Anotherloud and boisterous laugh broke through my lips, and I shook my head. “I swear,my dick isn’t going anywhere near you, but youdohave to come to mytruck.”
Hersquinted eyes twinkled with laughter. “Promise not to abduct me?”
“Ipromise.”
?
“Wow,that’s a big truck,” she said with awe as we approached the black Dodge Ram.
“Needa big truck with the job I have,” I pointed out.
Thebed of the pickup was piled with leftover lumber from the worksite, a circularsaw, and a couple of wooden horses I had slapped together. There was also mytoolbox and toolbelt, both overloaded with equipment. Kylie nodded, peeringinto the truck as I opened the backdoor of the four-door cab and pulled out thesoft case I carried with me everywhere.
“Youplay guitar?” she guessed by the size and shape and I nodded. “Oh, yeah, I candefinitelysee why the ladies would swoon over that. Are you any good?”
Thiswas the one area where I couldn’t brag. I knew how girls felt about a guy witha guitar. I’d been with enough women to know it was an instant panty-dropper.But like any artist, I was my own worst enemyin regard tojudging my level of skill. I knew what I was capable of, but was I any good atit? Hell, even if I knew that, I still wasn’t about to strut my stuff. Not whenthose little voices in my head knew I could be better, could push harder, andcould make those calluses on my fingers just a little tougher.
“Uh,”I stammered, shoving my hand into the mess of my hair, “I mean, I guess so.”
“Youguessso? You were just talking yourself up, and now you got me out hereand youguessso?” She was giggling, relaxing. As she grinned, I wasstaring, resigning myself to the knowledge it would be my life’s mission tomake her smile,as long asshe’d permit me to be inhers.
Ireturned the grin. “I’ve been told I’m good, but I can’t say that I am.”
“Andwhy not?”
“Because…” I began, but my words trailed off before I could conjure another meaninglessline. I wasn’t trying to woo her into my bed, never to talk to each other againthe next morning. Ilikedher—even then, more than I’d ever likedsomeone before. I wanted to know her and knowing her meant I needed to behonest.SoI sighed, cocking my head and twisting mylips. “Because I don’t think anybody’s ever actually been honest with me aboutit.”
Shetilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Ah,well, you know …” Now I was nervous and regretting ever starting this in thefirst place. I cast my gaze downward, shuffling my feet against the graveledasphalt. “My parents say I’m good, but they’re my parents. My cousin says I’mgood, because he’s … you know, family. Girls say I’m good because they want inmy pants, but I want in theirs, so it works out in the end. I just don’t knowif they’re being real with me, you know? I don’t think anybody has everlistened to me play and told me I was good without an ulterior motive.” I wasrambling, unable to look her in the eyes. To see the way my nerves and anxietyreflected off those prismatic blues.
Thenshe sat down on the curb, stretching her legs out. Crossing her ankles. Shelooked up to me and said, “Well,I’llbe honest with you.”
“What?”I asked, confused.
“Playfor me right now, and I’ll be honest.”
“Youwant me to play here?” I asked, looking toward the house with itspeople-cluttered porch and littered front lawn. Whoever lived here was going tohave one hell of a mess to clean up.
“Yeah!”She grinned encouragingly, patting the spot beside her. “Why? Are you nervous?”
Imustered a lopsided grin. “Well, actually, yeah.”
“Haveyou ever played in front of a crowd before?”
“Uh… no.”
Kylieglanced back toward the house and then up to me. “Well, looks like now’s yourchance.”
Ilaughed. “Oh God, what the hell have I gotten myself into?” I muttered, shakingmy head as I set the guitar case down beside the truck.
Kneelingto the ground, I unzipped its cloth exterior and pulled out my vintage GibsonMK53. Its body was weathered and faded, its neck and fretboard were riddledwith nicks and scratches, but age couldn’t keep that thing from sounding like afucking dream. From the corner of my eye, I caught the small smile spreadingover Kylie’s lips. It wasn’t the amused grin I had seen throughout the hour I’dalready spent with her, or the nervous twitch of her lips she’d thrown at Mr.Polo. I knew this was a taste of her affection. A sampling of how she couldlook when she cared about someone, and I dove into it as I sat beside her onthe concrete. Stretching out one leg, pulling the other toward me, I situatedthe guitar on my right thigh.
“So,uh …” I cleared my throat. Goddamn nerves. “Uh, what do you want me to play?”
“Oh,you take requests, huh?”
Ilaughed awkwardly. “I, um … I didn’t say I’dknoweverything, but youcould, uh—”
