“It’s not bad . . . ” I’m hesitant to say more, but Shawn just grins.
“Cody wrote that one. It sounds like shit to me too. What do you have in mind?”
“Not sure yet.” I tap my pencil against my lips. Notes are running through my head, but I can’t pick out the right one until I hear them first. I need my guitar, and I stand up to get it, but I don’t get even half a step away from the couch before Shawn thrusts out the neck of his Fender, like . . .
“Are you letting me play your guitar . . . ?” I ask.
His fingers dance on the neck like he’s not sure, and they’re still dancing when he nods. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”
I reach out and gently take it from him before he can change his mind, settling back on the couch and taking a deep breath. Shawn watches me like I’m cradling his firstborn child, and I treasure the guitar like I am. I hold it softly, and strum my first string carefully. And then, with green eyes on me, I close my eyes and just play. I let the music consume me, carrying me to someplace outside Shawn’s apartment, outside myself. I try riff after riff, tweaking the notes as I go until I find something that feels right, something that feels perfect.
“Here,” I say, abruptly thrusting Shawn’s guitar back at him. I rush to get mine and then order him to play lead. He plays his part, I play mine, and together, we’re flawless. The sound is amazing, and by the time I stop playing, I’m sporting an ear-to-ear smile on my face. “Magic.”
“Perfect,” he agrees, staring at me like I’m the one who’s magic and not the other way around.
It’s a look that makes me nervous, so I do what I always do when I’m uncomfortable—I forget how to be a girl, and I become one of the guys instead. “Still think you’re so awesome?” I challenge.
When Shawn laughs, I enjoy the sound too much to care about the way my cheeks are melting off or the way my heart is pounding behind my ribs. We continue going like that, song after song, until it’s just Shawn playing and me listening. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t—partly because Shawn might think it’s weird, and partly because I can’t stop staring at him. It feels like he doesn’t even know I’m here, and yet somehow is playing just for me. The songs become my songs, my serenades. I watch him unabashed, the papers on my lap long forgotten by both of us, and even when his eyes periodically find mine, I don’t look away.
My fingers yearn to touch something—maybe his guitar . . . maybe his hands . . . maybe his lips.
“I’m still working on it,” he says of the song he’s currently playing, his words slowing when we both realize I’m watching each one come out of his mouth.
“Awesome,” I say in a rush, standing up so quickly that half of the papers on my lap end up spilling onto the floor. “Shit.”
Shawn and I knock knees bending down to pick them up, get awkward when we make eye contact on the floor, and nearly jump out of our skin when Rowan pops up out of nowhere to ask if I’d like to stay for dinner.
“I, er—” I’m trying to get my wobbly knees to work and am bumbling like an idiot while Shawn stands beside me watching me go up in flames. I know why the hell I’m dropping papers and bumping knees, but what the heck is his excuse?
“Sweet,” Rowan says with a bright smile. “I’m making, um . . . ADAM!”
“What?” he yells from somewhere down the hall.
Shawn’s hand finds mine to give me the rest of the papers I dropped, and I nearly drop them all over again. I don’t thank him, because my voice isn’t working. I can’t even make freaking eye contact.
“What do you want for dinner?” Rowan yells.
“Order something!”
“I should go,” I mutter, taking a step back and banging the backs of my traitorous legs against the coffee table. I decide to stop moving so I don’t end up falling flat on my face and needing Shawn to carry me all the way to the hospital.
Yes, because in my fantasyland right now, ambulances don’t exist and Shawn is obviously the only doctor I need.
Fucking hell.
I am not this awkward girl. I had boyfriends in high school and boyfriends in college. One-night stands and semi-long relationships and casual dates and week-long flings. But not one of those guys ever took my number and didn’t call me or made me want to Taser him or made me trip over tables or made my heart pound in my chest like it does every time I lock eyes with Shawn Scarlett.
Rowan just shakes her head. “Nope. We’re ordering something to celebrate your initiation into the band, so you’re pretty much obligated to stay. What do you want to eat?”
When Adam pops out of the bedroom and suggests pizza, Rowan volunteers him and herself to go pick it up, adamant that Shawn and I should stay behind so we can finish working.