But that will never happen. It shouldn’t. It can’t. Right?
I set my book to the side and close my eyes, letting out a deep sigh. Riot seems like he could ruin me, and I’d beg for more. He’s dangerous, reckless, and slightly broken. But that’s exactly what I like about him. He’s perfectly imperfect and someone I’m desperate to get to know on a deeper level. I can try all I want, but I don’t think I’ll be able to deny this strange pull toward my guitar teacher. I don’t even know if I want to.
Next week’s lesson can’t come soon enough.
5
Riot
1 week later…
I stand in the alleyway at the back of Hightide Records, powering through my third cigarette and staring up at a sky that reminds me too much of Eloise’s eyes. The sight of it has haunted me this past week, reminding me of her when I least want to be—and the constant reminiscing tears at my heartstrings.
I think of her shy smiles and gentle spirit. Her cherry-blossom hair and her sunset-painted bike. But more than that, I think of how she makes mefeelwhen all I’ve done is drown. For the first time in three years, the thought of putting down the bottle, the act of pulling my aching bones from bed—neither has been impossible. For the first time, it’s easy.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. The numbness was comforting. It was safe.
These things I feel for Eloise… they’re as inexplicable as they are overpowering. I thought by now my infatuation would fade, that I would return to some normalcy. But the more time passes, the more enamored I grow with her.
It makes me worry.
In the distance, the shop bell chimes, and my heart takes off once more. I stub my cigarette against the wall and hurry inside, the scent of tobacco and ash following me into the shop.
I come to a stop in the middle of the room, the ground shifting as my eyes lock onto Eloise. She’s in a pair of baggy, ripped jeans and a black Rolling Stones shirt tied in a knot beneath her breasts, showing off the strip of soft skin above her belly button.
“Hey,” I say, my voice slightly hoarse.
“Hey.” She takes another step inside, allowing the door to close softly behind her. Electricity crackles in the space between us, pulling me closer and warning me away. “Sorry I’m late…”
“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” I give her a smirk I hope doesn’t betray the wild pulsing of my heart. In truth, I had been counting down the seconds, convinced she was going to bail and I’d never see her again. This issomuch better than the alternative. “Ready to get started?”
Eloise dips her chin in a nod, clasping her hands tightly at her front as she follows me to the practice room.
I watch her closely the whole lesson, trying not to cringe at how awkward her movements are as she attempts to strum. I know this is only her second time playing the guitar, but hell… even Jane was less stiff.
It’s hard because I can tell by her expression that she really,reallywants to get this right. She picked up the basic chords right away, but when she tries to strum, she has a terrible time keeping rhythm.
Ironic, considering she’s apparently some world-renowned pianist.
After ten minutes of little improvement, Eloise’s cheeks are flushed, and her lips are pushed out in a full-blown pout. I’m worried about how frustrated she’s getting and extremely concerned with the negative things she keeps whispering under her breath whenever she messes up.
“I think it might be a good time for a break.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the emotion swirling within seems an awful lot like fear. “I promise I’ll get it. I just need a little more time…”
I reach out, covering her hand with mine before I have the chance to think better of it. Instead of jerking away, Eloise’s mouth parts, heat rising in her cheeks as she continues to meet my stare. “I know you will,” I whisper, all sincerity. “But right now, you need to take a break. I promise it will help.”
Taking her lip between her teeth, she nods, shifting out of my hold to place the guitar gently onto its stand. Once her hands are free, I hold out a pen, to which she frowns.
“What’s that for?”
I tap the inside of my arm with the pen. “This is how I learned when I first started. You draw the chords on your forearm, so you can get the muscle memory down faster when you're not trying to recall which finger goes where. Then you can really focus on the rhythm of your strum more than the chords.”
Hesitantly, she takes the pen and immediately switches it to her left hand before beginning to scribble.
“Wait a second…”I assumed Mac had asked her but… maybe not. “Are youleft-handed?”
“Yeah?” She looks up, her brows furrowed in confusion. “So is one-sixth of the population.”
