Page 199 of Rock Me All Night
8
The guitar'swail fills the room. It's a riff I've never heard before. It's heavy and melodic and totally captivating.
Either the drugs did wonders for my headache or the music is so beautiful it's chasing the pain away.
I dog-ear my page and drop my paperback in my lap. My eyes flutter closed. Nothing to distract me now. Nothing here except the sound of Drew's playing.
The music shifts. Something faster. It's not like the normal Sinful Serenade stuff. It's rawer. It's harder. It's way more aggressive.
Something stirs inside me. Like the song is throwing open a hiding place and letting all the dust free.
The music shifts back to the melody. All that dust swirls around my brain. I shake my head, willing it to settle down, but it does no good.
I don't want to think anything. I don't want to feel anything but Drew's song washing over me.
I play with the pages of my paperback. Something for my Russian Literature class. I'm supposed to be reading it.
My eyes open and my gaze goes straight to Drew. He's completely oblivious to anything except his guitar. There's this look on his face—a mix of concentration and serenity. His fingers glide over the fretboard, fast and exact.
We're early. It's just us. By all accounts, the room is huge. But it feels small. It feels like a closet. Like there's absolutely no room to move or even breathe.
The song ends. I grab my paperback and pretend to read it. Drew is looking at me, checking on me. I can feel it. I bury my eyes in the text and read the same sentence five times. There's a highlighter and a pen in my purse. If I'm going to pretend I'm doing homework, I should sell it better.
I sneak a peek at Drew as I reach for my purse. He's tuning his guitar, a pick between his teeth. He closes his eyes and plays a note. It must be right, because he moves to the next string. He does it again and again.
His eyes blink open. He glances at me. Crap, I'm staring at him. I nod like it's a coincidence. He doesn't seem to notice. He takes the pick from his mouth and rubs it between his fingers.
He plays.
A different song. Another song I've never heard before. This time, I don't fight the feelings whirling around inside me. I close my eyes and let the song wash over me. How can something that sounds so beautiful make me hurt somewhere so deep? It's like there's a hole in my gut out of nowhere.
The music picks up. Faster, harder, but still distinctly melancholy. Still threatening to tear me in pieces and leave me to blow away in the wind.
I open my eyes and watch Drew play. There's a hint of sadness on his face. He's off somewhere else, somewhere that hurts him. But even with his eyes turned down and his gaze drifting off into the distance, there's something comfortable and satisfied about his expression.
He's at home. Exactly where he belongs.
The door swings open and the music stops.
Pete storms inside, his hoodie up around his head, his attention on the floor. He pulls his hands from his pockets and flips off the open door.
Oh. Tom steps inside, all huffy and puffy. He must be the object of the middle finger. God knows he deserves it.
Tom spots me. He winks at me then turns to Drew. "What happened to our no-girls rule?"
Drew only barely looks up from his guitar. "Miles happened."
"You really going to bring one of your floozies to practice?" Pete asks.
"That's my prerogative." Tom pulls his hoodie over his head and tosses it on the ground haphazardly.
Pete rolls his eyes and kicks the hoodie into the corner.
"Don't take your blue balls out on my clothing," Tom says.
"Fuck off, asshole." Pete hides behind his dark hair.
Drew lets out a sigh. "You want to fight or you want to play?"
