Free Make Me Bad: Private Lessons by W.H. Vega Page A

“I’m here
until mid-December.”
    “Ah!” she cries happily, clapping her hands together. “Then
we must get together! And perhaps you can come visit me in Montargis when my
girls are with their father. It’s a beautiful town.”
    “Yes, perhaps.”
    “I’ll actually be in the city again on Friday. I have a
meeting with a new designer. Should we grab lunch then?”
    I don’t want to be rude and Juliette is friendly enough,
though from the way she’s trailing her lacquered fingernails along her
collarbone and playing with her hair, I’m certain she’s flirting with me. It’s
not as if Madison and I are exclusive.
    “Yes, I’d love to do lunch. I teach in the morning on Friday,
so that would work out well.”
    “Perfect!” She pulls a business card out of her purse, and
turns it over to the back. She scrawls the name of a restaurant and address on
it. “Here’s my card so you have my number, and on the back is an amazing little
place where we can meet. Say one o’clock?”
    “One o’clock,” I confirm.
    “Wonderful!” She rises. “I’m sorry to hurry out, but I need
to pick up my girls.”
    “Of course.” I stand and embrace her, giving her the
requisite kiss on each cheek.
    “See you Friday!” she calls, as she waves and exits the
shop.
    I’m not quite sure what I’ve gotten myself into, but I watch
her walk down the street before I leave the shop.
    It’s late in the afternoon now, and I make my way back to my
apartment, thinking about Juliette and her girls. I try to imagine what it
would have been like if Vera and I had children.
    I shudder at the thought.
    Vera would have made a terrible mother, and I’m fairly
certain, I would have made a terrible father as well.
     

Chapter Eleven

Luc
     
     
    Tuesday soon rolls around and I find myself teaching music
composition, with Madison sitting in the second row. She listens attentively
and whenever I look in her direction she smiles brightly at me. Cleo is
slightly less interested, and I can’t help wondering what, if anything, Madison
has said about us.
    The class ends and Madison says goodbye to Cleo. When it’s
just the two of us left, we make our way across the hall to the smaller
classroom where we hold her private lesson.
    “How are you?” she asks conversationally. Her hair is pulled
back in a ponytail today, and for some reason she seems younger. Her cheeks are
flushed and she’s wearing dark pants and a deep orange v-neck shirt.
    “Well, thanks.” I close the door behind us. “How are you?”
    She seems to relax once we’re no longer being watched.
    “I missed you,” she says in a small voice, looking at the
ground.
    And I’ve missed her. I’ve missed how she smells, how she
looks, and how she makes me feel younger just by being in her presence.
    “Did you have to explain anything to Cleo?” I ask.
    She gives me a small smile. “No, I lucked out. I beat her
home by about ten minutes.”
    “Good.”
    I pull out my guitar, and Madison gives me a quizzical look
but follows suit. As much as I’ve missed her, I don’t want to let on to my
feelings. I know I’m coming across as cold, but this is her private lesson, and
right now it’s my job to make sure I’m teaching her.
    We start the lesson, and Madison works with me, listening to
my suggestions and following my advice. About halfway through, she sets her
guitar down and frowns at me.
    “Is something wrong?” I ask.
    “You’re being weird.” she says bluntly.
    “Am I?”
    “Yes. Did I do something?”
    I sigh, putting my guitar down. “No, Madison, you didn’t do
anything. And yes, I have missed you. It’s just that...I’m not good for you.”
    “How about you let me be the judge of that?”
    “But you don’t know what’s best for you...You’re too young.”
    “Too young? I wasn’t too young to screw the other night, was
I?”
    I cringe at her words, but she has a point. “No. You
weren’t.” I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my pants.