Free The Prince of Punk Rock by Jenna Galicki

question.   Who is this girl Kendall and what’s her story?”
    “ Kendall ?”  Angel looked
uneasy.  “Why? Did she say something?”
    “She said a lot.”
    Angel grimaced.  “Well, we have a bit of history.  I know her
from voice class, when we were kids.  I hadn’t seen her in probably ten
years, and then she showed up at one of my gigs.  We hung out, talked
about old times, made fun of our voice teacher, got drunk.  She got really drunk.”  He rolled his eyes.  “She just grabbed my face and
kissed me.  I thought it was really funny, actually, but she thought it
meant something because I kissed her back.   One kiss and she thought she was going to convert me.”
    “I tried to ditch her for a while, but she was at every gig.  I
finally told her that the kiss wasn’t sexual.   It didn’t mean anything.   I’m not one of those guys who are
going to die of disgust because I kissed a girl.  I’ve kissed girls before,
but as a joke.   To be funny.  And
that’s what I thought it was – a joke.”   He stared at the floor for a few seconds.   “She didn’t get it. I had to be blunt and
tell her that I wasn’t the least bit interested.   I’m gay and there’s nothing she’s going to do
to make me want to be with her.   It made
me feel bad.  It still does. But now it’s really uncomfortable, because
she won’t leave me alone.”
    “I don’t like her.”
    Angel laughed.  “You’re not one to sugar coat anything, are you?”
    “No.   I tell it like it is.   Not many people rub me the wrong way like she
does, Angel. I don’t like her, and I don’t trust her.”
     
    Chapter Twelve
    Tommy thought they were supposed to
be writing music, but where were Damien and Jimmy?   And why were they at Angel’s apartment
instead of the studio?
    Angel set two drinks down on the
coffee table and sat next to him. “Play something for me.”
    Tommy picked up his Fender and
strummed Adrenaline Rush .
    “No.”   Angel placed his hand on Tommy’s thigh.   “I don’t want to hear one of our songs.   Play something you wrote.”
    Tommy’s eye went straight to Angel’s
hand. His leg tingled and a bolt of fire shot to his groin.   He couldn’t think of anything to play.   His mind was clouded with visions of Angel’s
hand traveling up his thigh, slowly unzipping his jeans, touching his flesh for
the first time . . .”
    “Play anything.   What was the last song you wrote with your
old band?”
    The sound of Angel’s voice yanked
him out of his fantasy.   He pulled the
guitar closer to hide his erection, and played one of his songs from
Psychobabble.   Angel’s penetrating gaze
was too distracting, so Tommy focused on his fingers and on the guitar
strings.   About half way through the song
he stopped playing and looked up at Angel.
    “You’re amazing.”   Angel touched his knee again.   “You’re a titan on the guitar.   I wish I could do that.”
    “I could teach you how to play.”
    “Oh, no.”   Angel laughed, modestly.   “I can’t play the guitar.   It’s too hard.”
    Angel tried to protest, but Tommy
put the guitar in his lap.   He was
apprehensive, almost afraid to hold it.   It was adorable.
    “It’s not going to break.” Tommy
positioned the guitar on Angel’s knee.   “Get the feel of it in your hands for a while.”
    Angel held the guitar in a rigid
embrace, but made no attempt to play it.
    Tommy demonstrated a simple chord
and put the guitar back in Angel’s lap.   He tried to replicate it, but his hand was awkward around the fretboard
and his fingers couldn’t reach the strings.
    Tommy moved closer and held Angel’s
manicured and uncalloused fingertips over the correct strings.
    Angel furrowed his brow and
concentrated on holding them down.   He
glanced up at Tommy.   “Like this?”
    Angel’s dark eyes peeked through
the strands of his jet black hair.
    Tommy slowly nodded.
    “Now what do I do?”
    Tommy put the pick between