Page 50 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

He locks his fingers with mine slowly and places them accordingly on the neck of the guitar. “Keep this hand here, and your fingers pressed down. This is a B note,” he whispers. Then, adjusting the other hand that holds the pick, he says, “Now, strum.”

I do, and I burst out laughing so loud I snort. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. My hand flies up to my mouth, embarrassment taking over me, but I can’t stop laughing long enough to care. He joins in, and after what feels like a solid five minutes, I scoot out from between his legs and hand him back his guitar.

“There is no way I can do this.”

“Don’t be so negative. It takes a lot of time and practice to nail it,” he reassures me.

“Well, I don’t know how you do it, but I’ll leave it to you.” That half a smirk he gives me, where a little bit of his near-white teeth peek out, does things to me. Things that I shouldn’t let my body feel.

But it’s too late, and I’m doomed.

He takes the guitar from my hand, and it takes him a whopping two seconds to adjust himself while I prop my elbow on the edge of his bed and rest my head against it. I admire his fingers as they start to move swiftly over the strings, a beautiful melody coming to life.

I smile because it is clear he was born to do this.

The minute he starts singing, I could have sworn my soul left my body. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I’m left blowing out a breath to calm myself down a bit. His voice is the softest, most pleasing voice I have ever heard. I would listen to him all day, every day, if I could.

This man is everything. Well, he’s everything except mine, and that makes me sad. I can’t be with him. I can’t date a man my father hates. I’m also bothered because it shouldn’t matter who I am with. But it does, and I can’t disappoint my father like that. I’ve disappointed him enough lately. Alec and I can only be friends.

My eyes trail down his neck tattoo, biting on my lip as I watch his vein pulse. A twist in my stomach causes heat to shoot between my legs. I do my best to ignore the feeling, not wanting to show that I’m turned on. If he had put a shirt on, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

Then again, a shirt wouldn’t make a difference because I still imagine what those fingers could do inside of me, and that alone worsens the arousal.

He moves his head up, and his eyes lock on mine. His lip curls into a half smile. Worry sparks through me, and I pray he doesn’t notice my blushing cheeks. He continues to sing, staring at me like he wants to devour me whole.

This is the sexiest thing I have ever seen. My throat closes, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

I need to stop. I can’t feel this way about him.

God, if you can hear me, please take away these feelings I have for Alec Sokolov. We both know if things go further, it will cause me more pain, and my little heart can’t handle any more pain.

“You want my pants off, don’t you?”

I blink twice and move my eyes back to his, not realizing the song had ended. My skin heats because I was staring directly at his pants, and I’m not sure for how long.

“Shut up.” I grab the first thing in my reach and throw it at him. Luckily, it was only a hacky sack stuffed in a small basket on the side of his dresser.

He chuckles and tosses it back in my direction. It hits my shoulder, falling onto the floor. I roll my eyes and pick it back up.

“Do you want to try again?” he asks, passing me the guitar.

***

“When did you realize you wanted to have a band?” I take a slice of pizza from the box on the portable table Alec opened.

Alec teaching me how to play the guitar was a complete and total flop. A huge disaster. One that I never want to experience again. Although I did have a lot of fun—I don’t recall the last time I laughed that hard. An hour and a half flew by in the blink of an eye, and I didn’t realize until my stomach was screaming like a banshee.

He finishes chewing his food before answering. “My mom used to take me to the field right in town when I was six. There always was always a lot of entertainment on the stage. Mostly comedies. When I turned eight, I decided I wanted to learn how to play the guitar. My dad purchased a small guitar, and I actually taught myself. I never really knew the notes until I was around eleven.”

“Wow. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I never knew people gathered around there for entertainment.” I frown, noticing how much Dad kept me away from so much.

“Yeah, but the majority of the people that used to go were addicts. Of course, I hadn’t noticed at the time. I was a kid. But eventually, I caught on.”

I shift my gaze down, staring at the pizza in my hand. The thought of my mother sneaks up on me. Was she one of the many people who would go to the field for drugs? Is that how it started? I know these are questions I’ll never find answers for, but I can’t help but try and fit pieces together.

“I’m really sorry about the death of your parents.” He shifts uncomfortably, and I too, feel the same. Clearing my throat, I change the subject. “What about the band? How did that start?”

“When I met Samantha, we would goof around a lot. Make our own covers of our favorite songs.”

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