Page 26 of Sing Your Heart Out

Angry that Sarah pegged me as looking better than my personality is.

Hopeful about tomorrow.

And yet, as I go to sleep, I’m still replaying the other things I’ve done in this bed…

10

Sarah

After a long day of songwriting the next day, Dee calls everyone to attention. “Everyone who’s in the mood to be social, head outside to the vans! We’re taking you guys to get burgers and ice cream.”

I slide my guitar down my body, shaking my hands out. They are aching from clutching my guitar for days on end.

Smith comes over with a curious expression. “Are you going?”

I bob my head. “I’m excited to be anywhere that isn’t within these four walls right now.”

A dimple flashes in his cheek. “When you say it that way, it sounds crazy to want to stay here.”

I give him a knowing smile. “That’s because it is. Come on.”

We head out to the vans, lining up behind everyone else. We get the last two spots left in Dwayne’s van.

As we pull out of the driveway, I clench and unclench my hands. Giving them another shake, I start to wonder if I should learn the keyboard instead.

At least that wouldn’t give me the hand cramps I’ve got right now… would it?

Smith nods at my hands. “Do your hands hurt?”

I nod. “Yeah. They feel like they’re still holding the guitar.”

He arches a brow. “May I?”

He holds his hand over mine. Not quite touching, but almost. I blush and nod.

When he takes my hand, turning it and massaging my sore muscles with his thumbs, it feels so good that I let out a strangled sound. Smith slides his gaze over to me and smiles, amused.

“Good?” he asks.

It’s hard to speak when his fingers knead my flesh. So I just nod. “Uh huh.”

His skin is hot against mine as he moves a little closer. I close my eyes for a minute, enjoying the sensation of his hands moving over mine. When I crack my eyelids, I find him grinning.

“What?” I say, growing uncomfortable.

“Nothing. You just look like you are really enjoying it, that’s all.” His tone turns teasing. “Is that a little bit of drool on your mouth, there?”

My hand flies to my mouth, horrified. But of course there is nothing there. I smack him on the arm. “You’re terrible!”

“Do you want me to stop, though?” he asks, raising a brow. He keeps kneading, making me turn to mush.

“No,” I say, shooting him a look.

We pull into the parking lot of a brightly lit diner. Smith rubs my hands until the moment that we get out of the van.

There are a few patrons inside, mostly at the long chrome counter. All but two booths are open.

We load into the diner, each of us doubling up on the benches of the shabby little tables to be able to fit. Mellie slides in beside me, Smith across.

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