Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“How long have you been playing?”
“I started about five years ago.”
“Did you take lessons?”
I drew in a slow breath. “If YouTube counts, yeah. I watched a lot of tutorials on different songs I wanted to learn how to play.”
It didn’t seem to matter to her that I was self-taught. “Just guitar?”
“At first. I started trying the piano last year, but I’m pretty terrible at it.”
“What about singing? Did you take vocal lessons or—”
I shook my head. “My mom made me sing in church, and I was in choir in high school, but that was mostly for the grade.” I relaxed a little into my seat. “I, like, paid attention, though.” I didn’t want her thinking I didn’t care. My voice was just as important to me as my music. “I watched videos about vocal exercises too.”
“That’s good,” she said. “How’d you decide to start performing?”
A smile twitched on my lips. “My dorm had a talent show night.”
Since she could hear the amusement in my words, she guessed the outcome. “You won.”
I’d won easily. It hadn’t even been close.
“Yeah,” I said. “I discovered I like performing, so I found a couple of other guys to play with, and we got some gigs at the bars just off campus.” I changed my mind on the tea and picked up the glass, swirling it to mix the water with the rest of the drink. “They paid us, and it was fun, but when I graduated, we had to go our separate ways.”
I drank a long sip and didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered on my throat as it bobbed in a swallow. She was trying so hard to stay professional, but it seemed to be a battle she was losing.
Good.
“Original songs?” she asked.
“Nah, just covers. I’ve tried writing my own stuff, but it’s . . .” I frowned. “Everything I’ve come up with so far has been shit.”
“Songwriting’s not easy.” Her voice was full of understanding, and it was a long moment before she spoke again. “What made you want to learn the guitar? Have you always wanted to perform?”
Oh, man. That was a question that could lead us into a whole thing. “No.” My voice was uneven. “I did it because I wanted to impress someone.”
Her posture straightened as if she suspected. “A girl?”
I took off my sunglasses and cast them down on the wrought iron tabletop with a clatter, giving her the full intensity of my stare. If this was as close as I was going to get with her, I might as well just do it.
“You could say that. She was married at the time.”
Erika became a statue and it looked like chaos was scrambling the inside of her head. Was she doing the math? Five years ago, I’d been nineteen.
And she’d barely known I existed.
“Remember my mom’s fortieth birthday party?” I leaned over the table, bringing us closer.
It had been a surprise party my stepdad had thrown for her at the country clubhouse. It’d been such a big deal, Bill put Erika in charge of handling the entertainment. While the band she’d hired had been great, they weren’t the best performance of the night. My mom had asked if Erika could join the band on stage for a song near the end of the night.
It was the first time I’d ever seen her play. The first time I’d heard her sing.
“You were really fucking good,” I said, even though it was an inadequate compliment. “I went to find you after that song, because I needed to say something. Like, tell you your voice was amazing, or that I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
It wasn’t that often I got shy, but with her?
I always struggled.
I shoved my awkwardness aside and continued. “I hadn’t even thought of what I’d say or if it would be weird. I was younger. I did whatever stupid thing I wanted to back then.” I still did now sometimes, didn’t I? “All I knew was that listening to you felt—I dunno—special. I wanted you to know.”
She was so stunned she could barely squeeze out the question. “Did we talk?” Her gaze dropped to the tabletop, and there was an ache in her voice. “That night was special for me too. It was the last time I ever performed.”
“Oh.” My tone matched her sadness. “No, we didn’t talk. You were in the lounge with your husband. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
She sucked in a breath.
So . . . she remembered that. I’d discovered her and Mr. Graham hidden in the empty lounge beside the event room. It’d been late and nearly everyone at the party was drunk, and she’d tried to get her husband to fool around with her in a dark corner.
But he’d shut her down. Worse, really, because he’d acted offended by her suggestion. Like it wasn’t incredibly hot, and she should have been ashamed of herself. The memory of it made me tighten my fist under the table.