Every Minute

by C J Burright

  She clicked off the bathroom light and strolled into the blank hallway, her boot heels a sharp, sure echo in the silence. Tonight, she’d sever this strange and unwanted connection between them. Whatever intentions he had, she’d kill them. She grabbed her coat off the hook in the foyer and shoved it on. A quick pat of her pockets confirmed keys and phone were still there. Choking back a sigh, she opened the door.

  Garret stood on the porch, his hands in his jean pockets, his shoulders hunched. His smile was almost shy. He wasn’t dressed like she’d expected, not the smooth presentation of a guy bent on charming a reluctant date. His jeans were grungier than hers. He’d hidden his too-long hair beneath a slouchy black beanie. He wore an obscure graphic T over a thermal long-sleeved shirt, and if he’d brought a coat, he must’ve left it in his—she blinked—vehicular beast.

  Black. Sleek. The kind of automobile that screamed too much money. So that’s why he doesn’t feel the need to dress up. He let his wheels do all the work, a mistake on his part. Material possessions didn’t impress her.

  “You have snow tires on that thing?” She shook her head and buttoned her coat, sealing out the chill. “I’m not sure I trust your driving skills, unless you drive like you run.”

  “The tires are fine, jokester.” He straightened. “And I’ve yet to get a traffic citation or be in an accident, not even a fender-bender.”

  “Easy to say when you’ve been driven around by a tour bus and limousines for three years.”

  “Doesn’t change the facts.” He offered his arm. “Ready?”

  “Not even.” She ignored his arm and plodded down the stairs, inhaling a long breath of icy air. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Garret smirked at Adara’s slender back as she headed for his Maserati, two steps ahead of him, as if determined to leave him in the dust. No matter what she said or did, her back-off attitude was a ruse. Any idiot who took two seconds to truly look at her could see that. She was waiting to be found, not left behind.

  His heart made an odd jump-squeeze. The jump correlated to an evening alone with Adara. The squeeze was for everything locked beneath her surface, clawing to get out. Pushing her in that area would get nowhere, which was okay. Sometimes inspiration took sudden intervals, broken sparks, long minutes to connect the dots and take flight, and while he intended to be the trigger, she controlled the absorption and reaction. He checked his watch. The timer clicked away, starting exactly at sunset.

  He broke into a trot and beat her to the car door, thankfully without slipping on the snow crusting the sidewalk. Making a fool of himself wasn’t how he hoped to inspire his date. And no matter how much she protested, bet or no, this was a date. Our first.

  “I can handle my own door.” She kicked a snow tuft at him as he hit the lock button and opened the door for her.

  “Of course you can.” He performed his best standing ovation bow. “Allow me the indulgence of pretending to be a gentleman.”

  Hand on the door frame, she paused and met his gaze. “This isn’t a date.”

  The challenging flash in her eyes reignited his smile. “Standing around in the cold doesn’t count toward your obligation, Adara.”

  Her mouth tightened, but she settled into the passenger seat and jerked the door out of his hands, slamming it shut. The entire car rattled.

  Garret pressed his lips together to keep a laugh inside. She was in rare form tonight, which meant he was getting to her. It was only a matter of minutes before she cracked and let him in.

  He slid into the driver seat and shut out the winter bite. Adara stared straight ahead through the windshield, her hands fisted on her thighs.

  “Why are you so tense?” He added a tease to his tone. “I thought you said this wasn’t a date, and Tatum made me promise to be nice to her favorite teacher. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried.” She relaxed her fingers and slouched in the seat, squeaking against the leather. He wasn’t sure she meant to look at him, but she angled her face his way. “Tatum said I was her favorite teacher?”

  “Among other things.” With a turn of the key, the motor purred to life, and he pulled away from the curb.

  “Among other things?” She looked straight at him, her brow wrinkled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged, the gesture far more casual than the words he considered. The night had barely begun and he didn’t want to start out with the heavy stuff, yet he doubted Adara would ever bring it up. Better to take the opening than miss it altogether. “She told me you were her teacher last year too, that when the principal bumped you up to third grade, you asked her to be a student guide.”

  “Which I regret at times.” The words were softened by the affection in her tone. “She’s supposed to be an example to my more challenging students, not their ringleader.”

  “She also said you were a lot more fun last year.”

  Her throat worked and she refocused out the windshield.

  Garret loosened his grip on the steering wheel. Adara hadn’t wigged out at the implication that she was a different person since her brother’s death, a promising sign. Baby steps. He softened the impact by returning the blame to Tatum. “I think she’s tired of getting in trouble.”

  “There are consequences for going into drama-queen mode.”

  “Odd. I’ve never seen her do drama queen.” He smiled at her incredulous look. “At least not more than four times a day.”

  “I wouldn’t expect my star student to neglect tormenting people outside the classroom too.” She laid her head back. “She’s too smart for her own good, and she either has a natural ability to manipulate people or someone with uncanny expertise taught her.” Her narrowed gaze aimed at him, accusing.

  “Not me.” He laid a hand on his heart. “My influence is nothing but good, pure and kind. She also mentioned the Peppermint Patties you keep in your bottom drawer.”

  Her mouth opened. “The little stinker. I keep that drawer locked.”

  “She’s a natural Ambrose. Locks don’t keep us out long, no matter the type.” He didn’t bother telling her that the deadbolt she kept on her heart wouldn’t keep him out. She’d discover that soon enough.

  “Where are you taking me?” She peered out the window into the darkness. The streetlamps had dwindled until only the headlights broke the night. “I’m happy to stuff my face and fulfill this obligation with a corn dog from the convenience store we passed a mile ago.”

  “You’d regret that corn dog on your morning run.” He nodded, happy to share wisdom gained through personal experience. “Trust me on that one.”

  Her lips twitched into the tiniest of smirks.

  Maybe the expression was meant as condescending or malicious, but he took it as an encouragement. Anything even close to a smile from her he’d hold close to his heart. “I won the bet, so the location is my choice.”

  She rolled her eyes but the tenseness didn’t return.

  A few minutes longer brought them to their destination, and Garret parked in the first row of the science center lot, close to the front door.

  As the motor settled into silence, Adara leaned forward, nearly pressing her face to the glass. “I’m pretty sure the science center café is closed for the night. Good. We can go back for the corn dog.”

  He jangled a key and wriggled his eyebrows. “Everything’s closed, except to us.”

  She actually looked impressed. “You stole the key to university property? Learning things from Tatum?”

  “Not stole…manipulated. Big difference.” He got out of the car and hurried for her door, too slow. His leg muscles still burned from his frozen hell morning jog attempt. She’d already closed the door and leaned a hip on the car by the time he reached her, her gaze on the dark science center. Without the stir of students or faculty, the place held an eerie graveyard quiet.

  “If you’re a serial murderer hiding behind a musician’s mask who bets women at carnival games hoping to win so you can drag them to
deserted science centers at night for the perfect kill spot, just be honest and say so.”

  “An honest murderer? Sounds legit.” He gestured for her to follow him on the cement path leading around the back, shoveled mostly clear of snow.

  After a marked hesitation, she did, her steps a ballad tempo behind him.

  The pinch in his shoulders eased. He’d hate to have to drag her with him and corroborate her theory. “What if I’m a musician who simply commits petty crimes?”

  “Like harassment?” Her eyes sparked, undercutting her serious expression.

  “More like jaywalking, speeding and the occasional skinny dipping.” While he’d crossed a few lines simply to get her here, he hadn’t earned stalker-harassment status. Stalking nudged the edge of selfish obsession, a place he’d never go. But if Adara decided to stalk him, he’d be a willing victim.

  “Skinny dipping?” She glanced at him, long enough to give the impression she was picturing him in the water. Naked.

  Good.

  “You haven’t truly lived until you’ve iced your testicles in Lake Lucerne in the spring.” He shuddered. “That was one bet I lost.”

  “Aw, dang. Guess I’ll never truly live.” Her lovely mouth, a mouth he hadn’t stopped thinking about, twisted. “Since I don’t have testicles.”

  “Hilarious.”

  They stopped at the solid metal door leading into the planetarium. Garret hit the alarm code, waited for the beep and unlocked the door with the key he’d traded for a future violin performance. It had taken more friendly negotiation than manipulation with the director—the bond between fellow middle school band geeks was eternal—but Adara didn’t need to know that. Besides, he would’ve stooped to manipulation, if necessary. He didn’t mind bending a few minor moral codes for a good cause.

  He waved her inside, waiting until she’d passed before sliding in behind her. The door snicked shut, swallowing them in utter darkness.

  “I should’ve asked your MO.” Her husky voice threaded through the black. “Do you use a knife, gun or ax? Should I expect a torture session with body parts cut off every minute?” The snap of fingers followed. “That’s why you gave me that note with a number on it, isn’t it? That’s how many times you’re going to stab me.”

  Blind, he eased toward her voice, and his arm brushed against her solid warmth. He hadn’t realized she was so close but he wasn’t about to move away. He leaned down where he thought her ear might be. Her smooth hair tickled his chin. “Tatum’s right,” he murmured. “You have a sick mind, Adara. Truly morbid. But if you must know, I prefer a nail file. I whittle my victims down, slowly and relentlessly, until they beg for surrender.”

  She huffed, a noise dangerously close to a laugh. “Tatum told you I have a sick mind?”

  “When threatened with death by nail file, that’s what you want to know?” He surrendered to the urge to graze her hair, a brief touch. Maybe she’d pretend not to notice in the dark or dismiss it as nothing more than him bumping into her. It was silk, soft and sleek against his fingertips. Tingles pulsed down his spine, a heady rush. He wished he could feel her hair on his mouth too.

  “It takes a sick mind to know one.” Her voice lowered, velvet in the void, speeding up the electricity pumping in his veins. “I’m beginning to think it runs in the Ambrose bloodline.”

  “Huh. And all this time I thought I was a prodigy, not a mad genius.”

  “Wow. Full of yourself much?”

  “Honest. There’s a difference.” He flicked on the light switch.

  The planetarium had been set up exactly as he’d instructed. Glowing lamps circled the entire dome floor, just enough light to see what lay ahead. A small table was set up in the center of the auditorium, its vanilla-scented candles a delicate tinge in the air, but Adara didn’t even seem to notice those details. Her gaze immediately lifted, and her gasp of wonder made every second of prep time worthwhile. If he hadn’t known what to expect, he would’ve gasped too. The heavens spread above them, a clear night sky showcasing uncountable stars, swirling clouds tinged in pink and purple, accented by a midnight backdrop. It was space brought to Earth, just for her. In that second, all her masks fell away, leaving only a girl awestruck by nature, the shadows of her grief forgotten.

  His chest tightened, the planetarium’s wonders gone beneath the marvel of Adara. Ben-zonna, he wanted to see her like this all the time—happy, entranced and free. Pity she wouldn’t let him use his music to put that same expression on her face. Someday. Someday, wonder would be only one of the expressions he’d inspire in her. The setting would have been pure magic with music, but he didn’t want to test Adara in that area yet. For her, he’d nixed the Star Wars soundtrack the director had suggested and settled for silence. As it was, not too shabby.

  “I don’t want to know what you did to pull this off.” She still faced the stars, all lines in her face gone. “It’s almost worth losing the Potty Toss.”

  He grinned. “Almost?”

  “I confess,” she whispered. “Totally worth it.”

  His body tightened in uncomfortable places. He’d trade his violin to hear her talk about him in that sexy, breathless voice. “There’s food too.” He itched to hold her hand, make some type of physical contact. Instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Better than stale, cold corn dogs.”

  “With this for scenery, I don’t care if it’s haggis and rocky mountain oysters.” Her voice was still low, awed.

  “That’s just wrong.” Maybe he should’ve saved the stars for later, when she seemed antsy to go, something to lure her to stay. As it was, he wasn’t sure how he’d redirect her attention to him. “Let’s eat. You can watch the stars all night, if that’s what you want.”

  “I want.” She used that same, breathy voice.

  He squirmed as imagination took him to another place, where she said that about him, in that voice. He wanted too, and the stars weren’t part of it. Although, they could be. Further down the relationship road, a night in the planetarium alone with Adara would be astronomical—the stars overhead, her in his arms, skin on skin. He scratched his jaw. Since Adara had yet to look at him again, he had some work ahead before making that happen.

  Gently, he guided her forward with a hand on the small of her back. His splayed fingers encompassed its entirety. She needed more food and less running. He caught her elbow as she stumbled into one of the stargazing recliners scattered around the auditorium. “The stars aren’t going anywhere, Adara. If you trip and get hurt, I’ll have to take you to the hospital. Then it’ll be no stars and only me for a lot longer than dinner.”

  “Good point. That would be terrible.” The fact her voice was still velvet and breathy softened any intended insult. She circumnavigated the couch, breaking from his light contact.

  Reaching the table, she suddenly spun and faced him. Only inches away, her scent skated along his senses, sweet and tropical. Maybe coconut. “Why are you doing this? I’m not interested in a relationship, and if I were going to date, I’d never choose a musician.” She pointed an elegant finger in the air, as if a brilliant idea just came to mind. “You should ask Gia out. You’d be perfect together. She’s into musicians.”

  “Gia’s not my type.” While Gia might have been attracted to musicians, he suspected her preferences had shifted to suits, ties and courtrooms, not that he planned to bring up that particular topic. He wanted to focus on Adara, not the Ian and Gia plane crash on the horizon. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, and running away from your fears won’t fix them. Trust me, I know. Most people don’t realize I used to get stage fright. My hands used to shake so badly I could barely hold the violin, let alone play, until my teacher, a ninety-year-old Jewish lady who could barely speak English, gave me this tip.” Dropping his voice, he leaned in closer. “Name your fear. Own it, and it won’t own you.” He winked. “Yutzi.”

  Her eyes sparkled and her mouth twitched. “Idiot. Your teacher knew what she was talking about. You, on the other han
d, don’t have a clue. Me afraid of you?” She lifted her chin. “I don’t think so.”

  “No?” He slid nearer, forcing her to tip her chin to hold his gaze. “Then let me play violin for you.”

  “I don’t really like music.” She said it too casually to be believed.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Everyone likes music of some type. It fills the whole world in one form or another. Birds, the wind in the trees, the sea against the shore, insects, rain… It’s everywhere, inescapable. Trying to avoid it is like trying to stop your heart from beating. It’s part of you, even when you deny it.”

  “Have you heard a rooster crow at one in the morning?” She flicked her fingers, dismissive, impatient. “I wouldn’t call that music.”

  “The hens might disagree.” He rubbed his bottom lip, his pulse quickening. He was losing her. Food wouldn’t tempt her, and not even the stars would hold her here if he made the wrong move. “What if I promise to play only songs that hold no personal meaning? What if we create new emotional ties, you, music and me?” He snapped his fingers. “Name That Tune.”

  She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What?”

  “I’m challenging you to a match of Name That Tune. If you can name the twenty-five songs I play on my violin by the end of the chorus, I’ll take you home, bet fulfilled. Three strikes and you’re out. The faster you name them, the less you have to endure.”

  “You brought your violin?” Her voice trembled on the last word, only enough that someone paying attention would notice.

  He nodded, ready to chase her if she ran.

  “Confident of you.” The tense set of her shoulders didn’t ease.

  “Hopeful.” Garret casually stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Big difference.”

  After a moment, her eyes flared in challenge and he relaxed. Such a contradiction, Adara. If solitude was her ultimate goal, she wouldn’t have risked it by taking the carnival bet in the first place. She wouldn’t have accompanied him as he gimped along the running trail. She wouldn’t have answered when he’d rung the doorbell tonight.