Something for the Pain (Pain #2) Read Online Free Page B

shiny new penny with all the copper tones in it. Even under all that brown and copper though, there has always been red in your hair. You can only really see it in the sun though. I like it. And plus, your face always turns all red when I tease you. You’ll always be my firecracker.”
    I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Oh yeah. Why don’t you just write a song about it.” I tease. “That sounded pretty deep coming from your mouth.”
    He follows me down the hall toward the stairs. “Maybe I will. You know I still play my guitar each night. I can’t write songs for shit but for you I would try.”
    I stop and he does the same. I look him up and down, standing there shirtless and wet as I try to hold back my desire to kiss him. Our eyes meet for a split second before I pull myself out of my trance, clear my throat, and reach for the railing. “Alright,” I say, changing the subject and my thought process. “Well, there are two rooms upstairs,” I continue, as he follows me up with his hands on my hips for support. “The other one is downstairs and down the hall from the pool and rec room.”
    We stop in front of the first door and I reach for the handle, but then stop and smile at him. “This one . . . is not your room.” I head for the back of the hall and his smile broadens, because he loves being teased. “This here is your room.”
    He walks past me and pushes the door open. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him. “Wow! Did you do all of this?”
    He walks over to the wall by the window and touches one of his own favorite drawings that I attempted to paint. Yesterday, I spent the whole day painting music notes and some of his drawings onto the back wall of his room. I even brought his favorite plush pillow that he leaves at my aunt’s house so he can sit on it whenever he plays his guitar for me.
    “Yeah. I just thought it would be a nice spot for you to have to play your guitar.” I walk over and open the window. “You can sit here with the window open and play for the cars passing by.”
    I plop down onto his pillow—chair—thing. I’m really not sure what to call it. It’s not really any of the above, but a mixture. “Like how you used to when we were teenagers. Do you remember? Right before your mom . . .” I stop myself and clear my throat. “I remember you sitting on your screened in porch by the window, playing all night. I would sometimes drive over late at night just to listen to you play. It helped me sleep better. Actually, you were sitting in that same spot, attempting to play Memphis’ guitar the day we met. Remember?”
    He smiles to himself and then grabs my hand to help me to my feet. “Of course I remember that shit.”
    He plops down on his huge pillow and pulls me down onto his lap, and then adjusts me to make sure I’m comfortable before speaking. “I was sitting there playing the guitar and I was so pissed off because I kept messing up, so I decided to quit. Then I heard a little voice coming from outside the window say something like, “Please play some more.” I looked out and there you were; the cutest little girl with a penny colored ponytail. It was the shiniest damn hair I had ever seen. My father was gone . . . at work, so I played some more.”
    We both laugh as he wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes. “Is that your room down the hall?” He asks with a hint of humor.
    I lean my head against his shoulder and smile. “Yes. You know I have to be upstairs. We even get to share a connecting bathroom.” I point to the bathroom door. “That leads into the bathroom and my room is on the other side. We’ll just have to be sure to lock both doors so we know when the other is using it.”
    He brushes my hair out of the way before resting his scruffy chin on my shoulder. “Why did you choose for my room to be upstairs instead of Lucas’?”
    I twist my neck back to look at him. “Because it reminds me of when we were kids and you used to climb