How We Were | ✔️ (Complete)

30. Like Romeo

"I know you're listening," he shouted. "You may as well open the window because I can play all night."

He finished the song, then started up again.

Same song, same atrocious rendition.

I listened to it three times before I finally wrenched the window back open. "Is that the only song you know or something?"

He grinned and shook his head, then played "Hey there Delilah." It was so terrible it bordered criminal, but it made me feel euphoric just the same. Biting away my smile, I leaned out the window and cradled my chin in my hands. I swear, I was getting high off this boy.

When he kept tripping over the same damned riff, I threw him a line. "I know another song written for a girl." My daddy'd named me after it.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I don't know the tabs to that one yet."

You don't know the tabs to any of these songs.

"Maybe you should come back when you do. It's just plain bad manners to serenade a girl with some other girl's song. Good night Jake!"

"Something more upbeat then?"

I paused, trying to figure out what in hell he was trying to play. When I finally did, I scoffed. "Jake, my eyes are blue. Good night!" I placed my hands on the window frame, pretended to pull it down. Yeah, right. A F-5 tornado could rip through town and I'd still be clinging to this window.

"This is good stuff, Layla! You just don't know how to appreciate fine music when you hear it."

"Jacob Waites, you're all hat and no cattle."

"Those sound like fighting words."

"They're parting words!"

He sighed dramatically. "Alright, alright. Stay right there, I'll play your favorite song." He moved his hand up to the neck of the guitar and fiddled with it, as if that was going to make any kind of a difference at all. "You'd better hold on to your ovaries though, make sure they don't explode."

Too late, I'm pretty sure I'm already pregnant. We're having triplets, Jake.

"You don't know my favorite song," I said.

But he did.

Not only that, but he played the guitar just like he did everything else: exceptionally, startlingly, blessed-by-gods well. He played effortlessly, beautifully, as if the guitar was simply an extension of his body.

Gasping, I yanked the window open, leaning so far out of it that I'd nearly toppled out. "Shut up Jake, are you serious right now?" I screamed it too, laughing with utter delight.

He smiled into his guitar.

"How do you know this is my favorite song?" I asked, impressed to hell and back.

He looked up. "Layla," he said, my name a taunt on his lips. ""Hallelujah" is every girl's favorite song," he said with a wicked grin.

I squealed. "And, you can even talk and play at the same time. How do you do that?"

"Magic."

He was. So I stayed and listened, my left leg swinging in lazy circles behind me, completely swept up in his spell. "Do you sing too?"

"Never." He paused. "Is there no end to your unreasonable expectations?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you know "Tears in Heaven"?"

"You're so predictable," he chided, "Come outside and I'll play it for you."

"It's two thirty in the morning."