Page 50 of A Much Younger Man
“At the clinic.” He brought her water dish to the sink. “I’ll top this off, though.”
Finally, I had no excuses. I went to the living room, picked up my guitar, and carefully removed it from its case.
He held out a hand. “Give it here. I’ll tune it.”
“I tuned it yesterday.”
“The change in air pressure from the storm can ruin that.” He strummed and made minor adjustments. “Humidity plays havoc with guitars.”
“Now that you mention it, I’ve heard Cooper say that about his violin. But I’ll be honest, I can’t hear much difference.”
“You will eventually. It takes time to learn.” He handed the instrument back. “Show me the finger exercise I gave you.”
I kept my mutinous thoughts off my face while I “spidered” my fingers across the guitar’s neck and back.
“Faster,” he demanded
“I can’t.” I could move a little faster but not accurately. Beck’s spiders were an exercise in frustration and impatience. He told me to be accurate.
“Try.” I did so as Beck watched. “Good.” He nodded. “I see some improvement. How does it feel?”
“Pretty ridiculous,” I admitted. “Can’t you just teach me to fake something at parties?”
“Fakesomething?” His appalled expression made me laugh.
“Okay, okay.”
“You want tofakesomething?”
“I said okay.” I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of calling him a brat. Not then, anyway.
He stood over me. “Play the music I gave you.”
Dutifully, I played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” It did not survive.
As I haltingly changed finger positions for the fourth try, he shot out of his chair.
“Okay. No. Relax. Here.” He took the guitar from me and sat in my lap, facing away. “Give me your hands.”
“I’m supposed to relax like this?”
“Mmhmm.” He positioned my left hand on the neck of the guitar, and I brought my right hand around him to rest on the strings. He was slim enough that it was actually easy to reach.
“You need to eat more.” He felt light as air in my lap, and it was very distracting. Especially when he squirmed up my thighs to rest his buttocks snug against my belly.
Predictably, my cock tried to punch a hole in my sweats.
“Sorry about the—
“It’s fine.” He shifted around to torture me. “Now, position your hand like this. Tips of your fingers centered between the frets. Make each note as crisp as you can. Reposition as slowly as you need to for accuracy.”
I strummed.
“Wait. Remember positioning.”
I cleared my throat. “Believe me, positioning is all I can think about right now.”
He turned his head and kissed my cheek. “Focus.”
