A/N: Thank you everyone (Tanya50801, Erin McKinley, Tommys my 21, LittleZurawski, KiTeH, RockerChick13, Sarah, xxecstasy, jackjackio, Duddley111, musical-cynders, Trigun-VashMeryl4eva, mandy1485, Tommy4eva, xTamarax, bookworm0408, Kris10rox, melliebaby, James's Girl Forever, iamthatplace, LuvTommy56, amd blueyes8907) for reading AND reviewing.
All of your feedback shocked the hell-o out of me, not that I'm complaining of course. :) Who knew that the last line of the chapter would have started up so much commotion? Anyway, I realize this part is a little short side, but I've been a little busy lately with Fourth of July plans. (Happy Independence Day by the way.) Anyway, I thought it would be better than nothing right?
Hope you enjoy. :) -----Airrelle
"I think it sounds okay," he says, "Not as good at Jude Quincy though right?"
Hold up.
Rewind…
He really said that?
I nearly crash into a fire hydrant when I run up the sidewalk, but at least I miss the newspaper stand and the old man with the walker.
Why do people let me get behind the wheel? My god, I'm going to kill myself or someone else one day.
Not as good as Jude Quincy?
He's right.
Jude Johansen does not sound as good as Jude Quincy.
I can't say I've never thought about that before.
NO!
Not now…not recently.
When I was younger and more naïve…before I knew he was a huge mess with a lot of baggage. Before I knew it took him hours to give his hair that "I don't give a shit" tousled look. Before I knew he actually worked out to achieve that six-pack.
Miraculously, I get my car off the sidewalk without drawing too much attention to myself, thank goodness. The press would have another fiesta if I got another ticket or something for reckless driving.
"Jude! Are you okay girl?" he asks, genuinely sounding concerned. I'm guessing squealing tires and slamming brakes would worry a person.
Oh, I'm fine.
My hearts just about to beat through my chest.
I can't breathe.
I'm about to burst into tears.
My hand hurts from how hard I'm clutching my phone to my ear.
"Um, no! I'm mean yes. I'm good," I murmur, "What was that about Jude Quincy?" I ask, pressing my cell even closer to my ear.
I swallowed hard, waiting for his explanation.
I haven't been this anxious since Jax asked me to marry him.
Now that was night.
At first I was a little embarrassed. But then, I just tuned out everything and watched him in his black tuxedo, sitting on a stool looking like a lost member of the Backstreet Boys. And then he started singing the corniest song—off-key. It was terrible. I still had to laugh even if he was singing from the heart. And then he dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring box…
I couldn't breathe.
Like now as I wait for Tommy to tell me what the hell he's talking about.
"I was just kidding," he laughs.
Just kidding.
He said he was just kidding.
Just fucking kidding?
I just nearly killed myself just because he was just fucking kidding? And he's laughing now? Nothing is flipping funny about this situation. That's like telling someone there dog died…and it didn't.
I laugh a little to try to show I haven't been affected by him any. "You're funny Quincy," You fucking asshole! "I'm about to turn into the parking garage." I say as calmly as possible.
I hang up without saying goodbye or waiting for him to say anything else, and I throw my phone into my bag.
Just kidding.
I stare at him out the corner of my eye, pretending to work on the lyrics to my newest song. I hope he's not able to read minds because I think he'd be shocked and a little uneasy if he could hear all of the adjectives streaming through my mind to describe him.
Parasitic.
Ooh! Now, that one describes him. The way he can just get right beneath my skin at any time…how he can leave me irritated and itching. Yes, he's definitely parasite-like.
Then again I'm the one who always lets him do it! I always let him irritate me. My god, can't I ignore him? Turn the other cheek?
No.
I can't.
There are good things about him though. Somewhere beneath the surface, somewhere deep, deep, deep, deep in there, he's a good a guy.
"Jude," he asks, his voice full of concern.
"Tommy," I reply with a painted on smile.
"Jude," he says, flatly, sounding a wee bit frustrated.
There's a good quality!
He's a very persistent person…
A person who persistently bothers me…
"What's the matter with you?" he asks, finally noticing all the dirty looks I've been throwing him for the past twenty minutes.
He's caring too.
A caring evil dimwit who asks stupid questions…
"Caring evil" dimwit—that's kind of oxymoronic. A person can't be evil and caring at the same time, can they?
Oxymoron.
Ooh! Another adjective that describes Tommy!
A person who contradicts themselves…for example, when a person says they love you and then they find 'love' with another person a short period later.
Oh yeah.
He's clearly showing me love right there, especially with a chick that's so completely different from me. She's like everything I'm not.
I mentioned she was nice, tall and gorgeous, right?
"Jude. Tell. Me. What's. The. Matter. Please," he probes.
Um. Instead of oxymoronic, let's just say moronic.
Why the hell is he asking moronic questions? He knows precisely why I am pissed.
I will not say it aloud.
I will just pretend there's nothing wrong.
Nothing at all…
"Nothing," I reply, shortly.
"You just go ahead and get it all out in the open," Tommy suggests me, from his spot in the producer chair.
Hardworking?
Yeah.
He works hard too screw with me.
Ha! No pun intended.
"I can't work with you peeved."
And he's accusatory. Because he's accusing me of things I am not.
I'm not peeved, necessarily—I mad as hell.
Pissed.
Infuriated.
That's not the same thing as being simply upset.
Hell, I can chew glass right now.
Not really.
I shrug and doodle more furiously on the edge of my notebook.
"Come on Jude," he whispers in my ear softly. "Tell me what's the matter."
I jerk involuntarily as his words tickle just behind my ear.
Asshole!
He knows that spots a little um—sensitive! And now every chance he gets, he uses this to his advantage. He knows what he's doing. It's not accidental. I glare at him and roll a few inches away from him.
"Do I look pissed," I snap.
"Uh. Yes." He answers, shaking his head vigorously up and down, with that little smirk of his. That smirk he does when he and I both know something, and everyone else doesn't.
"Whatever," I mumble, picking up my notebook and walking towards the door.
"Jude, you just got here," he moans, swiveling around in his chair to watch me exit.
I pause at the door, rolling my eyes, and turn around slowly. "I'm not leaving, I'm just going to sit in the lobby to work on these lyrics."
He sighs, turning back towards the soundboard. "Okay, go ahead."
"Like I needed your permission," I scoff, turning on my heel and stomping down the hall.