Unsupervised (Slumming It Book 1)

by S. M. Shade

  “Jails have water. Still not a total loss,” Harriet laughs.

  Owen shakes his head. “No way, noooo. I’d rather stink than have a big dude named Bubba want to wash me.”

  They’ll get no comment from me. I didn’t grow up poor, but I’ve had friends who did. Sometimes, you do what’s necessary to make it through the day.

  After I inform them that we’ll be meeting here the next time, the group breaks up, climbing into their respective cars to head back to campus. I’m happy with how this has gone so far. They joke and have fun but they’re learning stuff I had to figure out on my own. I’ll never forget how embarrassed I was when I moved in my first apartment and my furnace wouldn’t come on. The landlord had to send maintenance over and all he did was flip the breaker on. Problem solved.

  I pull into the campus lot in time to see Kelly hop out of Owen’s car and wave as she walks away. There’s something about her that intrigues me. She gets flustered easily, gets anxious when she gets put on the spot, but she was determined and eager to learn today. It was a joy to see how satisfied she was with herself when she lit the pilot light, the way her face lit up when the others cheered. She gained some confidence, and that makes me feel even better about this program.

  I’m only on campus for a few minutes, just long enough to grab a few things and lock my classroom. Thunder rumbles overhead, and I dart to my truck, jumping inside just as rain starts to dot the windshield. The air is oppressive, heavy with the scent of ozone, and the clouds rolling in hang dark and low. It’s going to storm like a bitch.

  The thought of beating the storm is all I’m focused on when I turn onto the main road, but a flash of color in the growing downpour catches my eye. Kelly rides a bike along the edge of the road, as far over as she can get without being in the mud. Her head is tucked down and she’s pedaling like mad but facing the wind.

  She usually drives to school. Maybe her car is broken down or in the shop. Whatever the reason, this was not the day to try biking. I pull my truck over in front of her, and she looks up as she approaches, the alarm on her face fading when she recognizes me. “Mr. Aldrich.”

  “Get in,” I tell her, hopping out of the truck. I have to raise my voice to get over the sound of the thunder. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Her momentary hesitation comes to a quick end when lightning streaks overhead, followed almost instantly by a loud crack. The speed at which she scrambles off the bike makes me laugh, and I lift her bike into the truck bed as she climbs into the passenger seat.

  “God, I’m so wet,” she moans, tossing her long red hair back.

  Oh no, I’ve stepped into a student teacher porno. At least my brain has. It only takes a moment of observing her to realize she isn’t trying to sound that way. She’s oblivious, innocent. And now I feel like a pervert.

  “I’m sorry. I’m getting your seat wet.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry.” Rain comes down in torrential sheets, pushing the visibility to zero and closing us off from the world. Instant isolation.

  This thought seems to occur to her too as I pull farther off of the road to wait out the deluge. “Um…you aren’t secretly a serial killer after school hours or anything, are you?”

  The corners of her mouth twitch when I chuckle at her question. “No, not last time I checked.”

  “That’s exactly what a secret, after hours serial killer would say.”

  How did I not notice those eyes before? Clear and blue and inquisitive. Coupled with the pale skin, freckles, and fiery hair, this girl is beautiful. She’s a student, and I’m not supposed to notice, that’s why. I’m probably only seven or eight years older than her, but I’m her teacher which is a big hands off.

  “Where do you live?” I ask.

  “Also not information to give a potential serial killer.” Humor rings in her voice.

  My console creaks as I open it. “Okay, how about if I swear on something that I’m not a serial killer.” Her giggle fills the small space as she sees the handful of Starburst I pull out. “I swear on the always superior pink Starburst that I’m not a crazy murderer.”

  Plucking a yellow one from my palm, she turns and leans against the door. “The yellow ones are clearly the best.”

  “Wow. A sociopath accusing me of being a serial killer. The irony.”

  “Well, I’ve been lured into your truck with candy, so I’m probably not one to judge.” The candy gets popped into her mouth.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t know I had candy.”

  She smacks her forehead. “Yeah, I should ask to see the stranger’s candy first, next time. How stupid of me.”

  I’m surprised how different she is when it’s just the two of us. Not as nervous and more talkative. Funny even. “Why didn’t you grab a ride from Mr. Wright, or one of the other students?”

  “It wasn’t raining when Owen dropped me off, and I told him I had a ride.” She gestures to her bike getting drenched in the bed of the truck. “Which was technically true. I live on Violet Circle. Do you know how to get there?”

  I know where it is. The small loop of government funded apartments are infamous in town for being an epicenter of crazy, but I’ve never been there. I know quite a few students reside there if they can’t afford the dorms or are trying to save money.

  “I know where it is.” The rain lets up a bit, and I pull back onto the road.

  “Is it very far out of your way? I can give you some gas money.”

  “Nah, don’t worry, I pass by there on my way home.” It’s not exactly true, but it isn’t too far out of my way. There’s no way I’m taking money from her when I know she must be struggling, judging by her address.

  A comfortable silence falls as she plays around on her phone, only looking up when I pull onto Violet Circle. The rain has stopped, and tendrils of fog filter up from the road. I can’t help but chuckle at the vandalized street sign that has changed Violet Circle to Violent Circle, but for Kelly’s sake, I hope it isn’t true.

  “Thanks so much for the ride,” she exclaims, hopping out of the truck when I park in front of her apartment. A woman sits on her steps, watching us as I pull her bike out of the back of the truck.

  “You’re welcome.”

  A shy smile spreads across her face. “Um…I’ll see you in class, then.”

  “Take care, Ms. Bryant.”

  She pushes her bike across the yard and leans it against the porch, stopping to chat with the woman who must be a roommate or friend. They both throw a glance in my direction, and her friend waves as I pull away.

  It’s just getting dark when I arrive home, and the smell of roasted meat and potatoes greets me when I walk inside. Best invention ever, the slow cooker. Throw everything in it in the morning and come home to dinner. I’ll definitely be including some easy slow cooker recipes for the students when we get to the cooking portion.

  Kelly swears she burns everything. The thought makes me smile. I’m not a great cook either but I’ve gotten better and I’m sure she can learn too.

  I turn on the TV and leave the news playing just for some background noise while I eat. Maybe Travis is right, and I do need to try dating again. I’m not in a hurry to rush into anything with anyone, and I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve had alone, but I’ll admit, I’d like to have someone to eat dinner with. Someone to talk to other than the guys. And someone to fuck, if I’m going to be completely honest with myself. I have a high sex drive and my hand just isn’t cutting it anymore.

  There’s no way I’m letting Dalton set me up with anyone, but maybe I could give one of those dating apps a try. Which one, though? I’m aware that most of them seem to be for one night stands or temporary hookups, but there must be one more for dating in general. Damn it. Dalton would be the one to ask. This is a question better asked by text, so I don’t have to deal with his taunting bullshit.

  Me: What’s a good dating app? Not for one night stands.
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br />   Dalton: God, you’re old

  Dalton: Do you want like a serious dating website where you have to tell them your whole life story or an app that lets you meet people in the area? Because Meetcha is used for hookups and for old boring asses like you to court and woo women desperate to land a husband. You could start there.

  Me: Fuck you very much. You’re older than me, asshole.

  Dalton: Not at heart.

  Me: I agree you’re mentally and emotionally stunted. Thanks for the info.

  The app is simple and straightforward. It doesn’t take me long to fill out a profile and upload a couple of recent pictures. Just as I finish making my account, Dalton texts again.

  Dalton: Watch out for chicks who only have a face shot on their profile. Guaranteed to outweigh you by two hundred pounds at least. Have you come up with a line for your profile yet? I have some suggestions.

  I’ll bet he does.

  Me: Thanks, I can handle it.

  Dalton: You’ll be the only one handling it without a clever line.

  Dalton: “Looking for the kind of girl I can take home to meet Mom but will blow me in the car on the way back.”

  His response makes me laugh because I don’t doubt he’d use that. We’ve been friends a long time and I love the guy, but he has all the class of an overfilled piss bucket.

  We exchange a few more texts before I realize I have somewhere to be.

  Cooper’s Music Store is tucked into a corner of the shopping plaza, sandwiched between a beauty salon and a second-hand bookstore. The idea to learn to play a few songs on the piano for Grandma seemed reasonable at the time. Even talking to the head of the music department at work—who pointed me here and loaned me a small keyboard all while giving me a look you’d give a puppy—didn’t deter me from the idea. Now that I’m here, I feel completely ridiculous.

  My dashboard clock says it’s now or never and the main thing that gets me out of the truck is my aversion to wasting other people’s time. There’s a piano teacher waiting for me and I don’t want to be rude by being late. Especially because I know I have the latest appointment available, so whoever it is probably wants this over and done with as much as I suddenly do.

  I’m sure they teach on a piano here, and I wasn’t sure whether to bring my borrowed keyboard. Better to have it just in case was my thought when I grabbed it on my way out the door. I sling the keyboard bag over my shoulder, take a deep breath and head inside.

  The music store is warm, inviting, and gloriously empty of customers. I’m not sure why I feel so self-conscious. I suppose because most people take music lessons as kids, not when they’re pushing thirty. A man sits behind the counter, re-stringing a guitar across his lap.

  “What can I do for you?” he asks, looking up from his work.

  “I’m here for a piano lesson.”

  My shrug and sheepish smile is met with a nod, and he gets to his feet. “Your nine o’clock is here,” he calls through the doorway behind him. He gestures to the door. “Go on back. Second door on the left.”

  “Thank you.”

  The hallway is narrow and I’m careful not to bump the instrument against the walls. The door to the second room stands open. It’s not a huge space, but the upright piano against the wall tells me I’m in the right place.

  The piano teacher enters in a rush, tucking a lock of very familiar hair behind her ear. Shocked blue eyes stare into mine, and I’m suddenly covered in a flurry of papers.

  “Mr. Aldrich! What are you doing here?” Kelly exclaims, frantically gathering the stack of sheet music she practically threw at me.

  Excellent fucking question. I once had the ass of my pants loudly split open when I bent over in front of a group of women in the bar, and I thought that may be the most awkward moment of my life but this may have it beat.

  “You’re the piano teacher?” I clarify, though it’s obvious. She didn’t enter with sheet music in her hand to clean the place.

  Her nod is cautious.

  “I signed up for lessons.” A realization occurs to me. “Didn’t you see my name?”

  “Mr. Cooper only jotted down your initials. He’s not the most…organized.” Her scrutinizing gaze isn’t helping the embarrassment. “You want to learn the piano?”

  “Well, yeah, I mean…a couple of simple songs.”

  Another few moments of silence tick by. “Are you sure you aren’t a stalker instead of a serial killer?”

  It breaks the tension, on my end anyway, and I shake my head with a laugh. “I didn’t know you worked here. My grandmother is in a retirement home. She always wanted me to learn the piano and I thought I’d surprise her by learning to play a couple of songs. This…really wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry.”

  “Wait,” she calls, when I turn to leave. “You just surprised me. I can teach you to play.” She gestures to the piano bench. “What songs did you have in mind?”

  I have no idea. “I’m not sure. She’d be thrilled to have me play anything.” I sit on the bench, and she sits beside me.

  The sweet smell of honey wafts around me. I don’t know if it’s her shampoo or soap or a perfume, but she smells amazing. Since I dropped her off, she’s changed clothes and pulled her hair into a bun on top of her head. “Apparently, there’s a who has the best grandkid contest in progress between the residents and I’m losing.”

  “Okay, do you play any instruments?”

  “Unless drumming on the table counts, no.”

  She smiles and sucks on her bottom lip. I can practically hear the wheels turning in her head. “So, you don’t know how to read music, recognize notes and chords, or any of that, then?”

  Shit. There’s going to be so much more to this than I expected. Maybe it was stupid to think I could just learn a couple of songs.

  “Afraid not.”

  The bench creaks as she shifts to look at me. “Are you interested in learning how to play or just purely doing it for someone else? Because learning to read music takes a lot of time and practice.”

  “I’ve never really been interested, no, and I don’t have a lot of time. My grandmother has dementia. It’s early days but you never know how fast it can move. I’d like to be able to play a song for her when I visit, while she can still remember.”

  It’s more than I intended to share, and the sympathetic expression that forms on her face makes me regret it. She’s my student. I’m supposed to have the upper hand here. She isn’t supposed to know stuff about me.

  “I’m so sorry about your grandmother.” Maybe the look on my face gives away how uncomfortable I suddenly am because she continues. “I think I know what we can do. If it’s just for a few songs, we’ll pick some simple ones. I’ll mark the sheet music with the notes and mark the keyboard as well. You can just match and memorize them.”

  That doesn’t sound too hard. “That’s perfect.”

  “It will still take a lot of practice,” she warns. “Especially if you want to learn them fast.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Okay.” She nods toward the keyboard bag. “Get it out. Let me see what you’re working with.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes what it sounded like. “Your keyboard! Get your keyboard out. I wasn’t, you know…suggesting you whip it…anything else…out so I can see it. I’ll be right back.”

  She flees the room while I do my best not to laugh, then returns a moment later with a sheet of stickers.

  The rest of the time is spent with her adhering the stickers to the correct keys and showing me some common chords that I’ll be learning.

  “I’ll find some easy songs and get them marked as well, then you can start playing at your next lesson. Anything specific you want to learn?”

  An idea occurs to me. “Her birthday is coming up. Happy birthday is simple, right?”

  “A perfect beginner song, yes. When do you want your next lesson?” A strand of hair that’s come loose from her bun falls in her face as she peruses her appointment book.


  “What nights do you teach?”

  “Monday, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday. I’d recommend once a week, but if that’s too often twice a month would work.”

  “Just give me your last appointment on Mondays and Tuesdays.”

  Her eyebrows leap up and she regards me. “Two nights a week?”

  Yeah, I’m surprised too. The words sort of spilled out. Maybe it’s the thought of not spending my evenings alone. That’s what I’d like to tell myself, but the truth is…I want to spend more time with her.

  Shrugging, I put away the keyboard. “I want to learn fast.”

  “Nine o’clock tomorrow, then.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Six

  Kelly

  This has been the weirdest day. A good day, but it’s seemed so long. After class, the Adulting Club meeting, getting drenched by a storm, and work, it’s been anything but boring. Even before Mr. Aldrich turned up unexpectedly.

  For a second, I thought he was at Cooper’s Music especially for me. How silly is that? Yes, Kelly, the super hot, older teacher who now knows you can’t even afford a car is totally into you. I blame the little fantasy that formed in my head after he dropped me off after school. The way he leaned toward me was almost like he was going to kiss me, but he was only reaching for something. Thank goodness I didn’t lean in or even worse—pucker up for a kiss.

  What shocks me is I wanted to kiss him. I know he’s gorgeous and smart and everything. Any woman would want him, I’m sure, but that’s not the way I usually react. I’ve been around plenty of great looking, successful men and I’ve never had the urge to kiss one of them. Never felt any sort of attraction at all.

  It’s true, I managed not to embarrass myself in the moment, but I couldn’t quit playing the scenario over and over in my head while I took a hot shower before work. He has amazing lips, and I couldn’t stop imagining what they would’ve felt like if he had kissed me. Ugh, aren’t I too old for stupid schoolgirl crushes on a teacher?