Rocking His Fake World (Love You Forever #3) - Alexis Winter Page 0,2
he just laughs and waves me off.
It’s going on 10 a.m. when I pull myself out of bed the next day. I practically sleepwalk to the shower, but I manage to pull myself together as the hot water wakes me up. I blow-dry my hair and curl the ends before applying some makeup. I have to sort through my clothes by picking them up off the floor and sniffing them. I find something acceptable and grab my things to head to work.
I’ve been officially working at Mick’s Music since I was 15. Because of that, we have a good relationship. I get any day off I need in exchange for managing the rest of the employees and the store. I slide my key into the lock and let myself inside. I disable the alarm and go to put my things away and open the register. At noon on the dot, I flick on the OPEN sign. It’s sad that not many kids are interested in learning how to play musical instruments anymore. When I was a kid, you couldn’t get me out of this place. Lucky for me, Mick is good friends with my dad, so I spent most of my free time here as a kid, playing instruments I knew we couldn’t afford to buy. My first guitar actually came from this store. It was a Fender Stratocaster. It was sea-foam green with a cream-colored pickguard. I had my eye on her the day she arrived. Mick knew how much I loved her and he made me a deal. I volunteered at the store after school and every weekend until I put in enough hours to earn the guitar, which at the time cost nearly a grand. That’s a lot of money for a 13-year-old kid. But I managed to get it worked off in one year. She was my pride and joy and I still have her to this day. She’s not as beautiful as she once was. Now, she’s got chipped paint, stickers, and scuffs all over her body, neck, and head, but the sentiment is still there and I’ll never get rid of her. I even named her “Journey” because I believed she was going to take me everywhere.
The store stays pretty busy throughout the first part of the day. I normally don’t make any big sales—mostly just people coming in to buy picks, new strings, and cables. Doesn’t matter much to me. I still get paid hourly, but I get commission on bigger sales, though they’re few and far between. It’s going on 4 p.m. when a man walks in wearing a finely-pressed suit. He screams money. I can tell by looking at him that he isn’t here to buy strings. He’s probably here because his busy corporate life is getting boring and he’s looking for a journey of his own—something to bring some meaning back into his life. Guitar or drums? I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out.
I walk up to the man. “Can I help you find anything?”
He turns and looks at me and I feel my heart skip a beat. He’s tall and lean and has neatly combed dark hair. His jaw is sharp and has a bit of scruff growing on it. His eyes find mine and I see they’re a delicious shade of green—something that reminds me of wet summer grass in the morning.
I see those green eyes of his start at the top of my head and work their way slowly down my body before making their way back up. He clears his throat. “Yes, actually. I was looking for a guitar for my niece’s birthday.”
“How old is your niece?” I ask.
“She’s turning 14,” he replies, and it seems he can’t keep his eyes to himself. He stares at everything from the waves in my hair to the deep, dark red of my lips.
“And are you thinking about something electric or acoustic?”
“Electric, I think . . .” His face twists up in confusion. “She likes rock and punk rock.”
I nod. “Then electric is the way to go. Right this way.” I lead him over to the far corner that holds all our electric guitars. “Does she have a favorite color?”
He looks at the selection on the wall. “I really don’t know her all that well. Pink is a girl color, right?”
I scoff. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” I ask because he hasn’t told me and I want to know.