But we basically have been hangingout.
Allweekend.
She needs help. I give it toher.
No, I don’t advertise to Jax that we’re spending time together. It’s simpler thatway.
But it’s addictive the way she listens, how shetries.
When she sings, her voice is smooth and rough at once, velvet with a raw edge. Unpolished, but there’s a realness you can’t fake, an earnest emotion that grabs you by the base of yourspine.
Girl’s got agift.
I’ve never gotten invested in anyone else’s music before, but I want her to succeed, and I want to be there when she does. To see the lightbulb go off when she figures something out, when a piece clicks into place in that beautiful mind ofhers.
We get to the all-purpose room and meet the guy with theguitar.
He introduces himself and gestures to the opencase.
“Wow,” he says to Annie when I startplaying.
I tune out whatever he says next, needing to get a read on the sound, the feel, the weight of the instrument under myhands.
It’s actually not bad. I’ve played some nice guitars of Jax’s and the one at Zeke’s the other day, but maybe I have been slumming it too much with the one I got before I knew I was gonna do this for alifetime.
“How much?” I say when I set itdown.
He shrugs. “How’stwo?”
“Twohundred?”
“Twothousand.”
I’m about to say hell no when Annie grabs my arm. “Give us asecond.”
She pulls me out into the hall, half-empty since everyone’s atlunch.
“Do you likeit?”
My laugh is humorless. “Yeah, but two large isinsane.”
She reaches into her wallet and pulls out a thick stack of twenties, two fifties on top. “He’llnegotiate.”
My hand closes over hers, the warmth of her making me want to hold on. “I’m not negotiating, and I’m not taking your money. Don’t you dare feel sorry forme.”
“I feel sorry for theguitar.”
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. “You think my hands are thatgood?”
She puts her wallet away and shoots me a slow smile. “I wouldn’tknow.”
It’s only teasing, but those words affect me. We’re in a school hallway, but suddenly I picture dragging her into a stairwell and showing her just what my hands cando.
Because, suddenly, fixing her music box and playing while she sings don’t feel like the best use ofthem.
I want to press my thumb into her mouth, to make her moan aroundit.
I want to drag up her skirt to find out what words she’s hidingbeneath.