Max was acting weird after the club.

I thought she’d be into it, but maybe being in that environment put her off or something. Maybe something happened while we were performing.

Shit, I shouldn’t have just sent her out there by herself. I should have found someone to take care of her while I was on stage.

Running a hand through my hair, I silently berate myself as I wait for Max to arrive for her next guitar lesson…if she shows. Austin found out from Kingston that baseball practice was canceled this afternoon, so I found Max and told her we could fit in an extra session if she wanted.

“Maybe,” she mumbled, giving me a noncommittal shrug before stalking off.

“Max, wait, can we talk?” I called after her but she just kept walking like she didn’t hear me. I nearly chased her down but didn’t want to cause a scene in front of anyone.

So instead, I’m here…waiting…just in case.

But I can’t ignore that small niggle of doubt.

I texted her three times yesterday, and she didn’t respond once. I nearly called, but didn’t want her having to answer the phone in front of her family.

See! This is why lying sucks. I should never have agreed to keep this quiet.

But what choice did I have?

Not to teach her guitar?

No way. She’s too good.

And I’m enjoying it too much.

That’s probably why I’m so eaten up by her reaction on Saturday night.

Flicking the strings with my pick, I stare at her empty chair until the sharp edges become blurry. I don’t even know what I’m playing as my fingers run on autopilot, switching through the chords.

“One of your own?”

My guitar twangs as I jerk to look at the door. Max is standing there with her arms crossed. Her expression is guarded, but I try to pretend it isn’t.

“I don’t know. I was just messing around.”

“You should write your own stuff.” She shrugs. “I’m sure the girls would love that.”

My eyebrows twitch with confusion as she takes a seat opposite me. I’ve set up the electric guitar for her today. She nestles it on her lap and places her fingers on the strings like she’s been doing it forever.

“What were you playing?” She stares at my fingers like she’s making a special point not to look at my face.

“Uh…” I try to remember what I’d put together but end up playing something different.

She follows along with the chords she knows, repeating the sequence until it’s a steady riff. With a grin, I start changing it up, adding in another layer to whatever the hell we’re playing.

It sounds good.

I’ve never really played my own music before. I’ve always spent my time learning someone else’s, adding a little of my own flavor to it.

But this free-jamming thing is fun.

Especially with another guitar.

Man, it’d be cool to add that into the band. Two guitars plus the bass, keys and drums. It’d open up some more songs for us, that’s for sure.

Tapping my foot, I grin and start singing the lyrics to “40oz Dream” by Good Charlotte. It’s fresh in my head because Dad was playing it over breakfast this morning.

The chords we’ve put together work with the song even though the rhythm’s slightly different.

Max grins and starts singing with me on the chorus. I slip into an easy harmony, inspired by the magic we’re making. I can’t take my eyes off her. She starts to notice and is thrown, hitting a bum chord and killing the moment.

“That’s okay.” I brush my hand through the air. “That sounded awesome. We were just kicking around with that one.”

“You should write your own lyrics.”

I hiss and shake my head. “Not really my thing. My mom’s the poet in our family, not me.”

“Hmmm.” She tips her head to the side and that look she walked in with clouds her face again. “I thought you’d be a master with the words. You’re certainly a master on the stage.”

“Thank you.” An uneasy caution stirs within me as I try to read between the lines of what she’s saying.

“Yeah.” She clears her throat and won’t look at me as she taps her fingers on the top of the guitar. “Chicks love you. You’re so hot. They’d do anything to be one of your permanent girls.”

“One of my permanent girls?” I narrow my eyes at her.

“Yeah, you know, more than a one-night stand.” Her aqua gaze hits me then. It’s bright and dangerous.

Leaning away from it, I raise my eyebrows and stare at the music posters on the wall. Nirvana is tacked up there right next to Beethoven, which is next to Bruno Mars’ 24K Magic album cover. To say my dad’s eclectic is an understatement.

“I’m not telling you anything new, am I?” Max snaps. “You must love that kind of thing. Girls swooning at your feet while you flick your long hair around and pretend you’re Himeros.”

The god of sexual desire.

How the hell does she know that?

I only know it because my parents are into Greek mythology. Mom loves that stuff. Probably as much as I’m hating this moment.

Someone must have gotten to her at the club, said something to make her turn on me.

I roll my eyes, wondering which girl it was.

“Why are you rolling your eyes? Wouldn’t you be all over that? You’re like a rock star at that club…at this school even.”

“I’m nothing special,” I murmur.

“Oh come on. You’re practically a celebrity.”

“Only with the girls who like music.” I snicker, willing my tone to come out smooth and even. “I’m not the jock or the stud. I’m not buff or athletic. I’m just the mysterious music guy.”

“Who’s so hot.” Max’s mocking tone makes me laugh.

She gives me a pointed glare, her true angst shining through.

No way, she’s jealous.

Man, whoever said something to her really got her worked up. Or maybe she just observed the way those girls scream at me from the floor.

I used to love it at first. Made me feel like a king.

Until I realized how shallow it all was.

That’s why I started making sure I had a girlfriend. It keeps me unavailable. Girls can try it on, but I can just say I’m not a cheater and they tend to back off.

I wonder if Max would understand that if I told her.

Shit, she’d probably think I was lining her up to be the next one. It’s not even like that. I offered her guitar lessons because I knew she wanted them.

I didn’t expect to like doing it quite so much.

Crossing my arms, I rest them on the top of my guitar and catch her eye before talking. “I can see you’re pissed. And I feel like you’re trying to trap me into saying something. To maybe admit that I’m a man whore, which I’m not. Or that I like having three or four girls hanging off me any chance I can get, which I don’t. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Her scowl deepens as her blue eyes try to read me. She thinks I’m lying.

Wow. Okay.

With a bemused laugh, I wave my hand in the air. “You think I’m lying.”

“Of course I think you’re lying. You have a rep. You’re popular and pretty, and it makes sense that you sleep around and take advantage of this amazing opportunity.”

“I’m still a virgin!” I snap, then flush with embarrassment.

I can’t believe I just blurted that out.

Max’s lips part with surprise and I work my jaw to the side as I look at the floor between us.

“I swear, Max, I’m seriously not the guy everyone thinks I am. Yes, I’ve had girlfriends, but I’ve never gotten super serious with any of them. And I’m not into one-night stands. I think they’re shallow and I would never treat a girl like that, even if she wanted me to.”

I glance up. Her eyes are still kind of narrowed, but my virgin confession has really thrown her. I think she can tell I wasn’t lying when I said it.

Puffing out a little sigh, I lean back and try to think of a reasonable way to convince her that rumors suck and I’m not the guy people say I am. “You know, if you want to get to know me better, you should come out with me sometime. See what I’m like when I’m not teaching you guitar.”

Her expression turns from guarded to unimpressed. “I did see what you’re like when you’re not teaching me guitar.”

“I was performing,” I retort, probably too forcefully. “That’s not what I’m like all the time. If you don’t believe me, let me show you. We’ll go out, just you and me.”

“Like on a date?”

The idea makes me smile before I can stop myself. “If you want.”

She scoffs and jumps to her feet, wagging her finger at me while she places the guitar down. “You know, you’re just a little too smooth for your own good. No wonder the girls come flocking. Asking me if I want to hang out.” She puts on a husky voice.

I snicker and stand so I can look her in the eye. “If you want to know if there’s more to me than just music and what you saw on that stage, then we need to hang out more. That’s not being smooth, it’s just common sense.”

“Of course it is!” She forces out a laugh but cuts it short, pointing her finger at my chest. “You said date, Mr. Smooth. That’s so completely different than simply hanging out.”

“Actually, you said date, not me. And all you have to do is say no if you don’t like my offer.”

She goes a little goldfish on me, her mouth opening and closing as I steal the wind from her oh so righteous sails.

The alarm on her watch starts ringing, warning her that she’s due home in twenty minutes.

Max flinches and then starts packing up the guitars. I silently help her, slightly comforted by the stunned look on her face. I can’t help feeling just a little justified. She was being kind of judgmental over the whole man whore/groupie thing, and I really hope she gives me a chance to prove her wrong.

“How do I know you won’t just put on an act? The same way you do when you get on a stage.”

I carefully take the guitar from her and slot it into the storage holder. “It’s called faith, Max.”

“Faith?”

“Yeah, you have to believe that I’m not just some smooth Casanova who’s trying it on with you. I offered you guitar lessons because I could tell you wanted them. Now I’m offering to spend some time with you so that you can stop making assumptions about me.”

She swallows, still cautious.

I smile, hoping to make her feel better. “I’ll make you a deal.” I stick out my hand. “You be real with me, and I’ll be real with you. No bullshit.”

After a small hesitation, she wraps her fingers around mine and whispers, “No bullshit.”