Read Online Silent Song (Ghostly Rhapsody) by Ron C. Nieto - Free Book Online
Authors: Ron C. Nieto
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worse… the psycho ward.”
“Stalkerish is so not psycho,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.
“It is in the movies.”
“Of course. Because Hollywood does such great research.”
That made him laugh again and I laughed along, surprised by how easy it was.
“Come on in.” He closed the door behind me and motioned me through a small foyer, down a short corridor and to his room.
“Your father?” I dallied a bit at the door. Taking into account that two days ago I’d have been caught dead before talking to this guy, entering his room felt awfully intimate.
“At work. Should be back in another couple of hours, right in time for dinner.” He half turned and gave me a funny look. “Are you worried I might jump you?”
“No!” I replied a bit too fast and he snorted. I entered his room, just to prove that I wasn’t intimidated. “I just thought I should say hello to him, that’s all,” I tried to amend, still gripping my bag with one hand.
“Stay around for a couple of hours and you will,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sorry, the amp and rack are here. Still, if it would make you more comfortable, you can sit in the living room… It’s not as if the house is too big for the sound to reach you.”
I finally had gathered the resolve to come here. I wasn’t giving up my front row seat.
“What’s wrong with the chair?” I asked, all flippancy, crossing over and dropping down with all the grace I had learned in my Princess days.
Something screeched and hissed and I jumped away fast as lightning, brandishing the bag like a clubbing weapon in front of me.
Shame colored my cheeks and my hand started to shake. Keith’s laughter refused to be held in any longer, and he cried from the force of it. I could have sworn I saw a big fat tear welling up in the corner of his eye.
Then, still grinning, he took my bag from me and hung it on a hook beside his door. He held out a hand for my jacket, mirth barely in check.
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“You could have told me about that thing .”
“Sparrow? He’s big enough to see. Unless you’re too busy sashaying, I guess.” He laughed again. Hard.
I glared daggers at Sparrow . The big, black monster looked back with the same amount of lost love from his new perch upon the table.
“He hates me,” I said, a tad childishly, giving Keith the jacket without taking my eyes off the beast.
“You almost killed him.”
“I hadn’t seen him!”
“He’s a twelve pound cat, how could you miss him?”
“He’s black! He blends in!”
He shook his head, smiling, and plopped down on the bed, cradling the guitar in his lap. I stayed upright.
“What now?” he asked, watching my more than reluctant expression.
“If I sit down, he will attack me.”
“You are scared of a cat?”
Okay, it sounded ridiculous.
In my defense, it was a big cat. Gathering my courage and moving slowly, I pulled the chair away from the table and sat down in slow motion. Keith didn’t look at me, busy tuning the strings, but the damned smile never left his lips. Damned blush never left my face, either.
I tried to relax by looking at his room, as if that could tell me more about him. It wasn’t big—the whole house was quite small. It wasn’t very masculine either, at least not in the way I had come to expect from Ray, Dave, or the other guys I knew. No comics, no magazines, no sports pictures, no porn posters. No personal TV, no videogames. Just the bed and the wardrobe on one side, the study table and a small bookcase on the other. The table was neat, no strewn papers around, just a closed laptop and a cat. The books on the shelf were mostly school stuff, but I also spied several titles on musical theory and a couple of classic books anyone in their right mind would use as a sleeping formula rather than as bedside reads. The only personal detail, really, was the guitar, with its cables and its amp—and what I guessed was the “rack,” the small red thing
“Stalkerish is so not psycho,” I said, rolling my eyes at him.
“It is in the movies.”
“Of course. Because Hollywood does such great research.”
That made him laugh again and I laughed along, surprised by how easy it was.
“Come on in.” He closed the door behind me and motioned me through a small foyer, down a short corridor and to his room.
“Your father?” I dallied a bit at the door. Taking into account that two days ago I’d have been caught dead before talking to this guy, entering his room felt awfully intimate.
“At work. Should be back in another couple of hours, right in time for dinner.” He half turned and gave me a funny look. “Are you worried I might jump you?”
“No!” I replied a bit too fast and he snorted. I entered his room, just to prove that I wasn’t intimidated. “I just thought I should say hello to him, that’s all,” I tried to amend, still gripping my bag with one hand.
“Stay around for a couple of hours and you will,” he said with a shrug. “I’m sorry, the amp and rack are here. Still, if it would make you more comfortable, you can sit in the living room… It’s not as if the house is too big for the sound to reach you.”
I finally had gathered the resolve to come here. I wasn’t giving up my front row seat.
“What’s wrong with the chair?” I asked, all flippancy, crossing over and dropping down with all the grace I had learned in my Princess days.
Something screeched and hissed and I jumped away fast as lightning, brandishing the bag like a clubbing weapon in front of me.
Shame colored my cheeks and my hand started to shake. Keith’s laughter refused to be held in any longer, and he cried from the force of it. I could have sworn I saw a big fat tear welling up in the corner of his eye.
Then, still grinning, he took my bag from me and hung it on a hook beside his door. He held out a hand for my jacket, mirth barely in check.
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“You could have told me about that thing .”
“Sparrow? He’s big enough to see. Unless you’re too busy sashaying, I guess.” He laughed again. Hard.
I glared daggers at Sparrow . The big, black monster looked back with the same amount of lost love from his new perch upon the table.
“He hates me,” I said, a tad childishly, giving Keith the jacket without taking my eyes off the beast.
“You almost killed him.”
“I hadn’t seen him!”
“He’s a twelve pound cat, how could you miss him?”
“He’s black! He blends in!”
He shook his head, smiling, and plopped down on the bed, cradling the guitar in his lap. I stayed upright.
“What now?” he asked, watching my more than reluctant expression.
“If I sit down, he will attack me.”
“You are scared of a cat?”
Okay, it sounded ridiculous.
In my defense, it was a big cat. Gathering my courage and moving slowly, I pulled the chair away from the table and sat down in slow motion. Keith didn’t look at me, busy tuning the strings, but the damned smile never left his lips. Damned blush never left my face, either.
I tried to relax by looking at his room, as if that could tell me more about him. It wasn’t big—the whole house was quite small. It wasn’t very masculine either, at least not in the way I had come to expect from Ray, Dave, or the other guys I knew. No comics, no magazines, no sports pictures, no porn posters. No personal TV, no videogames. Just the bed and the wardrobe on one side, the study table and a small bookcase on the other. The table was neat, no strewn papers around, just a closed laptop and a cat. The books on the shelf were mostly school stuff, but I also spied several titles on musical theory and a couple of classic books anyone in their right mind would use as a sleeping formula rather than as bedside reads. The only personal detail, really, was the guitar, with its cables and its amp—and what I guessed was the “rack,” the small red thing
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