His thumb rested just beneath my pulse, and I swallowed thickly. Crap, he was going to feel how fast it was, and that would be embarrassing.
“Your fingers are rough.” I blushed harder and thought that there was no way I could sound any more like an idiot. Not even if I was trying.
“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s from playing guitar. I practice a lot so my calluses are nice and strong.”
“I used to play piano.”
Wow. Good comeback. I guess it was better than a clarinet or trombone, but really. Dork much?
“I mean, I still do in church and stuff.”
“I know. I saw you play once.”
Surprised, I shook my head. “Where?”
“Church.”
“But you don’t come to church.”
“How do you know?”
I was silent for a moment and more than a little confused. “Because I’ve never seen you there.”
He grinned. “So you miss me then.” His smile got bigger. “You know, when I’m not there.”
“Trevor. I’d have to see you there in the first place to miss you when you’re not. And I like I said, I’ve never seen you in my church.”
“But the only reason you know I’m not there is because you must be looking for me in the first place, right?”
Okay. I couldn’t really argue with that logic, even though it made no sense whatsoever. I figured he was trying to mess with me and relaxed.
“I used to practice every day after school.”
“Used to?” he interrupted.
Again he surprised me. He was sharp.
“I don’t hang out at the church all that much, and I’m not really home too often either.”
That was an understatement.
“Why?”
“Because my dad’s there.”
Okay. I did not just say that to a guy who was practically a stranger.
“Anyway,” I said in a rush, hoping he wouldn’t notice my slipup. “I didn’t really enjoy piano until I heard some old Elton John songs.”
“Really,” he said with a smile. “He’s stellar. Retro, but stellar.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s your favorite?”
He was still holding my hand. It was still hot. And I felt vaguely light-headed.
“Favorite?”