Alright, Emma swears and has naughty thoughts about boys. So, if any of that offends you...beware.

I wish I could command my fingers into playing the guitar like Jimi Hendrix.

I sighed, narrowing my eyes and forcing my fingers into an F chord, transitioning back to Am as fast as I could manage.

Well, yeah, I can understand I’m not going to immediately be amazing at the guitar after a month, but can you really blame me? I just secretly want to be a rock and roll star.

I winced as my fingers forcefully struck the E string and the note vibrated ominously, catching his attention.

Oh, yeah.

Reason two on why I wanted guitar lessons.

Jet Winslow.

You can already presume that he’s good looking. God yes, he’s very good-looking. Shiny gold and black hair, (obviously dyed and no, he doesn’t look like a cat, it looks awesome) large light brown bedroom eyes, a tall lanky body encased within a loose Metallica tee-shirt and regular denim jeans. He’s seriously my dream guy. Out of my dreams…but that’s not the point.

And, he plays the guitar.

Well, duh, otherwise it’d be pretty sketchy that he'd be teaching an instrument he didn’t know how to play. Reminds me of an old Simpson’s episode where Marge was teaching piano, but didn’t know anything about the instrument. Well, I guess as long as he doesn’t start to dye his hair blue and make it stand upright. Whoa. Jet with electric blue hair would be hot, though.

Jet turned in his computer chair from fiddling with garageband on his computer-yeah, he’s in a band and one day, he’ll be famous, I swear! - And stared at my fingers on the guitar, before raising an eyebrow.

“Why’d you stop practicing?” His low, husky voice inquired, his face forming the perfect expression of disdain.

Yeah, he so wants me.

………………

Mmm, you’ve guessed it, he doesn’t like me. He’s told me once that I’m a brat with no sense of intelligence whatsoever.

Bite me, Jet.

I’m not kidding. Please do, it’ll be kinky. Hah, yeah.

He obviously didn’t receive the same soul mate memo I did when I first saw his wonderful head behind the counter in GuitarSense, while I was buying my ex boyfriend some music for his birthday. When Jet and I get married, I’m making that day our anniversary.

Okay, I’m not in love with him; I just have a really obnoxious crush on him. Hopefully he hasn’t noticed, but with all the staring I do, he most likely has.

“Emma, are you even listening to me?” He intoned, watching my eyes glaze over with annoyance.

I didn’t give a reply, too busy off in my daydream (I’ll just let you in on this, no clothes involvedand he’s in it).

“Of course I’ll marry you…” I dreamily murmured, not noticing Jet’s face twist up, bewildered and disturbed.

“Who are you marrying?” Jet asked loudly, clapping his hands in front of my docile face.

I snapped to attention, looking guilty. Quick! Think of something!

“Johnny Depp.” I lied, averting my eyes.

Yeah, that would really go over well if I told him I’m having naked thoughts about him. Did you just giggle? Because I did. Haha, naked.

Yes, I realize I have the mentality of an 11 year old boy who’s just discovered girls. Well, boys for me, because I’m obviously not gay. I suppose I could be bisexual, but then the world would be screwed because I’d be having naked thoughts about more people than usual. Haha, naked.

That’s not saying that I go around having random naked thoughts about every guy I meet. Okay, ew.

That’d be the worst ever. All the fat, ugly men around...ugh.

Moving on…

Jet nodded, understanding. The only thing we both had expressed true agreement on was our obsession with Johnny Depp. What can I say, Depp is hot. Well, Jet just thought that he was really talented. I did as well, except I being the shallow girl I am, enjoy the physical beauty of Johnny Depp, compared to the stuff…inside…

Is that bad? Probably.

“Emma...” He sighed, shaking his head.

Ohhh, no. I know this gesture. It’s the exasperated-Emma-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-you sigh and head shake. Five bucks says that he’s going to lecture me.

Everybody does it to me, sad fact as it is. I’ve really got to learn to pay attention. Speaking of…

“…can’t just float off in that empty bubble you call your head, because then all the money you pay will be wasted. And your mother would kill me, considering the amount she gives. I know that you learn frustratingly fast, but it doesn’t mean you can’t just daydream all throughout your life…”

Blah…blah…blah. Who told you! Pay up, sucker.

Yes, Emma is a naughty girl, not listening to people who are talking to her. Emma apparently enjoys thinking in third person. Ugh, I had a 5th grade teacher named Mrs. Loopy, I mean Looby, sorry, who did that all the time…which is weird, considering the fact that she was my English teacher.

Oh, right. I’m supposed to be listening to Jet blab about how inattentive I am.

“In fact, I don’t see the point of you coming here at all if all you are going to do is stare in the distance and mutter to yourself. You sound like a crazy lady and that just plain scares me sometimes.” Jet continued ranting, beginning to throw his hands around in a rather sexy manner.

I sound like a crazy lady to him some times? Oh, fantastic. That’s great progress on the Make-Jet-Fall-For-Me plan.

My brow furrowed. “Hey!” I cried indignantly. “That’s unfair. I come here with the initiative to learn guitar. I’m sorry if I tend to wander off because I have a bit of ADD. At least I don’t bury myself in band shit when I’m supposed to be teaching.” Hah. Beat that, sucker.

He quieted, staring at me with a serious look on his gorgeous face. “Alright, then let’s get started.”

I nodded, pretending to be haughty and failing miserably.

Jet leaned over, taking my fingers gently and placed them on certain strings, arranging them so they formed a new chord.

“That’s B minor.” He informed me and took my book from my lap and flipped through it, opening to a page which showed a clear replica of how to do it.

“Alright,” I nodded again, strumming a little to hear it and secretly inhaling his scent. A little bit creepy, but damn he does smell good.

Don’t worry, I remember the B minor. I think.

I looked up from my guitar and smiled at him. “Teach me a song today?”

He smirked, reaching behind him for his baby.

A Gibson Acoustic J-45, he had proudly told me on our first lesson, running his fingers adoringly over the fret. Apparently, he got it for 2,400 dollars from a famous guitarist. Jet absolutely adored his guitar and hasn’t let me near it for fear my bad guitar playing would corrupt it.

Hey, I never said he was mature. Just hot.

“Hmm,” Jet tilted his head in thought. “I think I might teach you 'We Didn’t Start the Fire'.”

My eyes lit up. “Billy Joel?”

He did his adorable half grin. “Yeah.”

I sang some of it to him, bouncing in my chair slightly. “No, we didn’t start the fire…”

He sang it back to me. “It was always burning, since the world’s been turning.”

Okay, here’s a thing about me. I’m a good singer.

Yeah, I know. I’m sooo modest, right?

But, it’s true. In fact, my singing voice is the only reason that Jet doesn’t think I should be thrown into the pits of hell for being so annoying.

He he. Oops.

You see, it all started, like I said, when I went into GuitarSense to buy my then-boyfriend a CD.

Jack (the boyfriend) was crazy about the Red Hot Chili Peppers (then again, who isn’t, they’re amazing), so I just had to get him Stadium Arcadium, the only RHCP CD he didn’t own, for his birthday.

And I had been driving around Greensburg all day, looking for a music store. Seriously, where I live seems like its deficit of anything cool. It sucks.

But out of the corner of my eye, I saw this little store shoved in the end of a long row of closed down stores. It was pretty inconspicuous, with its dark paint on the outside, pictures of famous bands like Alice Cooper, Nirvana and Guns ‘N Roses plastered over the windows. And their sign, GuitarSense, was inconveniently on a slant, so you had to tilt your head to read it. In all, the place was pretty weird.

But, guitars are musical instruments and I thought that they had to have some type of music stuff that Jack would like so I swerved the car into the parking lot and parked.

I stuffed my keys into my pocket, because I hate purses…really, I look ridiculous carrying them; I tend to accidentally whack people, because I don’t know how to hold them without being harmful to the public. Actually, even without the purse, I’m a danger to the public.

I wandered casually to the store and while nearing it, I heard a familiar song blasted within.

Bush’s dulcet tones crooned about glycerin, while I yanked the heavy door open, to reveal an eclectic store, with strange people just…hanging out.

It was weird…like a mini coffee store, with guitars planted firmly on the walls, drums scattered around and speakers erratically placed. Against one side of the wall were red leather seats, like a club, with a long table. Along the other, countless rows of CDs in shelves in boxes lay. And in the middle of the store, leading to the back of the store, was an island of a counter, the usual items like the cash register and other store necessities. A curtain blocked, I’m guessing, a storage room.

And about the store were people, old to my age (which is 18 by the way) wearing similar, rocker clothing (ragged band tee shirts with jeans, black accessories) talking, laughing, a little bit of dancing…basically, yeah. Hanging out.

So, imagine my discomfort, when I entered the store with my outfit (a tight fitting green tee shirt and a short skirt with heels).

Everybody and I mean everybody, stopped and turned to stare at me. They eyed me like I was a zebra and they were lions at a watering hole in Africa. The sentence ‘you do not belong here’ simply shot through their judging eyes and pinned me. Over all, a pretty hostile atmosphere.

It really made me feel welcome, you know?

Well, since I’m me and me is stubborn, I rolled my shoulders back and merely ignored them.

You and I will ignore the little trip over the wire I did, because that would ruin our focused image.

I went to the counter and looked the guy behind it straight in the eye. He gazed seriously at me, before leaning back and folding his arms.

Now, Chuck, as the nametag stated, was a pretty interesting looking guy, with his mullet and leather jacket. I fleetingly wondered if he was hot in it, because I was wearing a short sleeved shirt and I was sizzling.

And I mean the temperature-hot, not the attractive one.

Because as much as I dig the whole bad-boy look, Chuck here had to be pushing 45 and I’m sorry, I don’t do wayyy older man. Unless he is Johnny Depp, because Johnny Depp is my god.

“What can I get you, princess?” He rumbled in a deep baritone and I weakly smiled, forcing myself to believe that he was not a rapist just because his smile made him look like one.

I cleared my throat and composed myself. “You wouldn’t happen to have Stadium Arcadium by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, would you?”

He nodded shortly, rolling his head to the side and shouted. “JET! Get your fucking ass down here and get me an R H C P staid-ache right NOW!”

With my eyes widened, I stuttered, “Oh, I could always find it myself.”

Chuck shook his head. “No, you couldn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. “…o…kay?”

Apparently to him I was stupid. Wow, that was fast. Usually it takes someone at least fifteen minutes to reach that conclusion.

Then I heard a muffled response, barely, but it seems that Chuck heard it clearly.

“I don’t CARE if you’ve got a fuck up there! NOW, or I’ll rip your…” Chuck trailed off when he saw my slightly scared expression.

“Sorry, little lady, Jet’s a bit preoccupied. Let me go up there and uhh, get him.” Chuck apologized, smiling before stomping behind the curtain and up stairs.

While waiting nervously, a girl, I’m guessing to be around 25 sidled up to me and grinned. Her deep red lipstick complemented her dark brown eyes, I mused in my head.

“Hey, sorry about Chuck. I know he’s a bit creepy, but really he’s as soft as a teddy bear on the inside.” The girl told me, pulling out a cigarette and gracefully lighted it between two slender fingers.

I cracked a smile. “I kinda thought he looked like a rapist when he smiled at me.”

She dropped the cigarette and burst out laughing, ending the tirade with a shit-eating grin and clapped me on my back.

“You’re precious.” She informed me. “Man… that made my day. I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him that he looks like a rapist when he smiles.” She burst into amused chuckles.

I beamed at her. “I’m Emma.”

“Sydney.” She said, before scooping up her cigarette and inhaling it.

Ohhh, like the city in Australia, right? Sweet.

“Who owns this place?” I asked her, awe showing in my eyes as I scanned the store once again.

“That would be me.” A young male voice said. I turned to see the sexiest man ever wearing boxers and nothing else.

Oh god. My mind went blank as I examined his body, his lean, slightly muscled body, with light tan skin. His face was all light gold-y brown eyes and thin lips, high cheekbones and longish black hair with gold streaks.

It’s safe to say that I had a mini-heart attack while looking at him.

Sydney, suddenly my new best friend, nudged me secretly and I snapped out of it, meeting the Hot Guy’s beautiful eyes with minor embarrassment.

“And you are…” I questioned, feeling a light blush settle over my cheeks. Oh, Damnit.

“Jet Winslow. Now, you wanted a Stadium Arcadium Cd?”

Jet, aka Hot Guy, came around the counter and sauntered to the aisles of Cd’s, before quickly pulling out the one I wanted.

Pshh, I could so do that. Maybe not within the 2 minutes he did, but I’d have eventually found it.

“Here you go.” Jet said and I paid for it, still kind of entranced.

A thought strayed over in my head and I latched on to it.

“Hey!” I burst out, startling him and myself.

“Yes?” Jet asked, hesitant.

“Do you play guitar?” I queried.

Think, Emma. He OWNS a guitar store. Why would he OWN a guitar store if he didn’t play the GUITAR?

I mentally smacked myself. My thoughts right now went like this.

Hot guy guitar lessons plus me equals me becoming a rock star, with him as my boyfriend.

Yes, I do scare myself sometimes.

“Yes.” He said slowly, looking at me like I was stupid. Which I am kind of agreeing with right now.

“Do you teach?”

Jet gave me another cautious glance. “Maybe. Are you interested?”

Yeah, I’m interested. I’m interested in you naked and a bed.

Whoa, Emma, bad thoughts. You have boyfriend. Jack, remember him?

“Yah.” I heard myself say without my mind telling it to.

No. Bad.

“Okay, well…” I shook myself from internal daydreams to watch him jot down some information. “Call me about it.”

Oh, wait! Good girl!

I am seriously considering getting a brain transplant because the one I have treats me like a dog.

He put a card inside the plain black bag my Cd was in and slid it over to me. I grabbed it, smiling at him, before turning away and walking out of the store.

I got the hot guy’s number…I got the hot guy’s number…I got the hot guy’s numberrrr…

I did a little dance in my head, completely forgetting about Jack.

Before I got to my car, I heard someone yelling and I turned to see Jet jogging towards me, holding random keys.

Hey…they look familiar.

Why is that? They even have the flower keychain. Hey, maybe he likes flowers too! But they really look like my keys…

Those ARE my keys!

“You dropped them.” Jet explained, handing them to me and I stared at his stomach, embarrassed.

“You’re pretty ditzy, aren’t you?” He mused aloud, looking at me critically.

Super. He hasn’t known me for even an hour and already he thinks I’m stupid.

I should just go around wearing that pointy dunce cap, to save everybody the trouble.

I glared at him. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

He shrugged. “Bye.”

When he left, I stuck my tongue out at his bare back, but not before I quickly checked his ass out. Nice.

Hmph. He’s probably a slut or something, I thought to myself, hoping that that would repel him from me.

And so, the next day I called him and we agreed on a day to start on the lessons.

I went back, passed the crowd and behind the curtain and up the stairs was this recording studio and a laptop on a desk, with two chairs.

And there were two guitars resting on stands.

While waiting, I sat in one of the chairs and hummed Bad Day by Fuel, before feeling comfortable enough to start singing it, because I am kind of shy about singing in front of people.

And before I knew it, I was interrupted, with another voice, singing it along with me.

I stopped, opening my eyes to see Jet sitting in one of the chairs looking at me.

“You sing really well.” Jet softly said.

I blushed, not used to being complimented. “Thanks.”

“Wow, that’s like…the best singing I’ve ever heard. I don’t think I’ll be able to listen to Fuel the same way ever again.” He continued, staring rather amazed at me.

My face felt like it was on fire. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and Jet noticed, smiling lightly.

“Okay, let’s get started.”

And so, yeah. A month passed and here we are. Me containing the biggest crush on him known to man and him thinking that I was possibly dropped as a baby.

Well, I can play some guitar now, right?

Disclaimer: I only own Emma, Jet and the crew at GuitarSense. The store GuitarSense was made up in my head and any relations to other stores is pure coincidence. Anything famous you recognize is obviously not in my possession. So, I no own, you no sue.

Review and I shall love you forever.

-RAR