Read Tracks (Rock Bottom) for Free Online

above dining room table.
    "I'll get a frame for them later. This is a night I don't want to forget!" she yawns as she heads to her room.
    I am torn on that statement. I wish I could forget the way his eyes trailed my body. The way his rough hands felt on my skin…
    I finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen counter and put the dishes in the dishwasher before I finally decide that I should get some sleep. I appreciate my dad's offer on helping me pay my mortgage for the year so I don't have to find a job until January or so, but I honestly think I should look for a job anyway, especially since I'm taking out loans to pay for Harvard. So tomorrow will be a long day of job hunting.
    I go into my bedroom, throw on a pair of shorts and a tank, and climb into my bed. The cool silk sheets feel good on my skin, and I silently thank God once again for our very well furnished apartment. I lie awake for a while, trying not to think of ice or blue or chocolate or music. I'm especially not trying to think of what he is doing right now, with prostitute pixie and well-endowed jailbait. I make a mental note to write a letter to Mattel for ideas for their next Barbie’s.
    When I finally drift off to sleep, I dream of his fingers p laying his gray, glimmering guitar. They slide up and down the neck of it, caressing it as if it’s a body. The lights reflecting from the strange instrument is blinding, illuminating his perfect face. His eyes open and he looks at me, and he whispers my name, “Dylan…”
     
    I wake up to the sound of our doorbell ringing. The sun looks a little too low in the sky. I stare at the clock. Holy shit, is it really 1 p.m.? What’s up with me sleeping so much?
    I stretch and yawn as I sit up. I hear the shower running, so I get out of bed to answer the door. I throw a silk white robe over my barely clad body, embarrassed that my shirt is so see-through. I run out of my room and open the door, but no one is there. I look down and see a box sitting by the doorway. I pick it up and bring it inside.
    It's a cardboard box with flowers on it. I smile, wondering which one of Theresa’s admirers they’ll be from this time, when I turn the box around and see it’s addressed to me.
    I stare at it, confused. I open the top of the box and pull ou t two dozen beautiful red and black roses. The vase was plain black, striking and heavy. I spot a card hidden amongst the roses.
    In black permanent marker, it reads: "Bought you these flowers and called it a night early. Hoping you could give me another chance to get to know you- J"
    I catch myself with a girly grin . How astoundingly sweet! I’m used to male attention to be honest, but it usually doesn't consist of sweetness. His handwriting is beautiful and elegant, bordering on calligraphy. His letters have swirls and curves in them. I can imagine what his original songs must look like when he composes: like artwork.
    Suddenly I wonder if I shouldn't be creeped out. I mean, how did he know where I live? I ridiculously look over my shoulders, as if someone is standing behind me or watching me. I chuckle once under my breath. 'Dylan, he's super rich with 17 thousand people working for him. You told him you just bought a town home on Massachusetts Avenue,' I thought. 'Wouldn't be too hard for him to find you.'
    I hear Theresa turn off the water and step out onto the floor. I sigh, put the card into its stand, and place the flowers on our dining ta ble, in the spot where the sunlight from the windows is hitting the wood. I start walking into the bathroom as Theresa is walking out. She smiles at me and I smile back. "Morning sunshine!" she says, perkily.
    "Yellow, " I say, getting into the bathroom and shutting the door. I turn on the water and steam fills up the room again almost immediately. I start to undress myself, letting my breasts free from my shirt and my shorts fall to the floor. I climb into the shower and let the warm water run on my skin. It loosens up my aching