Read Online Red Velvet Crush by Christina Meredith - Free Book Online

best.”
    â€œI told you you’d like it,” Ty says, leaving the counter.
    He was right. It is amazing.
    Ty walks past me. “First things first,” he says, holding his hands out behind his back, reaching for mine. I hesitate, then grab for them. He leads me over toward the windows and a black baby grand in the corner.
    Tony follows us, dusting his fingers along drum tops and piano lids as he goes. I am jealous; he can touch everything.
    â€œYou play, right?” Ty asks as he sits me down on the black bench.
    â€œI do.”
    I wait for him to sit at the drum set next to me. It is pearly gray, like the sky before a storm. Instead he walks back over to the wall of guitars with Tony.
    Of course he plays the guitar. He probably plays everything, including the glockenspiel.
    â€œWhat about that one?” Ty asks, pointing toward a neon green Mustang.
    Tony shakes his head. “Not today,” he says. “Too much flash.”
    I agree, even though they haven’t asked for my opinion.
    Tony moves two guitars over and one guitar up. Ty nods, and Tony takes down a custom-built acoustic guitar, all black with a silver spiderweb painted on the body. He hands it to Ty.
    â€œMore your style,” he says.
    Ty tunes it, his head tilted.
    There is no strap; he holds the guitar propped against his hip. I stare at his arms, picturing the muscles flexing under his Henley.
    He walks toward me and starts to strum.
    I raise my hands over the piano keys, my fingers wobbly because he has never actually heard me play and because Tony is watching.
    â€œDeath Cab?” Ty asks.
    I shake my head.
    â€œTeen Spirit?”
    â€œDefinitely not.”
    â€œSublime?” He pauses. “Come on . . . everybody loves some Sublime.”
    â€œYeah, everyone forty-five and over,” I say. “Besides, that’s stoner music.”
    He stops strumming. “Do you have something against stoners?”
    â€œNot strictly speaking,” I say. Lord knows I’ve spent enough time with them.
    Ty runs his fingers along the strings, thinking.
    â€œI know,” he says. He nods like he’s had the best idea ever. “‘Yesterday.’”
    Yesterday? Nothing happened yesterday. It was two days ago I kissed you, I think.
    He starts in on the first few notes of the song “Yesterday,” and I freeze.
    My hands plunk onto the keys. “You’re kidding, right?”
    Ty stops, too.
    â€œWait . . . you don’t like the Beatles?” he asks, looking suspiciously at Tony.
    â€œNope,” I say, and Tony bounds toward me. He leans against the side of the black piano and reaches down. My hands are shaking for real now. I don’t know what to expect.
    â€œWell then,” Tony says, catching up my right hand into a tight, warm squeeze, “welcome to a small and very exclusive club.”
    â€œHappy to be here,” I say, relieved.
    My reflection smiles back at me from the glossy piano top.
    Ty stands in the middle of the room and sighs. “I can’t believe I’ve found the two people in the world that don’t like the Beatles.”
    â€œBelieve,” I say, and play a series of twinkling, totally Lennonish notes.
    Tony laughs and starts walking back to the counter. “Now that sounds like a Beatles song.”
    â€œOkay,” Ty says. “Pick something else. Your choice.”
    He steps closer to the piano and rests the guitar against his hip again, waiting for me. I tuck my hair behind my ears and sit up straight.
    â€œReady?” he asks.
    â€œThis is weird,” I say, looking at him.
    Ty shakes his head. “It’s cool, I play here all the time.”
    â€œNo . . .” I say. “It’s just that I never see you standing up. It’s weird.”
    I swear I can hear Tony chuckling behind the counter.
    â€œJust play,” Ty says.
    So I do. I kick into it, hard and fast, playing the song we danced to in his