Page 60 of Searching for Beautiful
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“I can’t believe my music isn’t inspiring you. Guys who play guitar are supposed to be hot, right? I know I find hotness inspiring. ”
I shoot Christian an annoyed look, although it’s hard to hold back my grin. He has the ability to make the corners of my mouth turn up when I least expect it. Whether I want them to or not. Though why would anyone not want to smile? That’s what Mom would say. “No talking about hotness. ”
“Because you think I’m hot?”
Obviously. “Because I said so. ”
“Whatever. We always have to play by your rules,” he says teasingly. And then he looks down again. His hair falls and I find myself wanting to touch it. Fight to hold back the thought that I shouldn’t want to because it feels good to want something normal. To try to pretend I’m like every other girl I know.
I watch as Christian’s fingers pluck the chords. As they move along each string, making a melody I’ve never heard before. It’s not someone else’s song. It’s Christian’s.
My eyes don’t leave him as I see his lips start to move. No sound comes out, but after a few seconds, I hear his voice. His words as he sings about overcoming obstacles in your life.
Slowly, his head tilts up. He doesn’t stop playing, but the words change and instead of his song, he sings to me, to stop watching him and start working. Shaking my head, I can’t help but chuckle as Christian continues with his song and I let my hands move through the clay. I wet them and again savor the feel of clay sliding through my fingers. Know that all I have to do is shape it. Move my fingers and create something, to claim that lost part of myself.
I close my eyes and just let myself feel. Feel and listen. Mom would have loved Christian’s music. I try to move my hands, begging myself, Make her happy, create something. I know her and know she would want me to still have this. Show Jason he didn’t win. That you’re worth more than he thought you were.
But who am I really? Even though I want to go back to who I was because it was so much easier, I don’t want to be that girl because that girl let Jason take advantage of her. She wasn’t strong.
“I can’t. ” I push away from my pottery wheel.
I expect Christian to argue with me. To look at me like he’s disappointed because I know he is. He doesn’t get it. He’s able to just move on, but all my roadblocks keep stopping me.
“Come here. ” He nods toward the spot next to him on the small couch. It makes my heart speed up, but I try not to concentrate on that.
“I have to wash my hands. ” Walking over to the sink, I do just that. Dry them and then sit next to him. It’s not a big deal. And I am determined not to make it into one.
“You ever play the guitar?” he asks, and I shake my head. Christian sets the guitar in my hands. “I’m trusting you with my baby. ”
“I have no idea what I’m doing. ”
“Then I guess it’s good that I’m here. ”
“It is,” I say. “I’m glad you’re here. I appreciate everything you do. ” It’s important to me that he knows it. I don’t think I’ve ever told him.
“It’s the least I can do for the girl who taught me how to dance. ” His voice is soft, sweet.
“I didn’t teach you how to dance. ”
“Maybe I practiced so I could dance with you. ”
My heart stops. Then jump-starts and speeds up. His words are exciting and scary and a million other things I can’t express. Christian doesn’t give me time to freak out, though. He doesn’t give me time to reply, either.
“Here. Put your hands like this. ” He rearranges my fingers on the guitar.
He gets on the floor in front of me. “This is C. ” Christian moves my fingers to put the right pressure where it’s needed and so they’re in the right spots. “Strum here,” he tells me, touching a finger. And I do. Christian teaches me a few notes. I almost drop the guitar once and he gasps, but it’s playful. We fool around, the sounds I’m making nothing compared to the beautiful music that dances off his fingers, but it still feels good to try.
“If you can’t get your pottery back, maybe you can have this,” he says. The words are like little knives, stabbing into my soul. Not because I don’t appreciate them, not because I wouldn’t like to play the guitar. But I don’t want to lose pottery. Not forever. I want it to be a part of me. It’s a part of Mom and me, and my eyes sting when I think about never getting that back.
“I won’t lose it forever. Pottery will always be mine. ”
Christian looks at me. I wait for a smart-aleck reply or a smile, but get neither. Just his blue eyes sucking me in like a whirlpool. “That’s what I thought you would say. So you just have to keep fighting for it. Keep fighting to get it back. It’s what all the books say. ” He grins, but I’m too entranced to do the same.
My eyes won’t leave his and his mine. And he’s hot. God, he’s so hot, I just want to focus on his cuteness. I want that to be all that matters. When his hand comes up and cups my cheek, I gasp. He brushes his thumb under my eye and licks his lips and I’m frozen and on fire and close to having a heart attack and anxious, too.
There’s a different air around us than there had been when he almost kissed me at school. Intimate and emotional and…more.
