Page 45 of Juliet's Echo

Add in the fact that I’d been avoiding him since. Include skipping Creative Writing class, and I was batting a thousand in the coward category.

I asked Mega about him, and he told me Psalm was moving as if nothing had happened. He even said the cut on the back of his head was healing perfectly.

So, if he’s okay, then it’s okay, right?

No, Juliet. You have to talk to him.

But why?

Why had he inserted himself?

He had no obligation.

And it wasn’t friendship.

We weren’t friends.

Most days we barely tolerated each other.

Most days we argued like neighbors competing for the best lawn.

Most days I wanted to break his glasses and trip him down a flight of stairs.

Most days I wanted to be in his arms while he read W.E.B. Du Bois.

Clicking open his email, a video appeared.

Him in those sexy round gold glasses, with his guitar at his side. Don’t ask me where I got my thing for round glasses, but if done right, it gives sexy, black, Harry Potter.

The first few notes of Teddy Swims'Lose Controlfilled the computer speakers.

Psalm sat on a stool, tapping his foot to the rhythm and staring at what appeared to be the sun.

There was just something about the sun gracing the skin of a Black man.

As Teddy began the chorus, a huge strike of the chords sent an electrifying sound through the air, intensifying not only Teddy’s voice but the emotional connection of the listener. Psalm’s confidence was felt through every note. He played over the song, picking out the melody so precisely that the guitar seemed to sing the lyrics itself.

Every bend.

Every slide.

Every vibrato.

Each carried the emotion of a voice, making the strings sound almost human.

Perfection.

Heat rose from my feet and traveled upward, stopping at my throat. The guitar seemed to breathe lyrics directly into my chest. Each note felt like a lingering touch against my skin. His melody doing exactly what it had done that night at Sunday’s—slipping past my hatred for this man and landing me directly in the orbit of lust.

Lost in the sound, I absentmindedly wrapped my arms around myself. His music—or perhaps his spell—had once again caused me to drift somewhere outside of myself. It wasn’t until I heard Echo’s voice that I realized mentally, I was elsewhere.

“Why you hugging yourself like that? You cold, Ju-Ju? Want me to adjust the temperature in the room?”

“Oh, um, no,” I replied, thankful I got pulled back to reality before embarrassing myself.

“Echo,” I called out, my eyes still locked on the man in the video. “My unofficial assistant expertise says you should give this guy a shot.”

Psalm