Teaser Tuesday: "Faking It" Part 2
Read Part 1 here.
His arm slid around my shoulders as we sidled up to the front of the store. He smelled like laundry detergent and wood polish, and I could feel his curls tickling my left ear. And I could also feel Hannah’s eyes, which were bright and burning and fixed on me.
Chase stepped between me and Hannah’s death glare. “Okay,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Let’s just start out by having a conversation. Maybe you should ask me about school or something like that.”
School. Sure, I could talk about school. But Chase hated school, with the exception of jazz band and lunch
So instead I asked, “How’s your song coming?”
He blinked at me.
“You know,” I said. “The one with that cool riff and the lyrics about the mountains…” I mimed a few chords on an air guitar, and then proceeded to feel very stupid.
But Chase just grinned a grin that stretched all the way across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s going good. I’ve got to nail the chorus down, but I think I’ll be finished this week.” He tilted his head to one side. “How’d you know?”
“You were playing it after work one day,” I murmured, staring at the pulse throbbing at his throat. “I was listening.”
It was impossible not to listen, just as it was impossible not to stare. Chase held his guitar like it was alive - shoulders hunched, upper body curled around the instrument - and when his fingers flicked across the strings it suddenly had a personality. It breathed and groaned and giggled and screeched. It whispered and wailed and shrieked. Maybe the guitar really did have a heartbeat, but I guessed that Chase just had a way of bringing things to life.
Hannah was still glaring.
“I think your ex is plotting to murder me,” I said.
Chase glanced back over his shoulder and took a step closer to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath snagged in my chest.
“This is just for effect,” he said softly. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I couldn’t speak, so I just shook my head.
“So have you applied to any colleges yet?” he asked. His hand was still lingering on my cheekbone, thumb stroking the skin.
“Just one,” I croaked. “I got into the Art Institute in New York.”
There was never any other choice for me. Mom always advised that I keep my options open, that I apply widely, but I had my heart set on an art school since I first picked up a paintbrush in second grade.
Chase raised his eyebrows. “Wow. I should have guessed. Didn’t your painting get first place at the art show this year?”
I didn’t think he noticed. Didn’t think he’d care. “Yeah. I did.”
“Wow,” he said again, grinning. “Wow.”
I felt my face flush hot and bright as I ran my fingers through my snarled ponytail. “Yeah. Thanks,” I said stupidly.
“Hi, Chase.” Her voice was a panther’s purr, soft and predatory. Chase’s hand fell from my cheek as he turned to face his ex-girlfriend, his shoulders taut and rigid.
“Hi, Hannah.”
His arm slid around my shoulders as we sidled up to the front of the store. He smelled like laundry detergent and wood polish, and I could feel his curls tickling my left ear. And I could also feel Hannah’s eyes, which were bright and burning and fixed on me.
Chase stepped between me and Hannah’s death glare. “Okay,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Let’s just start out by having a conversation. Maybe you should ask me about school or something like that.”
School. Sure, I could talk about school. But Chase hated school, with the exception of jazz band and lunch
So instead I asked, “How’s your song coming?”
He blinked at me.
“You know,” I said. “The one with that cool riff and the lyrics about the mountains…” I mimed a few chords on an air guitar, and then proceeded to feel very stupid.
But Chase just grinned a grin that stretched all the way across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s going good. I’ve got to nail the chorus down, but I think I’ll be finished this week.” He tilted his head to one side. “How’d you know?”
“You were playing it after work one day,” I murmured, staring at the pulse throbbing at his throat. “I was listening.”
It was impossible not to listen, just as it was impossible not to stare. Chase held his guitar like it was alive - shoulders hunched, upper body curled around the instrument - and when his fingers flicked across the strings it suddenly had a personality. It breathed and groaned and giggled and screeched. It whispered and wailed and shrieked. Maybe the guitar really did have a heartbeat, but I guessed that Chase just had a way of bringing things to life.
Hannah was still glaring.
“I think your ex is plotting to murder me,” I said.
Chase glanced back over his shoulder and took a step closer to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath snagged in my chest.
“This is just for effect,” he said softly. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I couldn’t speak, so I just shook my head.
“So have you applied to any colleges yet?” he asked. His hand was still lingering on my cheekbone, thumb stroking the skin.
“Just one,” I croaked. “I got into the Art Institute in New York.”
There was never any other choice for me. Mom always advised that I keep my options open, that I apply widely, but I had my heart set on an art school since I first picked up a paintbrush in second grade.
Chase raised his eyebrows. “Wow. I should have guessed. Didn’t your painting get first place at the art show this year?”
I didn’t think he noticed. Didn’t think he’d care. “Yeah. I did.”
“Wow,” he said again, grinning. “Wow.”
I felt my face flush hot and bright as I ran my fingers through my snarled ponytail. “Yeah. Thanks,” I said stupidly.
“Hi, Chase.” Her voice was a panther’s purr, soft and predatory. Chase’s hand fell from my cheek as he turned to face his ex-girlfriend, his shoulders taut and rigid.
“Hi, Hannah.”