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Damn it. I had gotten too close to her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
P A S T
D A Y 4
THEA
“Do you play?” he asked, as he noticed the guitar hidden behind some of the boxes in my living room.
“I wish! My sister is pretty decent, though she just started learning,” I replied, as he stood up from our small picnic of wine, popcorn, and sandwiches.
“Do you think she would mind?”
“Not at all,” I said.
I had bought the thing for her anyway, so I figured that I was at least entitled to hear it being played every once in a while.
Taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, he picked at the strings. With his head cocked to the side, and his eyes closed, he listened intently to the tone and the pitch of each string, pausing every so often to adjust the tuning. He strummed through all six strings, measuring them against his internal tuning scale. Satisfied, he opened his eyes and smiled at me, then, as he drew in a deep breath, he began to play.
I closed my eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of his music. As I followed the melody, the tune took form and I opened my eyes to stare at him.
“I know this!” I said as I sat up excitedly, trying my best to not spill any wine.
He laughed, “What is it then?”
Shit.
“I know it, don’t tell me!” I repeated, trying to remember.
Urgh.
He kept smiling, as his fingers slid up and down the neck of the guitar with ease. He looked so relaxed, as if he could spend the rest of his life shirtless with a guitar in his hands.
“Damn it,” I cried out in frustration, I knew this song!
He glanced up at me, “Give up?”
“No. Don’t I get to call a friend or something?”
“It’s "More Than Words" by Extreme,” he said with a grin.
“I would have gotten it,” I muttered. “It was on the tip of my tongue.”
“Okay,” he said with a tone of teasing.
“Anyway, where did you learn to play?” I asked him, desperate for a diversion.
“My father taught me,” he replied. “I was horrible at hitting on girls when I was in high school, so he taught me to play so that I could woo the ladies,” he said with a chuckle.
“You had issues with girls?” I asked incredulously.
“It’s so hard to believe because I’m so devilishly handsome, right?”
Rolling my eyes, I threw some popcorn at him, and he managed to catch a few in his mouth.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” he asked with mock annoyance.
