Page 40 of Electric Touch

“By cheating on me?”

“By hiding it from you that her feelings had changed.”

“We swore we’d always tell each other if that happened,” he replies with some bite.

“There are approximately sixty-three percent of couples who say that to one another. Then do the complete opposite. We’re pre-requisitioned not to hurt those we care about. It’s also considered polite not to hurt someone. Ergo, she was saving you the pain of telling you she doesn’t love you. It’s not a logical way of doing things. Sometimes, the other partner thinks it will be easier for you to find out they’re cheating, than for them to actually tell you, hence why it’s cowardly.”

He looks like I’ve taken this conversation a step too far in the wrong direction.

“Statistically speaking,” I add, clearing my throat.

“Why do I feel like you would never hold back on telling the truth?”

“Because I wouldn’t. Of course, I wouldn’t deliberately hurt someone. I’m not that robotic. Life is precious, Nash. More people need to realise, it’s a gift we shouldn’t waste,” I swallow and stop talking.

Nash leans back and puffs air out, his cheeks expanding, and his lips purse. “Every time I see you, you blow my mind, Adrestia.”

“Not so much that you can’t teach me how to play a guitar?”

“Never,” he says, sitting forward. “I could do that in my sleep.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?” Nash gets to his feet, laughing again. He grabs the guitar. “Come on, trouble. If you wanna learn Tulip Mania, we have to get you proficient in some simple songs.”

“Great,” I nod, getting to my feet.

He hands me the guitar, then leads me over to the sound booth. Inside there are two tall, high-backed chairs. I’m excited and give him a big smile as I perch on one. He stands very close to me, then gets to work, putting my hands in the right place. I’ve probably confused him with my attempt at a pep talk. I may have made things worse.

He doesn’t need to know the smell of his cologne is making my stomach swoosh and my pulse beat a little faster. I did a good job convincing him this is okay, without it going beyond him teaching me.

Myself? Not so much.

We spend two hours practicing chords and learning to play ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd. Nash says it’s a simple melody to learn.

“Keep your pinky finger on the third fret of the B string.” Nash helps position my fingers after I twanged the strings. “Your other fingers will naturally slot into the C and G chords. This song has an easy riff that starts and ends the same. You just have to repeat it.”

I don’t speak because he is standing close behind my stool. His arms are around me as he helps position my fingers. His breath is warm on my neck as he talks. The string twangs again. I pretend it’s not because he smells amazing. He re-adjusts patiently. He keeps doing it until I get myself under control and focus on the guitar. Not the hard body at my back.

When I get it right and repeat the riff three times in a row, Nash steps back. “Awesome,” he says with a blinding smile.

“I’ll be working on an album before you know it.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” He glances at his watch. “Shit, we’ve been here longer than I thought.”

“Do you have plans?”

“No, but they need the studio for another artist. I’m surprised they haven’t come knocking.”

“Okay,” I pass him the guitar as I hop down off the stool. Nash puts it away and hands me the guitar case and my brows lift.

“Take it home. You can practice now that you’ve nailed that song. There is some sheet music in there too. Practice for next week.”

“Oh, homework,” I reply happily.

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” I smile. “Before I leave, where is the bathroom?”

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