Obsessed by Ever Lilac

1

 

 

Amber

 

Lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, I squeeze my eyes when Gina’s words from yesterday spin in my head.

“It’s not that nobody wants to sign you,” she had murmured, before her face turned pitiful, “it’s just that they want a different sound from you. It needs to be...edgier, sexier.” She raised a thinly plucked brow, taking a sip of her martini, adding, “Darker.”

We’d been sitting in an open roof bar, crowded with people and I’d nearly burst out into tears, right in front of everyone. I didn’t know what she meant, I still don’t know what it means.

My music is uplifting, serene, the kind that comes from a girl who used to be a cheerleader in high school, always wears her hair in curled ringlets and thinks that loose, buttoned up cardigans are high fashion.

I’m not edgy. I’m not sexy. I’m definitely not dark.

Maybe I should just call Gina and tell her to give up on me. Nobody will ever sign me and I’ll only prove my parents right when they said, that the musical gene was lost on me.

Everyone in my family is a musical genius, my mom, my dad. My older sister who’s a famous pianist, living in London. My older brother who’s violin play can even make the dead shed a tear.

And then there’s me. The cellist. The one who obviously should have chosen a different career path.

Ripping the covers off in frustration, I jump out of bed, telling myself to stop sulking. I need to plaster a smile on my face, pretend that I’m happy because my new roommate is coming today.

For being a close to starving artist, I know I’m living well beyond my means. I live on a nice street, a little outside of the city center in Chicago.

My house is both elegant and cute, painted in a faded white with a navy roof and my neighbors are a bunch of doctors and lawyers. Gina used to live with me before but she recently got married and moved out.

For a while there, I thought I’d be forced to move out too but then I decided to take my chances and put up an ad on a website for roommates. I specified that I wanted it to be a girl, but the only girl who responded seemed crazy.

Luckily there was this guy who sent me a private message. He seemed a lot less crazy. Friendly and we hit it off. I don’t know much about him, but he told me he’s coming down to Chicago because he’s a mason and is transferring to a new company here.

He seems reliable, he’s already paid the rent one month in advance, so I doubt there will be any problems with him.

Walking into my bathroom, I turn on the light and sigh at my appearance. My eyes are red from crying myself to sleep previous night and my hair looks like a birds nest.

Hopefully my look won’t freak out my roommate and I brush my teeth and wash my face, before putting on a dress that looks similar to a bathing suit if it weren’t for the flaring skirt.

I’ve already set up his bedroom, the one that’s just down the hallway right next to mine and when I told Gina about this, she give me a snide side eye.

“You’re going to have a man, a stranger, live in your house and sleep just a couple of feet away from you.” She’d shaken her head. “Are you sure about this? What if he turns out to be a psycho?”

I had laughed because Gina is suspicious of every guy that’s not her husband or her family member. Obviously, I’m not like that. And I would never want to be. I prefer seeing the good in people.

Even if I sometimes have problems with seeing the good in myself.

Down in the kitchen I have my usual breakfast, consisting of frozen berries and milk and ice coffee. I read through the morning newspaper as I eat, the actual printed one because I’m the kind of person who likes the tactile stuff.

I like to brush my fingers over different kinds of textures, the same way that I like to brush my fingers over my instrument. Chewing, I throw a glance at the cello that’s in the corner of the living room and my stomach drops at the sight of it.

There’s a concert next weekend, one that might get me signed if I’m extra, extra lucky but I doubt it. Usually I practice almost every minute of the day before a concert, but now I just don’t feel like it. My inspiration is gone.

At least for now.

I’m busy cleaning up after myself when the doorbell rings and I freeze, looking up. So soon? He was supposed to come in the late afternoon, not this early. Why is he here so early?

There’s still some things left to do in the house, dirty laundry in the bathroom and I haven’t made space in the closet for outerwear in the hallway.

When the doorbell rings again, I brush my wet hands off a towel and jog towards the door.

“Be right there,” I call, my brows rising curiously at the tall shadow standing outside. “Sorry that I kept you waiting...” My voice dies at the sight of my new roommate and a nervous trickle cuts through my lower belly.

He’s not what I expected, I expected someone younger but instead he seems to be seven or eight years older than me (I’m twenty-two). He’s dressed in a dark green Adidas tracksuit, leather sneakers and a thin chain necklace around his throat.

His face is both serious and playful, with acerbic cheekbones, highlighted by his undercut hair that’s a mix of light and dark brown. And strangely his eyes are the color of angelite, a rare bluish crystal. He’s handsome. A little mysterious.

He reaches out a tanned hand with a chain bracelet around his wrist.

“Amber Abbey?” He smiles, showing perfect teeth. “I’m Stanmore Sadler.”

“Hey,” I murmur, feeling a little flustered at the touch of his palm against mine, “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

Shrugging he replies, “The plane I was supposed to take got cancelled so I had to take an earlier one.” He frowns, clearing his throat, “If that’s a problem, then I can...”

“No,” I interrupt quickly, giving him a rapid smile and something flicks in his eyes that makes me feel like the clocks just stopped, “it’s not a problem, not at all. Come in.”

Obviously I can’t be rude and I hope I wasn’t but for a second there, he hesitates. Looking at me as if thinking, are you sure you want to do this?

Is that a warning...?

I throw him another glance and this time, he looks completely normal, making me think I must’ve imagined. I turn to the side to not block his way, lowering my head as my cheeks heat when his body comes in contact with mine, making me prickle with electricity.

Combing a couple of fingers through my hair, I anxiously throw my tresses over my back, trying to pretend like I’m not bothered by his presence. His presence that suddenly seems to have taken over my whole house.

I’d say it’s pretty spacey but with Stanmore here, it feels like it can never be big enough, his energy so tangible, so carnal that I can almost taste it. He looks out of place amongst the dark, antique wood and the floral wallpapers. Like his natural habitat is a tad more brutal.

Licking my lips, I try to make small talk.

“You didn’t bring that much with you,” I say, nodding at his luggage. “You’re not planning on staying here for just a little while and then bail on me, are you?” I smile, noticing just how broad shouldered he is and how narrow his waist is, his chest as wide as a smaller football field.

“Never.” He looks at me like that was an outlandish question. “I doubt anyone would be stupid enough to bail on you.”

Oh, then he should see my history of managers and representatives.

“We’ll see if you feel the same after a couple of weeks,” I joke, letting out a laugh and he laughs with me. Humorlessly. Like he doesn’t like the idea of leaving this house.

Maybe he really, really needs a place to stay.

I rub my palms together, trying to calm the flutters in my gut and lead him farther inside. He walks in a way that I’ve never seen a man walk before. Smoothly like he’s stalking through water, like a predator and yet his energy is soothing.

As we pass the living room, he jerks his head at my instrument. “Are you a cellist?” He doesn’t say in the way that other people say it, which is usually surprised.

“I am,” I nod. “So far at least, but things haven’t been that good lately.”

Tensing he asks, “Anything I can do to help?”

Looking at him in amazement because he offered so quickly, I shake my head. “No, but thanks though.”

“Just tell me if you need anything.”

“Okay...” I say, feeling a little awkward at the sudden intensity, “Sure.” Pointing at the staircase I add, “Your room is up there by the way. Follow me.”

We walk under silence and the hush between us is pressuring. Too loaded, too intimate too soon. I’m not sure why I’m having this reaction to him. He’s not even touching or talking to me but it still feels like he’s all up in me, whispering words he shouldn’t in my ear.

Swallowing, I open the door to his bedroom and croak. “Ta-da! All yours.”

He snaps a glance my way, a suddenly possessive one and it makes my body break out in small tremors. All. Yours. I swallow again, leaning against the wall as he inspects the room. It’s clean and tidy, white walls, black and white sheets on the bed and small frames with photos of different streets.

I watch his reaction carefully and he seems to like it. Definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of roommate who would bail on me. And he doesn’t look messy or like a douche, who’s used to getting everything he wants.

He looks like the kind of man who works to get whatever he wants. And judging by the powerful but still relaxed way he holds himself, I have a feeling he knows exactly how to get everything he desires.

“Where do you sleep, Amber?” he asks and the simple, completely natural question makes my limbs feel indecently heavy and numb.

“Just down the hallway.”

It’s not until now that I realize how on top of each other we’re going to be. We’re going to be so close that I won’t even be able to walk to the bathroom without putting on a robe.

“And you’re okay with me being this close?” he replies.

For some reason, Gina’s words run through my mind. A stranger? Right next to you? I shouldn’t let her get to me like that, but its already too late and I chew on my lip.

“Aha,” I answer but my voice sounds hoarse. It embarrasses me and I try to come up with some excuse when he asks,

“Is there a second bedroom?”

My eyes flare a little. “There is. A guestroom but it’s down in the basement...”

His head jerks as if we’ve made an agreement. “I’ll take that one instead.”

I stare at him. He sounds resolute. He wants to change rooms? Why, because of me? Because he registered I was getting uncomfortable? That’s so...

Sweet.

“Are you sure?” I ask in a low voice, feeling a bit bad. There is nothing out of the ordinary about him. He has a normal job, normal clothes. Normal name.

“I’m sure. Your house is nice enough, you could put me in one of your closets and I’d be fine.”

I laugh. “Okay. I just want you to like it here, Stanmore.”

“Oh, I will.” He gives me a smile, his teeth suddenly seeming as sharp as the teeth of something not fully domesticated. “And call me Stan.”