Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“Sarah …”
“Matt,” I mocked him.
“Your parents are never going to approve of this.”
“Well,” I chuckled, “they were never going to approve of what we did in your car, but we did it anyway. Do you regret it?”
“That’s different.”
“It’s not. We made our own decisions no matter what anyone thought. And we did it because we had a passion that mattered more than anyone’s opinion. That’s how I feel about music. Writing, playing, singing it. How am I supposed to go to college when I have no idea what I could possibly want to do in life besides play my music?”
“That’s not true. You thought about accounting.”
“Matt, I had to think of something to get our guidance counselor off my back about planning my future. I don’t want to be an accountant.”
“That’s why your parents suggested a community college. You can get prerequisites taken while you figure it out.”
“Prerequisites for what? My parents suggested community college because I didn’t get good grades like you.”
“Sarah,” Matt sighed. “Give it a year at a community college. You might decide music is more of a hobby.”
“It’s not a hobby. It’s my dream. I want you to say that you think my dreams are important.”
“Of course, I think your dreams are important.”
“Then why are you trying to talk me out of following them?”
“I’m not. I’m only trying to help you set realistic expectations, so you won’t be disappointed.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “So you already think it’s a foregone conclusion that I won’t make it if I go to Nashville? And you want me to prepare to be disappointed? Wow. Thanks, Matt.”
“Fine, Sarah. What do you want me to say? You’re going to be a big star? You’re going to have sell-out concerts across the country? Then, sure, I’ll say it. You’re going to be the biggest star of our generation. No need to go to college. Happy?”
“You’re an asshole.”
Click.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EURYTHMICS, “WOULD I LIE TO YOU?”
The following day, the farm stand was busy, and I didn’t see Isaac or Wesley, not even when I returned to the house with the key and cash bag. A few of the other ranch workers were in the fields on horses and one was on a tractor near a grain bin.
After I closed the stand, I was itching to play Isaac’s guitar again. Since he was still nowhere in sight, I figured chances were slim that he would look for it before I returned it. As I tiptoed up the stairs, I listened carefully for signs of anyone. I didn’t need a repeat.
Securing the guitar in my arms, I hugged it with more passion than I’d hugged my asshole boyfriend. Then I skittered out of the house to my car. I peeled around the circle drive to make my escape but slammed on the brakes when Isaac stepped in front of my car.
My heart lurched into my throat as he eyed me for a few seconds before stepping to the side and opening the passenger’s door.
“What are you doing? I nearly ran you over!”
“You are a thief.” He pulled the guitar case from my back seat. “A delinquent, fucking criminal.”
Isaac slammed the door and marched toward the house. I should have stepped on the gas and gotten my butt out of there, but I wanted—needed—to borrow the guitar again. I had songs to write. So I set the emergency brake, killed the engine, and chased after him. Really, I was only chasing the guitar.
“You know darn well you’re not even going to use it tonight. You can’t say that you covet me and then hog your guitar.” I caught up to him just as he stepped inside the screened-in porch.
When I tried to grab the guitar case, Isaac glanced back at me with a wrinkled nose as if he didn’t expect my level of determination. “Let. Go.” He jerked it out of my grip. “You’re way out of your league, little girl.” He continued into the house and up the stairs.
“I’m not a little girl. I’m a woman. And I’m going to be something someday, and I’m giving you the chance to be part of it. You can tell all your friends that it was your guitar that I used to write my best songs.”
Isaac deposited the guitar into his closet and shut the door, standing guard in front of it with his arms crossed over his chest.
I should have given up and walked away. The bear didn’t need to be poked anymore, but I had a proverbial stick in my hand, and I couldn’t resist.
“But like … I know that won’t happen because you don’t have any friends.”
Isaac’s scowl morphed into something worse: a smile. His vengeful smirk was so confident that I nearly evaporated like a drip of water hitting a hot pan.
“Sunday Morning, you’re my friend.”
I shook my head a half dozen times. “I’m not your anything if you don’t let me borrow your guitar.”