“You play, don’t you?” Emily interrupted my ogling of the instruments.
“I do,” I replied.
“Wanna jam?” she smiled.
“Are these yours?” I asked, pointing to the guitars.
“No, they’re Amanda’s, but she doesn’t play anymore,” Emily replied, sounding a little sad.
“How come?” I asked.
“Dad taught her,” she replied simply.
I left the questioning at that, but I approached the guitars and took the black Jackson into my hands. I let my eyes roam across the curves of the body and up the polished neck. The strings looked fresh, not a spot of rust on them.
“Go on,” Emily grinned, picking up her bass.
“You sure Amanda won’t mind?” I asked.
“Nah, at least they’ll get played,” she shrugged. “I play around with them sometimes, but I’m not very good with that many strings.”
I took a seat on the stool that was positioned beside the dual rectifier amp and rested the guitar on my leg. It was awkward to play sitting down, but I could manage. My friend had one of the cheaper models back home and I had played it for hours upon hours whenever I could. I was looking forward to making this one scream.
I uncoiled a lead that was sitting on the amp and plugged one end into the guitar, then the other into the input on the face of the amplifier. I switched the power on and adjusted some of the settings. Some guitarists like to have a lot of low-end in their tone, but I preferred to let the bass give the low-end, and since I was jamming with a bassist, I wanted to hear how she played. Once I had the dials to the position’s I wanted I flicked the stand-by switch, and the amplifier hummed with feedback from the pick-ups.
I ran my left hand along the fretboard to gauge the responsiveness of the settings. The metallic scratching from my fingers sliding along the strings was a familiar sound to me, one some people hated, but one I loved.
There was a bowl of guitar picks sitting on the amp, and I fished out one I liked the size and feel of. I usually played with one’s far smaller that were often used in jazz, but this one would do the job. Once I had the guitar in as comfortable position as I could, I strummed my first power chord.
The instrument sang loudly in its dirty, distorted tone that was literal music to my ears. The amp was turned down low, but it still filled the entire garage space with an almost painful hum.
“Here,” Emily handed me a pair of disposable yellow ear plugs.
“Thanks,” I replied, stuffing them into my ears to protect my hearing.
Once I was satisfied with the tone of the instrument, and the volume levels, I started off with a standard thrashy death-metal riff I liked to play when warming up. It was mostly power chords with some pinch harmonics thrown in for good measure. After I repeated the riff for the third time, I heard a chunky, thunderous tone cut through and I looked over to see Emily’s fingers moving across her much longer fretboard. Unlike most guitarists, I had a strong appreciation for skilled bassist’s. They may only have four strings—some had more—but they had much longer necks to work with, and fret-spacing was much wider. Emily seemed to be a pro as her fingers danced along the neck of her instrument, keeping up with me and only pausing long enough to gauge a change I made before diving right back in.
After about five minutes of jamming I slid the ball of my hand along the volume knob to cut the sound. Emily stopped with a long slide along the E-string and looked over to me smiling widely.
“That was awesome!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, that was pretty damn good,” I laughed.
“You’re a really good guitarist,” she gushed.
“Not that great, but I do enjoy playing,” I rubbed the back of my neck.
I’d never been great at receiving compliments on my musical skills, always feeling like I could be better and not deserving of praise. I guess everyone could always be better at their passion of choice, I just had a hard time believing I was anything special. It wasn’t like I could shred like Zack Wylde, or solo like Satriani. I rarely even wrote my own music, preferring to just play covers by myself. Probably why my band back home never did anything.
“You’re the awesome one Emily,” I complimented my smiling sister. “You picked up what I was playing in seconds and jumped in.”
“I was a little sloppy, I haven’t had a guitarist to play with in a while,” she shrugged.
She was anything but sloppy, her finger-picking technique was flawless. I was listening closely when we were playing, and each note she played sounded perfectly executed, only hesitating when following a change I made. Which was understandable when you’re playing something you aren’t familiar with. Every guitarist and bassist I knew back in London would have stopped what I was playing, and asked me to show them what notes, chords and frets I was using. But not my sister, she was a natural. I wondered if Amanda was as skilled as her younger sibling.
“Wanna play some more?” she asked, and I couldn’t refuse the eagerness in her eyes. Plus, I really did enjoy playing guitar.
“Sure, do you know any covers?” I asked.
“Of course,” she grinned.
We spent the next fifteen minutes going over our favourite bands and deciding between three we both liked. Out of those three we picked a few covers that we both knew. One of them I’d never actually learnt the song, but I knew it well enough to be able to fudge my way through without too much trouble.
Half an hour later I was placing the guitar down on its stand and flexing my fingers and wrist. It had been a long time since I played properly, and I hadn’t given myself much of a warm-up before diving into some pretty fast songs. We didn’t have a drummer for backing, but Emily kept amazing time and I was able to lock in with her and we only lost out rhythm a couple of times on the first song.
“I’m so glad you’re staying with us Nick,” Emily beamed as she placed her bass down. “We should do this every day!”
I smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’d like that, although I’ll bring my guitar down next time.”
“Maybe Amanda and Erica will join us next time,” she said, all but bouncing with excitement.
“Erica plays?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“She’s the drummer,” Emily smiled. “Doesn’t that look like something she’d play?”
I looked over to the extravagant kit, and somehow knew what Emily meant. It was gorgeous and sexy with perfectly polished, cared for look. Exactly how Erica kept her own appearance, well whenever I had seen her anyway. The dark red colour scheme also seemed to be a very similar shade to the red streak she’d dyed into the right side of her hair. Thoughts and images flashed of Erica sitting upon her throne, legs beating and arms moving as sweat trickled down her neck and between her generous breasts. I shook my head to dispel the image.
“That would be great, but I have a feeling Erica doesn’t like me,” I admitted.
“She does, she just has an odd way of showing it,” Emily assured me. “Trust me, I can tell she likes having you around.”
I wasn’t sure what Emily had meant by that. Had she noticed the looks her sister had been giving me? Had she noticed my own reactions to Erica flaunting her body? Or my reactions to her? I doubt she’d be so calm and casual about it if she knew what went on in my head, or the shower scene with Erica this morning. But if she did, did that mean she was okay with what was going on?
I pushed that thought aside and picked up the guitar again. It could be that my whole family are perverted fucks like me, but that would be too much to hope for. The more likely scenario was I was getting horny from my ten-star sisters, and they were just being friendly. More likely I was the weird creep and they were normal.
“Let’s play some more,” I said, and Emily grinned before picking up her instrument.
We played for another half an hour until I had to stop due to cramps. I really wanted to keep playing, but my hands just weren’t accustomed to playing for long periods of time anymore. I was glad I’d found something I could do with Emily to help the bond form between us and seeing the look of glee on her face as we played flawlessly together made my heart swell. I just hoped I could find something else to bond over with my other sisters.
“Damn, it feels good to play,” I said, rubbing my sore left hand.
“Yeah, I haven’t played like that in a long time,” Emily replied.
I was about to ask her why she didn’t play with anyone, since she was really talented and skilled, but her phone began buzzing. She picked it up and answered it in one smooth motion.
“Hey!” she answered the call with as much enthusiasm as she did anything else.
“I had a better idea,” she said into the phone. “How about you guys come over to my place tonight? We’re throwing a party to welcome Nick to the house, and I’d love for you guys to meet him.”
I stood from the stool I’d been perched on but didn’t make a move to leave. I didn’t want to take off without saying bye, but I also didn’t want to eavesdrop on Emily’s conversation. Before I could make a move, she looked my way, then held up a finger to signal ‘hang on, I’ll be done in a second’, so I waited.
“Please don’t ask me that,” she replied to an unheard question. “Will you stop being a bitch.”
Emily’s words were completely absent any scorn, and she even laughed when she called her friend a bitch. I guessed it was just friendly banter between friends.
“Eight sounds good, just please behave,” Emily ended the call and placed her phone down.
“What was that all about?” I asked curiously.
“Just my friend Jen,” Emily replied. “She wanted to know if you were hot.”
“Well?” I asked, feeling confident enough to push some boundaries.
“Well what?” she asked, tilting her head to one side as she studied me.
“Am I?” I asked with a smirk.
I thought I saw Emily’s cheeks flush, but it could have been my imagination. She smiled and shook her head. “Better not say, don’t need you getting a big head now do we bro.”
Emily walked over to me and punched me in the shoulder. It was only a playful hit, but I still acted like it hurt and rubbed the spot she’d struck.
“Hey now! No need to get violent,” I scolded her playfully.
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