Not Just Another String On His Guitar

Chapter 1- The A String

***Note: Important message at the end of this chapter.

What is your definition of love?

Delilah: What is love? It’s a deep connection between two similar people, not like the lust of Romeo and Juliet, but like the passion of Jack and Rose in Titanic. But unlike the stories, it's hard to find. People call me a dreamer…but one can only dream.

Tony: What is love? F*ck that. Who cares? It’s a joke. A lie. Forget love, it’ll never happen to me. People call me a heartbreaker. A thief. I always have been, and I always will be. I run through chicks like I run through guitar strings. I play them, and then I break them. Because baby—when I play, I never stay.

Chapter One:

Delilah’s POV

            “It’s so beautiful, so charming, so…tempting,” my friend Allie Coltons swooned, her eyes closed and her head swaying to the rhythmic, alluring sound of a guitar floating down the hallway. The school day ended an hour ago, but we had stayed behind to practice my performance for the talent show. It'd be next weekend and I'd be singing a song, and I would be competing against an unknown person. I couldn’t wait to see who it would be. Her head of straight blonde hair bobbed with each step as we drew closer and closer to the sound.  

            “It’s poisoned honey, Allie,” I warned her, knowing too well who was creating that lovely sound. My feet, in brown gladiator sandals, slapped against the tile ground.  

            Her brown eyes flickered open as she stared at me, confused, “What does that mean?”

            I grinned. Dumb blonde. But that’s what made her fun, and she was my best friend. “He plays the guitar to lure in the girls, and then he uses them. You should know that by now,” I explained, pulling a lock of wavy golden-brown hair behind my ear. As we neared the turn that would take us out the front doors, I smiled at the ribbons of sunlight that twirled on the white floor. They illuminated specks of dust that danced through the air, leaping like miniature ballerinas. Summer vacation was just a week away, and I could feel the excitement coursing through me. This was the end of junior year, the last real summer before I had to look for colleges.

            “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like the music,” she answered, grinning, as we turned the corner and pushed open the heavy gray doors of the school. A wave of heat billowed against my body and ruffled my short, loose white dress and sent my long hair wild as we stepped outside. I allowed a laugh of delight to escape as I headed for the parking lot and searched for my old navy blue convertible with the hood down. I reached into my purse for the keys but stopped short when I realized I was no longer being followed by Allie. I’d been so distracted by the sunny day that I hadn’t noticed her absence.

            I glanced around and finally my eyes landed on a sight I wasn’t surprised to see. Rolling my eyes and slightly annoyed, I walked back to the front of the school and stopped just before the curb. Allie was sitting beside the guitar player we heard earlier, listening as he played and sang. How could I have missed him when we walked out? I guess I really wasn’t paying attention. There he was—Underwood High School’s most flirtatious player and delinquent, Tony Cormack. Locks of messy, wavy, dark, chocolate-colored hair hung loosely around his head and just barely fell into his icy blue eyes as he strummed away on the strings. Allie once told me his skin was just the right sun-kissed color that made him look like he was tan without even trying. Girls in my school nearly fainted when he glanced in their direction, mesmerized by his tall, strong, lean figure. Allie smiled flirtatiously at him and he smirked back, giving her the face that was said to be irresistible.