I’m out of breath as I run down the hall, screeching to a stop outside the music room.

I hope I don’t smell too bad.

Raising my arms, I quickly sniff my pits to make sure I won’t be putting off the first guy who’s ever given me butterflies.

No, I’m okay. The cold weather is keeping the sweat at bay.

Sucking in one more lungful of air, I grab the door handle and hope I don’t look like the jittery mess I feel.

Having to keep this whole thing a secret is going to be way hard. I’m not too worried about my parents. Dad’s working extra hours and Mom’s kind of checked out in her own misery right now.

But Maddie.

She’s the tough one.

Thankfully she’s kind of distracted with the whole Holden-Chloe thing, but she still wanted to know why I was leaving so early.

I had to scramble for a lame excuse and ended up blurting that I wanted to run to school for some extra morning exercise.

She bought it.

Which meant I had to freaking run to school.

It’s not so bad, but it was cold. Thankfully I’m fit, so bringing my heart rate down and evening out my breathing won’t take too long, but still…

I’m going to need to work on my excuses.

I should really tell Maddie the truth, but I don’t want to burden her when she’s obviously struggling with the transition to Armitage. Besides, she’s a crappy liar, and I don’t want her to be forced into making excuses for me if Mom and Dad suddenly wake up and figure out what I’m up to.

This is just something I need to do on my own for a while.

I’ll tell Mads and Chloe when I’m ready.

Pushing the door open, I step into the well-lit room and my breath is stolen. So much for regulating my heart rate.

Cairo is sitting in a chair, a guitar on his knee. He’s tapping his foot while he quietly strums and sings “Hands Down” by Dashboard Confessional. I love that song because it has a really excellent guitar intro. Plus the lyrics are awesome.

I love the whole I’ll die if you kiss me, so please kill me thing.

It’s clever.

It’s actually romantic, especially coming from Cairo’s lips.

I’m frozen while I watch him, the air in my lungs fighting for escape.

Shit, what is happening to me?

Am I turning into Chloe?

I swallow and finally exhale. That’s when he glances up and notices me.

The song comes to a disjointed end as he slaps his fingers over the strings and grins at me.

“Morning.”

“Hi.” I shove my hands in my jacket pockets and rock back on my heels.

I never know how to talk to this guy. He’s too pretty.

“Do you want to take a seat?” Cairo points to the chair opposite him and I rush to sit down, smoothing my hands along my leggings while he reaches behind him for an acoustic guitar.

“Here you go.” He hands it to me.

I hold it like it’s precious.

Because it is.

It’s impossible to hide my grin as I nestle it onto my lap and slide my fingers up the strings.

This is so awesome.

“I think it’s best that we start with the acoustic. All the fingering’s the same. We’ll move up to electric once you feel comfortable with the chords. Sound good?”

“Yep.” I bob my head, giddy bubbles rushing through me.

I’m about to learn some chords!

From Cairo Hale!

Cairo Hale is going to teach me how to play some chords!

Seriously, I feel like a five-year-old in a candy shop, and my mom’s just told me I can have whatever I want.

“Okay.” Cairo shuffles in his seat, adjusting the guitar on his lap before tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

Damn, he’s so gorgeous. I love his hair, how long it is…how thick…how black.

Just breathe, Max. Breathe.

“So, the guitar needs to sit like this.” Cairo adjusts it on my knee, making sure it sits straight against my body.

“But I can’t see the strings,” I murmur.

He grins. “I know, you’ll need to lean forward. Just don’t get into the habit of pulling the guitar on an angle. You’re better to learn good technique now, because it’ll make everything easier in the long run.”

“Okay.” I hold the neck of the guitar, feeling the strings beneath my fingers and making sure I resist the urge to tip the guitar up so I can see what I’m doing.

“That’s good. Just tuck it against your body so it feels secure… That’s it.” His brown eyes light with a smile.

His expression is so warm and friendly. It helps me to relax as he runs through the names of each string.

He wants me to memorize them from top to bottom, and we go over it about five times until I can say them all without hesitating.

“That’s great.” Cairo looks proud as he pats my knee. “You’re picking this up really fast. That’s awesome. You can hear how the guitar’s in tune, right?”

“I think so.” I nod, feeling like that’s kind of obvious, but he takes me through it anyway, showing me how each string sounds in and out of tune.

It’s not hard to tell the difference, and I soon have the guitar perfectly tuned again.

“Wow,” Cairo murmurs, sitting back to smile at me.

“What?”

“I think you have perfect pitch.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can hear a note in your head without having to hear it played first. It means that you can tune a guitar without needing a piano or a tuner.”

“Okay.” I bob my head again and he laughs. “What?”

“You don’t know how amazing that is, do you? Not many people can do that. It means you’re a natural.”

“Oh.” It’s all I can say past the sunshine trying to burst out of my chest. A warmth I don’t even recognize radiates inside of me. It’s being fueled by the smile on Cairo’s lips.

“All right. Let’s move on.”

I love his voice. It’s not deep and gravelly, but has this soft huskiness to it.

Man, I hope these lessons don’t go too fast, because I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.

Cairo goes through the basics of how I should be holding the neck of the guitar—try to imagine a tennis ball in my hand so I’m making a nice round space under the neck, how to place my fingers on the strings so they’re held in place accurately.

He then talks about frets and how my fingers need to be in the right ones to make the right kind of sound. I absorb it all, picking it up easily as he shows me a D chord, labeling each string as we create it.

“Now just hit each string with the edge of your thumb to see what it sounds like.”

I do as I’m told and repeat the action until each string rings. I have to adjust my left-hand fingers on the strings until I’m pressing into them without touching any others.

It’s kind of difficult but after six attempts, the chord is sounding sweet.

I grin and play it again.

“That’s good. That’s really good.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pick, taking the time to show me how to hold it.

He must have had lessons, because he’s such a good teacher. He knows exactly what to say and do.

I try out the pick, smiling at the sharp sound it creates. I then attempt a few strums and before I know it, Cairo is strumming with me, playing a few other chords to blend in with my D.

A laugh pops out of me before I even feel it coming. I’m loving this.

Every single second of it.

“Now that’s a smile.” Cairo stops playing and gazes at me, his warm brown eyes making me want to fly.

I drop my gaze but struggle to gain control of my grin.

Until a door clicks open.

I stiffen and glance up as Mr. Hale walks in.

“Good morning, you two.”

Man, his accent is cool.

“Hey, Pop.” Cairo raises his eyebrows at him.

Mr. Hale glances between us and then gives his son a subtle wink. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Kind of hard when we can see you,” Cairo quips.

My lips part at the rude way he just spoke to his dad, but Mr. Hale just booms with laughter. “I won’t be here long. I’m just grabbing some music.”

“Well, can you grab it faster?”

“You’re a cheeky young pup, you know that?” Cairo grins when Mr. Hale points at him. “I don’t know who’s dragging you up, but you let them know that I think you need a little discipline in your life.”

Cairo starts laughing and flicks his hand at his dad. “Get out of here. You said I could have the room until the bell rings.”

“All right, all right, I’m goin’.” Mr. Hale winks and then turns to me. “Having fun?”

“I…um…I…yes,” I finally manage, bobbing my head.

He raises his eyebrows, no doubt surprised by my inability to string two words together.

I clear my throat and nod again. “I know how to play a D chord now.”

“Well, that’s an excellent start. Lucky for you, you’ve got a good teacher. I should know, he was taught by the best.” He points at himself, then winks and leaves the room chuckling.

As soon as he’s gone, I round on Cairo, giving his knee a little flick. “You told your dad? I thought we were keeping this a secret!”

Cairo rubs his knee, obviously recovering from my unexpected lash out. “I had to ask permission to use his music room. The lighting’s better in here. There’s more space. If it’s a problem, we can move to the practice room, but I like it better in here for teaching.”

Tapping my finger on the top of the guitar, I struggle to breathe as I picture him calling my parents, perhaps innocently to check up on something. Mentioning the guitar. Alluding to the fact that I’ve spent my entire morning workout session in here instead of the gym.

“Max?” Cairo rubs my arm.

I flinch beneath his touch and look at him.

“He won’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Did you ask him not to?”

“Well, kind of.”

“Kind of? What does that mean?”

“I told him you were nervous about learning and you wanted to keep it quiet until you built your confidence up.”

“Oh, okay.” I purse my lips. “So, he won’t be…calling anyone, or…?”

Cairo grins. “Of course not. And not to sound harsh, but he probably doesn’t even care. I’m just teaching a fellow student how to play guitar. That’s nothing worth calling anybody about.”

“Yeah.” My shoulders slump. “I guess not. I just would hate for him to mention it to Coach or for it to somehow—”

“Max.” Cairo stops me. “You can trust me, okay? Your secret is safe. I’ll make sure Dad doesn’t say anything to anyone, okay?”

“All right,” I whisper.

“Now let me have a look at your fingers.” Reaching for my left hand, he pulls my fingers straight, checking out the deep grooves left by the strings. “It always hurts to start with, but you’ll get used to it. The more you play, the tougher your fingers will get.”

He starts rubbing the red lines on my skin, cutting off my air supply with his strong fingers. I like the shape of them—long and sure, wide nails, neatly trimmed. The color of his skin is amazing and in total contrast to mine. I can’t stop staring at them while he works to ease my digits.

I should pull away and tuck my hand into my pocket, but I can’t move right now.

He’s trying to make me feel better.

He’s proving that he’s not just good-looking. He’s a sweet, talented, kind, cheeky young pup.

My lips pull into a grin as I relive the exchange he had with his dad.

He’s got personality to burn.

And I like being around him.

Which means no matter what, I have to somehow make these guitar lessons last.

But unlike baseball, I don’t want to pretend to be useless to get what I want. For this, I want to be brilliant. I want to become so good that he wants to play with me just for the pleasure of it, and not because he’s helping me out.