Games Worth Playing (3/4)

"No. We haven't been able to afford it since I was in high school." Layla stood on her tiptoes and shifted the boxes around on the top shelf. The last shelf. "Son of a bitch."

"What's wrong?"

She shut the cupboard and leaned on the counter. Her throat clenched with the need to cry, but she swallowed the tears down.

She would not cry over this...over tea. But it wasn't just the tea, and she knew that. It was her job. The lack of support, the lack of appreciation from the people who could find a way to make a difference. The refusal by anyone who mattered to see how empty her kids lives would be if they didn't have music.

The tea was just the icing on the fucking cake.

Layla sucked up her self-pity, banishing her tears to that place deep inside where she'd learned to hide them so they did the least amount of damage. She didn't want to share them with him.

The man undoubtedly had everything he ever wanted. Money, fame...sex. She doubted he'd understand lying awake at night wondering who was going to foot the dry cleaning bill for a bunch of tattered uniforms.

"I'm out of peppermint tea. No big deal." She heaved a sigh and turned to face him. "Look. I appreciate you of all people giving me a ride home and helping me get my stuff inside, but you should go. You've gone where your thumbtack led you. You've apologized. I accept. And I'm tired."

She avoided his eyes as she passed by him and headed toward the living room. Not that she could see his eyes with those stupid sunglasses on. Seriously...sunglasses indoors. That was just so Maybe.

"Okay." He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and took a halting backward step toward her door.

"You can let yourself out." She flopped down on the couch, curling on her side and tucking her favorite throw pillow under her head.

Perfect. She had a clear shot across the living room so she could stare right at him as he stared right back at her.

Or not. He could have been staring at his own nose for all she could tell. He still hadn't taken off his sunglasses.

Layla closed her eyes, waiting to hear the click of her front door closing behind him. Instead she heard his footfalls across the hardwood floor as he approached the couch. This had to stop. The game wasn't fun anymore.

Her eyes snapped open and she propped herself up on her elbow, prepared to tell him to leave in that special tone she reserved for her students when they wouldn't cooperate with her. The words sputtered on her tongue as he grabbed a throw blanket from the back of one of her chairs, shook it out, and tossed it over her.

His soft pants were inches from her face as he lowered himself to his haunches beside her.

"Is there anything else you need before I go?" His fingers grazed over her bare arm as he tugged the blanket up to her shoulder.

She shook her head, for some reason unable to rip her eyes from his mouth.

His lips twitched, and he started to stand. Before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed his arm, the blanket sliding down to her waist.

"Wait." She reached out with one hand, and moving ever so slowly, pulled his sunglasses from his face. She folded them up and handed them to him. "You shouldn't wear sunglasses inside like that. It's rude."

"Yes, Ms. M." His mouth quirked in a half-smile that made her want to play pretend with him all day long.

He tugged the blanket over her shoulder again, his touch burning as it lingered on her skin. Then with another half-smile, he left, the door clicking in the silence behind him.

****************************

Derek stared down the neatly parked row of Buicks in front of Chuck's diner, lit cigarette in hand. He'd parked at the very end, and his car marked him as an outsider, not because it was foreign, but because it was new.

We belong here, said the cars. You don't.

He took a drag from his cigarette, eyes narrowed at the nearest car. He knew exactly who they belonged to. That gang of coffee drinking old men from the other day.

The ones who'd looked at him after Layla left like they wanted to drag him behind the building by his ear and teach him a lesson or two in respect. With a crowbar. One of them had even cracked his knuckles.

This was going to be harder than he thought. He could charm just about anyone when he put his mind to it, but old men...

Old men had never liked him.

He tossed the almost new cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it under his heel. It hadn't calmed him like it should have, and he couldn't even enjoy the taste because he just kept thinking about they way Layla's nose had wrinkled in disgust when she saw him smoking outside the school.

She would never enjoy kissing someone whose mouth reeked of cigarettes. And even though she clearly wanted to believe the worst about him, he couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss her.

He knew he'd never get the chance, but if he did, he wanted her to like it.

Which was strange, because although he usually tried to please whichever woman he was with for the night, he couldn't remember ever really caring what they thought about his personal habits.

Derek picked up his cigarette butt, and flicked it into the ashtray on top of the garbage can near the diner's entrance. The bells over the door jangled when he opened it, announcing his arrival to the mostly empty dining area.

The grandpa gang sat at the same table they'd been at last time, way in the back corner where they could survey their dominion with ease. As one, the eyes turned toward him, their wrinkled scowls etching deep lines in their faces.

Derek nodded at them and belatedly remembered Layla's reproach about the rudeness of wearing sunglasses inside. He pulled them off and tucked them in his pants pocket but it was too late. The damage was done.

The men turned back to their coffee, but Derek knew they were listening, just waiting for him to prove he was the fuck-up they already knew he was.

"Can I help you with something?" The woman who'd appeared behind the counter wiped her hands on her apron, tilting her head up so she could look down her nose at him.

She was the same woman from the other day, and judging by the irritation lacing her question, she was about as thrilled to see him as the group in the corner. Her short, gray-streaked curls appeared soft and hard at the same time, and her mouth was pressed in a thin line across her face, making him think she wasn't the type to take shit from anyone.

Must be something in the water around here. Or maybe it was just him that brought out the worst in people. He hadn't exactly behaved in a way that would make people want to give him a chance.

He gave her a sheepish smile, thinking to soften the edges just a bit. She just folded her arms across her chest and widened her stance as if preparing for a face-off.

Yup. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Derek stepped toward the counter, fully aware that five pairs of old man ears were trained on him. Probably some ears from behind the swinging kitchen doors, too.

It didn't matter. Let them listen. His apology was for everyone.

"I really hope so," he said. "I've come to tell you how sorry I am. About the scene I caused."

The woman behind the counter cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

"Look...may I speak bluntly..." He read her crooked and worn name tag, which was probably something she wore out of habit and not necessity since he was certain everyone around here knew everyone else's name without the help of a cheap piece of plastic to remind them. "Annie? May I call you Annie?"

The look on her face said don't even think about it.

"Just say what you gotta say." She narrowed her eyes.

"Okay." He met Annie's gaze, wanting her to know he meant every word. "I was an asshole the other day. I'm not from around here, and I had no right coming in and acting like such a dick to everyone. I embarrassed myself, I disrespected this fine establishment and everyone in it, and worst of all, I treated Cody like I didn't give two shits about him. It was pretty fucked up all the way around. And I'm sorry."

"How do you know Cody's name?"

He didn't think it was possible for Annie's eyes to narrow even more, but they did.

Derek glanced at the display of candy on the counter. There was a sign that read "Help us buy new uniforms. Support your Marching Boomers!" The box was empty except for one package of red licorice. "I've already been to see Ms. M. I wanted to apologize to her first."

"Ms. M.? You mean Layla Majczak?"

Derek nodded.

"What did she say?"

He scuffed his foot on the floor. "Basically that I was rude, entitled, arrogant, and that I could take my apology and shove it up my ass."

Annie's lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "That sounds about right."