A Much Younger Man - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,24
immediately went to her haunches.
“You’ll know if Rico’s worried. He’ll fluff himself up to twice his size and chatter like a monkey. He’s okay with her.” I held my hand out to his cage and he came to nibble my finger. “See? It’s all good. You should relax too.”
“Okay.” He stuck his spoon into his bowl with a chuckle.
Neither of us talked much while we ate. It wasn’t tense or anything. I didn’t feel like I had to field interesting small talk. It felt nothing like a date. Except…I was aware of his every move. Every noise he made, every clink of glassware or scrape of his spoon. And I watched him—his hands were fucking amazing. He had the most delicate wrists.
He had pushed the sleeves of his henley up to reveal pale forearms, one of which was covered with bracelets made of leather and strings with beads and a mishmash of little symbols.
They were cheap junk really, but they made his arm beautiful. I couldn’t imagine anything finer—his arms would look good in elegant watches and thick gold chains, but folk art and talismans made him seem…magical. He was spellbinding, bursting with music and kindness and so, so pretty.
It was as if he wasn’t part of the world. Just traveling through.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
“What?” I swallowed. “No.”
He brought his napkin to his lips. “You’re looking at me funny.”
I laughed, but it sounded odd to my ears. “Funny haha? Or funny weird?”
“Weird.”
“That may be my natural state,” I said. “Resting weird face.”
He hid a smile. “Maybe.”
“Would you like another breadstick?” I offered the basket.
“Please.” He took one, dunked it into his bowl, and bit the end off. He hadn’t quite finished swallowing before he said, “This chili is really delicious.”
“Glad you like it.” I was captivated by his lips—or rather by a crumb of bread that hung there for an eternity until he thumbed it off and licked his thumb.
A zing of desire hit my groin and my cheeks burned like fire.
No, no, no. This could not be happening.
I wasn’t some horny old goat who got hard around guys half his age. I dated mature men. I didn’t date anyone twice. I loved my life the way it was, so why, oh why, could I not simply feed this stray young man and release him back into the wild.
What was it about him?
“You know what?” he said suddenly.
I answered numbly. “What?”
“I’m going to teach you to play guitar.”
Oh no. “I beg your pardon?”
He snorted. “You’ve got a guitar. When I’m done with you, you won’t be a poser anymore. I’ll teach you. It’s easy.”
“Right.” I didn’t believe that. Nobody would believe that.
“No, really. I promise. You’ll be able to play something good when I’m done with you. That way, when someone asks about your guitar, you’ll have something to show for the space it takes up in this room.”
Because I wanted anything he offered, I said, “All right.”
“You know, an instrument is like a pet. If you share space with it and neglect it, you need to rehome it with someone who will take better care of it.”
My God, I thought, he’s right.
Chapter Nine
Beck used my phone to tune my guitar, then he played scales on it like a virtuoso. I watched his fingers move with more dexterity than I could claim, even in my surgery suite, with a sigh.
“Okay, first things first.” He sat on the coffee table with my guitar in his hands. “Put your hands out and let the guitar get your scent.”
“Fuck off.” Beck could be silly—another thing I liked about him. I took the guitar from him and assumed the position.
“Which chords do you know?”
“G, E, and D reliably.”
“That’s a start. Play them.”
Embarrassed as all hell, I did what he asked, strumming each a couple times like a rank beginner.
“I hate this,” I whined.
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“Well, Dr. Freud,” I said sourly, “it’s probably because I hate doing anything I’m utterly crap at, especially in front of other people.”
“I see.” He stroked the tiny scruff of his beard. “That’s stupid.”
I gave him the look that deserved. “All right. What next?”
“You, my impatient friend, are going to learn some exercises. This will help build the strength in your fingers and improve dexterity.”
“And possibly drive me mad.”
His eyes sparkled. “It’s probably too late for that, huh?”
Probably was. “What do you want me to do?”
“Let me demonstrate.” He got his guitar from its case and did some complicated moves on the neck without strumming. “Spiders.