Page 118 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
“It’s not finished yet.”
“That’s okay. Can I hear what you have so far?” I sit on the chaise across from my bed.
He strums his fingers over the guitar strings and smiles at me, lifting his knee to rest on the bed.
“It’s called, “Blood in My Veins.” Ready?” Hanging his head slightly, he looks down, positioning his fingers on the neck of the guitar. As he strums, his body sways. “I was told my fate long ago. I’d never measure up. I didn’t have what it takes.” Glancing up at me, he shakes his head, still swaying. “I’d never be enough. I believed it all. Down to my core. Down to my core. Until I looked into your eyes.” Lifting his head, he gazes into my eyes and strums. “Eyes that told me a different truth. I shared my deepest secrets. You opened my heart.” Looking down briefly to change his finger position, he returns his gaze to me. “You’re the blood coursing through my veins. You’re the breath filling my lungs.” He strums and sways, nodding his head to the rhythm he’s created.
Tingles cover me as I listen to his words. Words he wrote about me. I can’t keep him out of my heart.
Doing a rapid strum, he slaps his hand across the strings then smiles at me. “That’s it. That’s all I have. What do you think of it?”
“I — it’s beautiful, Nicco.” My heart hurts at what can never be.
He lifts his shoulders and gets off the bed, leaning his guitar against the dresser. “It needs work.” He takes his notepad and pen and puts them on the dresser then grabs the movies and lays them out on the bed. “Do you like any of these?”
The variety ranges from romantic comedy to action-packed. I pickMission: Impossible.
Grabbing all the movies, he puts them on the dresser then loads the disc into the player.
We fluff up pillows and sit close to each other on the bed.
“Do you need a blanket?”
“Oh yes. That would be nice.”
He gets off the bed and takes a blanket from the basket next to the chaise. Before getting back onto the bed, he drapes the blanket over my legs.
“Thank you.”
As the music plays on the movie, he jets his head back and forth to the beat. He’s impossibly cute. By the time the credits roll, we’re both hungry.
“I don’t feel like cooking and I’m not going to have Angelina cook for us. Let’s order something.”
Before he can ask what I want, “Pizza?” comes out of my mouth.
“You want pizza?” He laughs.
“It feels like a pizza night.”
“Then pizza it is. I’ll be right back.” He leaves to place our order.
As I wait for him to return, my emotions are torn. I do care about him. I can’t help myself. I’m scared I care for him more than I’m willing to admit. I love being with him. But reality tramples whatever it is I feel about him. In a few days I leave and go back to my life. He continues on his path to fame and everything that comes with it. Nothing can exist between us.
His phone chimes. I’m not one to be nosey, but it’s right there on the bed. A text — from Giovanna. I can only see the first line that’s lit on the screen, “Call me.” followed by a kissy-face emoji.
Reality stampedes again, resurfacing my insecurities and reminding me why I’m here.
He comes back in. “About twenty minutes.”
“Your phone chimed.” I point to his phone as my chest burns.
He picks it up and reads the text then puts it down. “It’s not important.”
Hmmm.
“Okay. Your pick,” I say, confusion swirling inside me.
Standing in front of the dresser, he surveys the movies. “This one.”
