He pauses and looks back at me. “If I were, I’d hypnotize you.”
“Yeah? What would you make me do?”
Blue eyes lower, drifting over my face.
“Kiss me. Friends can do that, right?”
Oh. I feel lightheaded as I adjust my pillows. “Not normally, no.”
He clears his throat and tears his gaze off me. He picks up my acoustic guitar in the corner of the room and holds it up. “You play?”
I blush. “Not well. I got it in my head last year to take lessons, but as it turns out, I suck. Probably not the right instrument for me. I like upbeat, harder sounds.”
“Like?”
“Joan Jett, Poison, Bon Jovi, Metallica. I’m old school.”
“I’ve got a song for you. Not hard rock, but the words won’t get out of my head lately.” He cradles the guitar, sitting on the end of my bed and strumming out a soft tune with long fingers. He plays the bridge with ease, his head nodding as the soft timbre of his voice shifts into song. The pitch is perfect, the husky quality skilled as the sound reverberates in my small room.
His voice picks up and sings the chorus, about a guy who keeps seeing the girl he broke up with. He sees her everywhere—in her Maxima—and he thought he’d get over her, but he…doesn’t. His small town is closing in on him. He needs to get away.
He sings the last note, and I suck in a breath and try, try to push down my feelings for him.
“Have you had lessons?”
He pats the guitar. “I just pick it up fast. It’s the same with a piano. I may not get the tune right away, but I usually do pretty quick.”
“Blaze…that’s amazing.”
He blushes. “Yeah? When I went to church with my aunt and uncle, I would play when no one was around.”
“What song was that?”
“Sam Hunt, ‘Break Up in a Small Town’.”
“Don’t know who that is, but you’re better than he’ll ever be.”
He laughs and looks down.
“Play something else.” Please. I want to wipe that song out of my head, because it felt like…us.
“You like Peter Gabriel?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Here’s ‘In Your Eyes’.” He hangs his head, his fingers on the strings again, the soft way he strokes them making me sigh. He raises his head and sings the words, the sculpted lines of his face drawn with intensity as he works the guitar with perfect precision. The beat picks up, and he stands and plays, his hips swaying just a little with the beat of the tune.
He ends the song, and there’s a heavy silence. All I can do is stare at him. My chest feels incredibly tight.
“That’s the song John Cusack plays on his boombox to get the girl in Say Anything,” I say.
His eyes flicker. “Is it?”
I close my eyes. It is, and he knows it. “It’s your favorite movie.”
“Ah, guess you got me there.” He looks down and stares at the guitar.
I want to hold him. And I shouldn’t.
“I never knew you played and sang. I guess you do that for girls all the time.” Emotion rises in my throat and I battle it down, but it seems as if I can’t. “Your voice, it…it makes me want to cry.”
“Don’t do that. I can’t take it when you cry.” He sets the guitar down and comes back to me. His fingers brush at my cheeks, and I realize there are tears on my face. “I’ve never sang a song for a girl. Not like this. Never.”
Oh. I push his hands away and wipe my face, feeling color rising on my cheeks. I mutter, “It’s those meds. They make me loopy.”
“Just the meds? Maybe it’s something else.” His eyes are on my face, reading me, and whatever he sees there is enough for him to get on his knees in front of me. His hand goes around my nape and palms my scalp underneath my hair.
“Is it okay to do this? As a friend?” he asks softly.
Breathing faster, I lean into his hand. “Yes. Thank you for the song, for taking care of me.”
Before I can focus too hard on the repercussions, I trace his lips, outlining the fullness. There’s a slight indentation in the center of his bottom lip, and I press my finger there.
He closes his eyes. “Charm?”
I freeze, feeling self-conscious. What am I doing?