the chair. “That’s why my mother kicked me out.”

“Well, that...and she sees you as a total failure.” I reach over to stroke his arm. “You ever miss her?”

“Not really.”

“You think she regrets kicking you out?”

“Not really.”

“You think she’ll ever accept that you’re bisexual?”

“Nope. She’s ignorant and she chose her close-minded views over her own child. That’s fine. If she won’t love and accept me, then I have to love me enough for both of us.”

I offer a sad smile. “And I love you, too, Tom. I wish things were different for you.”

“I think my life could’ve been different. You know what I should’ve done? I should’ve brought you home to meet her when you were still in high school. I think if she had to meet a girl like you, she would’ve gladly given me her blessing to be with a guy.”

“You’re such an asshole,” I say with a giggle, lightly slapping his arm.

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