some guy
named Payton, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So you like The Cramps,” I asked, though it was more of a
statement than a question, and judging by the look on Gram’s
face, it had come out sorta rude.
Nathan sat back in his chair and nodded. “Yeah, they’re
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BOYS LIKE YOU
awesome. The guitarist, Blake, is old school and I appreciate
that. Too many guys these days are just hacks. They wouldn’t
know what an arpeggio scale was if it hit them on the head.”
“Really,” I murmured. They weren’t the only ones. What the
heck was an arpeggio scale?
Gram sat up and grabbed the empty bowls off the table.
“Nathan here is quite the musician.”
Ah, now I understood the tattoos and hair. He wasn’t just
into the look; he was part of the scene.
Nathan’s face hardened, and the darkness or sadness or what-
ever you wanted to call it was there again. It was in the blank
expression that crept into his eyes, the way his hands froze, and the way his shoulders hunched forward as if trying to protect
himself from something.
It made me wonder. From what?
“So you must be a guitarist,” I said.
He shrugged and didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his chair
back and got to his feet. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Blackwell, that was way better than what I had waiting for me at home.”
Gram leaned against the counter. “Thanks for your hard work
today, Nathan. You’ll be back Monday, or will it be your uncle?”
He shoved his hands into his front pockets, and for
a moment, I glimpsed the tops of his boxers again, along
with a pretty impressive span of flat, toned skin. My cheeks
flushed when I glanced up and realized he was watching me
watching him.
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Juliana Ston e
A hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, and
I didn’t like the way his eyes glittered beneath the soft light
from overhead.
He was arrogant, and I didn’t like him.
Or maybe I didn’t like how he made me feel, which was
something I didn’t want to think about. At least, not right now.
“I’m pretty sure I’m here for the next few weeks,” he answered,
his attention once more on Gram. I exhaled a long, hot breath
and pushed at a few pieces of hair that stuck to my neck.
Gram smiled. “Wonderful.” She paused, her eyes swinging
my way, her forehead drawn thoughtfully. About a half a second
before she spoke, I knew what she was up to. I opened my mouth
in an effort to dodge the bullet, but she beat me to the punch.
“Do you have plans tomorrow afternoon, Nathan?”
Oh. My. God.
I gave Gram the stink eye but she ignored me, even with my
right eyebrow raised at least an inch or more.
If Nathan was surprised by Gram’s question, he sure didn’t
show it.
“Nope. Some of the guys are up at a cottage and I’m stuck
here, so…”
“I see,” Gram said, still avoiding my glare.
I swear, if she goes where I think she’s going to go—
“So, would you be able to take Monroe to the Peach Festival
in town? She’s been stuck with me for a week, and I’m not
exactly exciting company for a sixteen- year- old.”
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“I’m almost seventeen,” I interrupted.
Okay, Nathan seemed surprised now. He hunched his shoul-
ders even more and rolled on the heels of his feet.
“Uh…”
Oh great. From the pained look on his face, I gathered
that he’d rather eat rat poison than take me to some stupid
Peach Festival.
Not that I wanted to go or anything, but still…something
about the way he avoided looking in my general direction pissed
me off.
“I’d for sure take Monroe, Mrs. Blackwell, but I…”
His face flushed deeply, and for a moment, I forgot to feel
insulted, mostly because my curiosity was piqued. Something
was up, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to know
what it was— probably because it wasn’t me under the micro-
scope.
Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant