Page 14 of A World Apart
He shook his head. “A little,” he said.
“Uh huh,” I said, as a mischievous notion occurred to me.
I picked up the sticks from where I’d left them on a chair and held them in front of him.
He looked up, first at the sticks in my outstretched hand and then to my face. I raised an eyebrow and smirked. He huffed out a little laugh, looking away for a moment before taking them from my hand.
He sat down on the little stool, adjusting a few things here and there. He raised the sticks, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes and smiled in an embarrassed sort of way. I giggled.
Giggled. For fuck’s sake.
He played what I’m sure is a basic, scales-like rhythm, but to me it looked and sounded like proper playing.
His hair flew around his face slightly as his body moved with each hit, his knee bouncing as his foot worked the bass drum.
He finished with a flourish and looked down at his feet like he was embarrassed. I clapped enthusiastically, my reward that full beam smile that made my heart lurch.
“Bravo,” I said softly, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
“Thank you,” he said shyly as he got to his feet.
In the aftermath of the loud drums and clash of the cymbals, the air in the room felt like it was vibrating in the silence that followed and I suddenly became aware again of the magnetic pull that seemed to grow in the space between where we both stood. It felt like all the hairs on my arms were standing up, like the air before a thunderstorm. Charged.
I bit my bottom lip. I couldn’t help it and even less so when I noticed his eyes flick down to my mouth. Oh, holy hell.
I watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed, which only brought my attention to the slight V of his shirt as it sat against his collar bones.
This didn’t feel like fan-girling. I’d fan-girled before when I’d met other celebrities whilst working here. Those times had felt like the bubbles in a soft-drink, crackly and brief and enough sugar to make you giddy for a time. This felt like the burn you got from drinking whiskey; heavy and deep as it warmed you from the inside out.
I felt like I wanted to reach forward and only my deeply ingrained propriety stilled my hand.
The moment was broken when a door down the corridor slammed shut, the sound like a crack in the silence of the room. He jumped slightly and I laughed to hide my embarrassment.
“Well, I don’t have any more drum kits to construct.” And then I obviously blacked out for a second because I could have sworn I heard him mutter, “shame”.
But, because the universe has a sense of humour, that was the moment that the (in)famous Trevor Kyle decided to stick his head round the door.
He jerked when he saw Jihoon, obviously surprised to see him in here. I unconsciously took a step back, studiously not seeing the way Jihoon tilted his head in my direction.
“Jihoon, you’re still here?” Trevor asked, a smile plastered on his face like wallpaper.
“Come, let me escort you downstairs.” He said all this with that smile, but the way he pushed the door open wider and held out his arm said very clearly this was not a suggestion.
Jihoon walked towards the door and grabbed his coat off the chair on his way. Trevor Kyle slid his eyes over to me and stared. The expression that passed over his face as his eyes skimmed over me made me uneasy. Like he was seeing me for the first time.
When Jihoon got to the door, he turned back to me and said, “Goodbye, Kaiya. That was fun.”
And to my surprise, I realised it HAD been fun.
Chapter 6
“Another day, another groupie-fashion choice.” Becka laughed at me as I met her at the kitchen counter.
“Oh hush,” I countered, “I literally moved to America with one duffel bag, I’m doing the best I can.” I said this defensively but knowing her jibe was in jest. I thought I looked cute today in my artfully ripped black jeans, hi-top black Vans, a dark grey t-shirt and my black leather jacket.
Cute, if a little monotone, I supposed.
“Yes, very student-chic,” she joked, sliding her sunglasses on top of her wavy, blonde hair.
