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“I know what you’re doin’.” I picked up my plate and headed toward the kitchen.
“What? I meant music. Get your mind out of the gutter, Brian. Sheesh. Straight guys, always trying to flirt with me.”
I thought hearing something like that would make me feel unsure, but it didn’t. I just shook my head because there wasn’t much else to do at Charles. He was an interesting character for sure.
I couldn’t understand why he seemed to want to spend so much time with me, but it was one of the few things I’d been thankful for in a long time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Charles
I liked watching Brian play the guitar. Like the previous night, we were at it for hours. I was pretty sure the only time he really let go, the only time he was himself and completely comfortable in his skin, was when his fingers danced up and down the fret. It was a beautiful thing to watch, and I felt lucky to see it, like he was giving me something special. I’d never felt that way with anyone else before.
“You ever write your own music?” I asked. I could see that with him. Brian seemed like the type.
“I’ve played around with it. I don’t reckon I’m very good.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I cocked a brow at him. It was dark out, the two of us still on the deck, with his outdoor lights and candles around. Flickers danced across his skin, catching my eye.
“Because I’m predictable?” he asked, which made me laugh.
“Not in every way,” I replied, meaning it. “Let me be the judge.”
“Of how predictable I am?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I pressed a few keys on the piano, but continued watching him.
“I can probably do that…” Brian answered, surprising me. “If you sing for me.”
“Oooh.” I clutched my chest. “Here I thought you were just going to do something nice for me, and you were playing me the whole time. I see you, Brian Manning.”
“Seems like a fair deal to me.” He shrugged and smiled, and I wondered if he even knew he was doing it.
“Fine. You first.”
“Promise you won’t chicken out?” he asked.
“Yes. Absolutely. If I say I’m going to do something, I will.”
He nodded, then frowned. “Shit. That means I gotta do it too. I was hopin’ you’d say no.” We laughed together, the sound creating a music of its own, Brian’s raspier and huskier than mine. He shook out his hands. “Ugh. Okay. I need a beer.”
He went into the house and grabbed one, then came back out and took a few drinks. He lifted his shirt, wiping his face and showing me his belly, somewhat soft even though he was a thin guy, a thick happy trail disappearing behind his low-slung jeans. Why did he have to be so sexy?
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” I told him.
Brian sat in the chair beside me. “Nope. I wanna hear ya sing.”
I placed my hand on his arm, his skin hot to the touch. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” I told him again. “I’ll still sing for you.”
He didn’t respond right away, instead looking down at my hand against his flesh. He was tanned from time in the sun, which also made his skin a little rougher than mine.
It was an innocent touch, but the way he was staring at where our bodies met made me worry I’d upset him. I immediately pulled back. “Sorry.”
“No,” Brian rushed out. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean… You can touch me.”
My fingers began to tremble, which was strange and unexpected. The way he’d said it, the way he looked at me, this soft curiosity in his brown gaze, made me think he wanted me to touch him. Not sexually, but just…fuck, just for contact.
So I reached over, setting my hand on his forearm again, brushing it gently over his sun-freckled skin. His hair was coarse against my fingers, goose bumps blooming to life and following me as I moved up and down, wrist to elbow.
All too soon, Brian pulled away, clearing his throat. “Sorry. That wasn’t normal. Don’t know why I said that.”
My brows drew together. “It’s normal. Everyone likes to be touched.”
Brian shifted in his seat, his gaze lingering on me for just a moment before darting away. “It don’t have any lyrics,” he said, changing the subject.
“That’s fine.”
Brian adjusted his guitar on his lap, looking down at it. His dark hair hung over his forehead. There were small beads of sweat on his cute snub nose with a slightly rounder shape. He strummed the first chords, then cleared his throat again, I imagined for something to do, before he started playing. The notes followed together in a melancholic melody, a heaviness to it that I felt deep in my chest. But at the same time, it was beautiful.
