Page 21 of Crash & Burn

After a couple adjustments, the discomfort faded slightly from her body, so we moved on to looking at the numbering of the fingers and the individual notes. I figured once we did that she would gain some confidence and then we would move on to strumming and maybe even get to a few chords.

That wasnotthe case.

Her tiny fingers had trouble fretting the strings, and we spent most of the hour we had having her practice moving up and down the fretboard with enough pressure to play the notes.

I hate to say it, but she sucks.

The confidence I noticed she had today while strutting around the warehouse with her camera was nowhere to be found when she was holding the guitar.

I could tell she was trying, and she didn’t give up, but we didn’t get as far as I thought we would. With practice and drive, it’s possible she will get there, but I can’t help but notice herdistancefrom what she’s doing. Almost as if she’s being forced to learn how to play rather than doing it because she wants to.

Which is none of my business.

And I shouldn’t care.

Idon’tcare.

But regardless of why she wants to learn, it’s going to take much longer than I thought it would.

We didn’t have much conversation aside from my directives and her questions, which is fine with me. The last thing I need is Mateo thinking I’m using these lessons for getting to know Mia.

Or worse,fallingfor her.

Or even worse than that,herfalling forme.

“Okay,” I finally say. “That’s enough for today.”

“Hold on,” she responds. She bites her bottom lip as she tries to press her finger down in the right place while simultaneously strumming, but I don’t know how many more times I can hear her dull and empty notes today.

Before she can strum her pick down the strings, I lightly touch her arm without even thinking, feeling the warmth from the way her soft skin feels under my calloused hands shooting up my arm.

Even with the slightest touch, for the briefest moment, I feel a spark in the air and a flutter in my chest, and I don’t know what to think of it.

Before my mind can catch up to what my body is feeling, Mia freezes, her body going rigid as a small gasp leaves her lips.

I rip my hand away as if her skin was boiling hot and run my fingers through my hair.

“Sorry,” I murmur because I don’t know what else to say, and I start packing up my guitar to get back to band practice. Mateo is going to stop pretending to look at his phone any minute to tell me it’s time to run through the set again, and Theo and Silas will be back soon.

“For what?” she asks, and I barely hear her. If I wasn’t becoming so attuned to her voice, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it.

“Lesson’s over!” Mateo yells as he walks back up to his mic stand. “Time to get back to practice.”

Theo and Silas get back from their coffee run right as Mateo announces, so I quickly finish packing up my guitar, never giving Mia an answer.

“Well, thanks for the lesson,” she says, but I avoid looking at her as I murmur that it was no problem and practically run over to my drum set.

When I’m in my stool and absently listening to Mateo remind us of the slight change in our opening song, I watch Mia from the corner of my eye. I see her stand up from where we were sitting on the floor, and she sits back down at the table with her laptop and camera, butshe doesn’t open her laptop or grab her camera to take more photos. Instead, she puts her elbows on the table in front of her and sets her head down in her hands. Her shoulders slump, and her chest moves up and down as if she is taking deep breaths.

Noted, I think to myself.

Mia, without a doubt, doesn’t want me touching her inanyway.

The rest of practice is a blur as I try to figure out how I am going to get out of these guitar lessons.

Chapter 8

Mia

---