“Sixteen. Turning seventeen in a couple of months, though,” I add. He lights a cigarette, and I wrinkle my nose. “You know that smells like burnt dirt, right? And it’s not good for you.”
He laughs again. “Guess I’ll try to quit then. For a girl Ijustmet five minutes ago.”
I take the cigarette from his hand and flick it into the water.
He gawks at me. “That was a littlebrave,”he jokes. “For all you know, I could be a violent person with anger issues.”
I shrug. “Sorry, stranger, but I care about your health. And you certainly don’t seem like a bad person to me.”
He smiles at that. When I glance back toward the house, Heather’s practically in Benjamin’s lap now, waving her arms like she’s conducting the music. “My best friend’s a menace,” I mutter.
“Looks like it,” he says, and it makes me smile. “Anyone who is friends with my sister is, though. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
When he returns, he’s got a few bottles of cheap beer, and we sit there on the dock, drinking while the music from the beach fades into background noise. The moon’s bright, pouring silver over the calm waves.
“Sing me something,” I say, angling my body to face him, a leg dangling off the dock.
He hesitates, thumb brushing over the strings. “You’ll laugh.”
“Probably.”
“I’m kind of drunk,” he murmurs.
“So? Some would say that makes the music better.”
“I’d say out of everything, pain makes music better,” he suggests, his gaze sweeping over the dark void of sea before us.
“Love does, too,” I reply swiftly.
He smirks and lifts the guitar again, fumbling a little with the strap, fingers clumsy from the beer. “You sure about this?” his dark brows shooting up.
I just nod, holding the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“It’s not finished, but it’s a song I’ve been working on." Then he starts.
“I learned your name like a warning sign,
Still traced the letters down my spine.
You smiled like you didn’t know
How ruinous love could be when it grows.”
His voice is ragged and a little rough around the edges, but every note vibrates the air and the boards beneath us. My hands curl into the blanket. I’m not sure if it’s the music or him or the moonlight dancing in his hair that make me want to melt. Black strands fall over his eyes, and his mouth moves over words I’ve never heard anyone sing like before.
He stumbles over a chord, swears under his breath, and I laugh softly. He glances up at me mid-lyric, eyes catching mine, and my stomach flips. The moon glints off the tiny silver hoop in his ear, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
“I hear your voice in empty rooms,
In bad decisions, cheap perfume.
I chase the quiet, I chase the numb,
Anything that says you’re gone.”
I close my eyes and lean against him, the blanket warm between us, the guitar humming against his chest. My heart is pounding, loud enough I think he must hear it.What am I doing?Ihardly know this boy. But he feels safe. When he finishes, he exhales, running a hand through his hair, looking impossibly messy and perfect all at once.
“Did you...hate it?” he asks, voice quiet now, almost