AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Do it here." He picks up my messenger bag, slides his arm around my waist, and whisks me into the room.
Damn, he smells good. He looks effortless in his skinny jeans and t-shirt. I wrap my arms around him to soak in the warmth of his body.
"You're dangerous to my productivity," I mumble.
"Isn't it spring break?"
"I'm trying to get ahead of schedule."
He laughs. "Of course you are." He takes a step backwards and nods to the guitar and amp in the corner. "I'm gonna practice. You can use the desk."
"You lugged that amp all the way up here?"
"This is nothing." He picks up the amp with one hand and holds it over his head to make his point. "You're giving me a look."
"What look?"
"Not sure, but I like it." He sits on the bed and pulls his guitar into his lap. "You keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna destroy your productivity for the rest of the afternoon."
"I'll keep my eyes on my textbook."
"I hope you don't." He pulls a guitar pick from his pocket and strums. First, he plays a scale. Then another. Another. It's the same order as always. He looks to me. "Is this the major or the minor?" He plays another scale.
It's familiar. But I'm not sure.
He plays it again. This time, the notes are higher.
I shake my head. "I don't know."
He plays it again, higher, lower, lower. He jumps up a few octaves then jumps back down, then he's improvising a guitar solo.
I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Music is the only thing I ever feel. I can't explain music. I don't know anything about it. But I can feel the patterns, the rhythm, the melody. It's in my bones.
He gives me a half-bow when he finishes. "How's the homework?"
"Delayed."
"But besides that?"
"Good. I'm learning this new concept in differential geometry-"
"Differential geometry?"
I laugh. "It looks at three dimensional shapes in space." I launch into an explanation of my current class. Mostly, it focuses on control theory, how to model variables in a non-linear way. It's sort of like chaos theory. I try to channel Michael Crichton to explain it in the simplest possible terms. "So it's really not that complicated."
Ethan laughs. "Not even a little."
"Just a bit harder than calculus." I pull my textbook, notebook, and pen from my messenger bag. The way Ethan is looking at me with affection in his eyes is making me nervous. I chew on the cap of my pen. That helps.
"I love the way you light up when you talk about math. I'm glad you get to do what you love." He spins his guitar pick. "I'm going to stop distracting you eventually."
"You can distract me a little."
"Let me make it up to you." He stretches his fingers then places them on his guitar. He starts to play a familiar song, Can't Seem to Make You Mine by Garbage.
Does the choice mean anything? Does he even know the title? I try not to think about it. Instead, I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Ethan goes through a dozen alternative rock hits—all songs I love, but is that a coincidence or does he remember?—before he starts practicing Dangerous Noise songs.
The whole time, I pretend like I'm studying. But really, I'm thinking about how much this feels like old times.
