A Love Song for Dreamers

by Piper Lawson

  I fold my napkin and set it on the table next to my plate.

  “You’re right, Ian. There is a silver lining.”

  His eyes soften, as if he knows I’m seeing reason.

  “What is this wine?” I ask him.

  Ian balks a moment, surprised, but tells me.

  I nod. “It’s great.” I make a note to get Pen a bottle as I lift my glass to him before taking a long sip, letting the flavors play over my tongue. “But dinner was a mistake.”

  He glances around, as if suddenly unsure of what’s happening.

  “You can take your funding and your contacts and your threats and go fuck yourself. Yourself and every other person in Manhattan if you like. But you won’t be fucking me, in bed or out of it.”

  I drain the last sip of wine before setting the glass back on the table.

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” I turn on my heel and head out toward the front of the restaurant.

  I’m pissed—pissed at his nerve, even if I shouldn’t be surprised by it.

  I don’t regret what I did, but I can’t shake the feeling that it could cost me.

  Ian’s not bluffing. He has the contacts to make my life easier or harder.

  I’ll deal with it. I’ve dealt with everything else that’s come my way. This project is too important to go down because of him.

  I pass the separate bar area of the hotel flanked by floor-to-ceiling glass windows and chrome chandeliers. My gaze catches on a man in a black sport coat and jeans at the bar.

  My steps slow and I change directions, cutting a straight path for him. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I pull up next to him.

  Tyler turns at the sound of my voice.

  His gaze drops down my body, eyes warming with appreciation. “I couldn’t stop you from coming. But I could come with you.”

  He turns a crystal lowball glass filled with ice and clear liquid in one hand, eyes crinkling with satisfaction and something like amusement.

  A moment ago, all I wanted was to get out of this restaurant, but his presence is like an escape valve, a life preserver.

  “How’s dinner?” he goes on as if this is a completely normal situation.

  “Well.” I shift in next to him at the bar and drum my fingers on the surface. “I found an amazing red wine.”

  I tell him the name, and he nods to the bartender for two glasses.

  “And the company?” Tyler presses as he turns back to me, his gaze more serious.

  “It’s rapidly improving.”

  I lift the wine and hold it out to him in a toast. He grins as he clinks his glass lightly with mine, and my heart kicks in my chest.

  The wine tastes delicious on my tongue, comfort down my throat.

  “I’m guessing the fact that you’re here instead of with him doesn’t bode well for your show.”

  “It does not,” I concede. “But I will figure it out. I always do.”

  “Yes, you do. And I have a gift for you.”

  I’m intrigued even before he pushes a paper bag down the bar.

  “Is it millions of dollars?” I quip.

  “Better.”

  I open it and peer inside, the scent of potatoes and oil making my stomach growl. “Oh my God. Cheese fries.”

  “From the diner near that comedy club we used to like. I watched you through the glass for the last ten minutes,” he admits. “Didn’t see you pick up your fork once.”

  Tyler’s not trying to touch me, to grab me, to make me do anything or be anything. He’s just here, bringing me five-dollar French fries in a five-star hotel.

  God, I missed my friend.

  I know my heart was broken when we parted ways, when I chose both our dreams over our future together, but I downplayed how much it hurt not to have this—the calm, dryly funny, quietly charming guy I’ve adored since before I knew what charm was.

  We eat every last fry and talk about everything. Tyler and Beck’s life in LA. Elle’s new show and whether she and her agent have something going on. How I’m stuck on the last few verses of the most important song for this musical. The fact that he got Shay into the studio before coming to New York and was rewarded by something better than he could’ve imagined.

  “I told your dad I wanted to swap his dumbass kid for Shay.”

  I grin. “How’d that go over?”

  “Not great.”

  It’s kind of nice to know I’m not the only person who argues with him.

  I gaze past Tyler at the sparkling people and tables.

  A couple of tables still cut looks at us, one discreetly trying to take pictures.

  “We’re going to be on the internet in thirty minutes, if we’re not already,” I murmur.

  Tyler reaches for the wine glass. “Do you care? Because I don’t.”

  I shake my head, smiling as he drinks. The way he fills out his unfussy jacket is a tailor’s wet dream. The dark, messy hair makes me itch to run my hands through it.

  Ian’s words come back.

  You’re saving yourself for someone.

  I was.

  Maybe I still am.

  “For an unavailable guy, you’re acting pretty available,” I comment after we’ve finished the bottle of wine and I’ve won rock paper scissors for the last stub of a fry in the bottom of the greasy paper box.

  Tyler frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “When I said Shay had a crush on you,” I remind him, “you said she didn’t have a shot because you’re unavailable.”

  Understanding dawns. The fact that he doesn’t argue with me has my stomach sinking.

  “Please tell me you’re not seeing someone. That there’s not some woman who thinks she’s yours.”

  The idea is unbearable.

  Tyler pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “No,” he says at last. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

  Relief washes over me, and I can breathe again. But the fear spiking through me a moment ago also reminds me how only a few days with him has me wanting things I have no business wanting with him.

  Tyler swipes the bill for the drinks before I can, but the laughter’s faded from his eyes, replaced by something serious and maybe even sad. “Let me drive you home.”

  “You got quiet,” Tyler observes in the town car as we cruise through the city toward my apartment.

  The lights penetrate the back windows, creating strips of illumination that run over his body and mine.

  “There’s not enough quiet in the world.” I lean my head on his shoulder, and Tyler huffs out a breath.

  When we pull up in front of the building, I have to force my legs out of the car because I don’t want it to end.

  “Walk me to my door?” I say on impulse.

  He shifts out of the car after me, a dark presence at my side. Like a dog who looks menacing or unapproachable to a stranger, he’s the comfort no one will ever understand.

  They don’t have to.

  In the hall outside my apartment, I fish my keys out of my bag. There’s a note on the door from Elle.

  If you’re coming home with NT, I’m going to kill you.

  Tyler lifts the note off the door, frowning. “Who’s NT?”

  “She means Ian. It’s an inside joke.” I take the note, crumpling it into a ball. My stomach tightens as I think about what the nickname means.

  “Annie.” Tyler steps between the door and me before I can slide the key into the lock. “Why did you date him?”

  I’ve asked myself the same question so many times these past few days.

  “I thought he was what I wanted. He didn’t look at me like I was crazy when I told him about my dreams. Though I guess he liked it because he could take advantage.”

  “I have always believed in you.”

  I nod. “I know. That’s the other reason I was drawn to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was safe. Because I didn’t love him the way I loved you.”

  Tyler’s body relaxes, and I peer up int
o his face. There’s urgency that wasn’t there at the hotel, but he’s holding back.

  “Say it,” I demand. “Whatever it is that has you looking all broody after I thought we had a good time.”

  He captures my wrist, and I suck in a startled little breath as he strokes his thumb across my skin. The electricity between us that was content to sit back over dinner and drinks springs to life once again.

  Tyler turns my hand and skims his thumb across the lines in my palm, so different from the lines on his. “The reason I’m unavailable isn’t because I’m seeing someone else.”

  When his gaze meets mine, the emotion in his eyes hits me square in the chest. “It’s because my heart has always been yours.”

  13

  I didn’t come to New York to tell Annie Jamieson I love her. I came because I couldn’t let her go off to see some dickhead who hurt her without having backup. I know I’ve been that dickhead, but I won’t be him this time.

  She’s flushed in the hall lights, a warm, lush shade that makes me want to kiss her everywhere. I want to capture her with my hands, my mind, so I can have her like this whenever I want.

  “My heart has been yours since you walked into the pool house to steal my towel senior year at Oakwood,” I continue.

  Annie’s lips part, those amber eyes blinking as she sucks in a slow breath.

  If she tells me to leave, I will. I’ll walk out of here and never come back, never insert myself into her life again when she hasn’t asked for it.

  Instead, she holds out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

  I take it out, unlocking it for her.

  She opens my contacts and hits a number, telling the driver downstairs he can leave.

  Her meaning sinks in, and my body gets heavy—hard.

  I turn us so it’s her back against the door, my hips colliding with hers. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t do anything but angle her face up to mine.

  “Listen to me.” I plant my hand on the wall next to her head instead of threading it into her hair like I want to. “If this is about blowing off steam, about you being pissed at your ex or the world, I can be your friend. But I won’t fuck you tonight.”

  Confusion clouds her expression. “But you said—”

  “I know what I said,” I interrupt. My breath is too shallow for the words I need to say, but I say them anyway. “It’s not enough to know you’re not his, Annie. I need to know you’re mine.”

  The words settle between us.

  She weighs them as if each is worthy of its own assessment.

  It’s what I wanted, for her to take me seriously, but Annie thinks on those words for so fucking long it’s going to break me.

  “Tyler…”

  Her arms wind around my neck, and she holds me tighter, hugging me with every ounce of strength in her. I breathe her in, but every part of me knows she’s going to say something I don’t want to hear.

  “You’re right. I did find myself in New York. I’ve learned how to be tough. How to take care of myself and go after my dreams. I wouldn’t have become that person without everything that happened, and a lot of it is thanks to you.

  “I’m not sure I can give my heart to you the way you’re asking. But,” she continues before I can pull away, “I loved the boy you were then. I love the man you are now.”

  I understand everything she’s saying. It’s more than I had a right to hope for.

  I have her as much as anyone can.

  “I tried to cut you out, Annie. I wanted to forget you but I couldn’t. You’re so deep inside me I can’t get you out. I never touched another woman on tour. When you’re close, there’s no air. But when you’re gone... I don’t care if I breathe again.”

  Her gaze searches mine as if she’s trying to figure a way through this moment.

  In my life, I’ve started taking the things I want, stopped making apologies for it. Now… I wait. For the first time in two fucking years, I wait.

  Her hands slide down my chest and rest there. She inches forward, closing the distance between us.

  She’s close enough I can taste her slow exhale, smell her shampoo.

  Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I want to do it for her.

  I haven’t kissed her in two years, and I know it’s because she’s been holding back.

  The moment she decides, my heart stops.

  When Annie’s lips brush mine, it’s honest and vulnerable. It’s a plea. It’s a promise. It’s all the words and all the actions ever invented rolled into the subtle slide of her skin on mine.

  She shifts up on her toes to worship my mouth. My hands slide down to hold her waist, lightly, chastely, while she paints possibilities with her tongue.

  It’s sweet. It’s hot. The soft moan that escapes her turns me on like crazy. I want to bury my face in her neck, inhale her floral scent, lose myself in all she is.

  It’s so fucking good, but it hurts, too. She’s inside me, everywhere, and half of me wants to push her out while the other half wants to open up, to let her in.

  The second she threads her fingers in my hair, tugging greedily for more access, my control snaps.

  She can’t promise me all of her forever, but I’ll take all of her tonight.

  I press her up against the door, and with everything in me, I kiss her back.

  Under the dress, she’s slow curves that yield under the growing evidence of how much I want her. Annie’s lips part, her breath coming in short gasps.

  I reach for the keys in her hand and take them from her, fumbling to get the door open. We trip inside, her heels clicking on the wood floor. I turn her, press her back against the wall as the door closes behind us.

  Before we broke up, I felt powerless. In the moments we’d lost ourselves in physicality, trying to connect in any way we could, we somehow missed each other.

  This is the opposite.

  I kiss her in the kitchen while she kicks off her shoes, in the living room as I unbutton my shirt. I kiss her in her bedroom, ignoring the desire to look around. Curiosity can wait. We’ve waited long enough.

  I unzip her dress, slide the straps off her smooth shoulders, and watch it fall to the floor.

  The way she looks at me, hungry eyes filled with lust and emotion, makes me want to hurry.

  I don’t.

  I’ve never had a problem with patience, but I’ve had a problem with appreciation.

  I won’t take a moment of this, of her, for granted again.

  I strip away the rest of our clothes, piece by piece.

  My shirt and pants.

  Her bra and panties.

  I’m covered in ink, the words I could never say painting pictures across my body like she used to do with her pen.

  She’s slim and unmarked, a blank canvas that’s familiar and fresh at once.

  I touch every inch of her, cupping her breasts that fit perfectly in my hands, sucking her dark nipples until she moans my name.

  My lips caress her shoulders, her throat, her waist, her hips.

  I make love to her the way I’ve wanted to for weeks, years.

  For the first time, I’m not afraid of what’s between us. I take it all.

  I touch her body as if she’s mine forever instead of just for now.

  She kisses me with the openness she’s always had, the confidence that’s new.

  Her palm slips between us to wrap around me, forcing a hiss from my throat as pleasure spirals up my spine. Every muscle in me clenches, right down to the hand I spent two years hating…

  And I want more.

  I want her around me, so tight I can’t breathe.

  Inside me, in the space between the atoms that make up my muscles and skin and bones.

  When the fire inside me won’t be checked, I walk her toward the dresser, lifting her. She studies me with half-lidded eyes under dark lashes as our lips brush.

  “Are you…”

  My words are hoarse, the first sound in the silence that’s not the slide of fabric or the pa
nt of breath or the moan of a sigh.

  Annie nods. “Do it,” she whispers.

  Four words.

  They’re all we need tonight.

  When I press inside her, it’s slow. I thank a god I’ve never prayed to before as every inch of her takes every inch of me.

  I memorize the way her eyes change color when she’s full of me. I devour her sighs and moans.

  This is home.

  This is love.

  This is everything I’ve missed, everything I’ve wanted and never dared to name.

  I’m lost with her, but for once, lost doesn’t feel like panic. It feels like trust.

  When she shudders in my arms, her mouth coming back to mine as if she can’t stand to be apart from me, I know the truth.

  I told myself I could make do with her giving me all of her tonight.

  But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

  14

  Tyler Adams is a sore loser.

  We play games on the plane back from New York. It’s been a while since I traveled first class, but with him, I wouldn’t care if we were stuffed in with the bags. Sitting next to him, hearing him laugh and seeing him smile, is amazing and maddening.

  “It’s a word game app,” he argues, jerking his chin at my phone in his hand for emphasis. “You’re going to win by default.”

  “That’s not true,” I say, wrenching the device away from him. “Man up and compete already.”

  He narrows his gaze. “You’re going to attack my masculinity in the middle of a commercial flight?”

  Then I feel a tickling at my waist and stifle a surprised shriek. “Sorry,” I say to the flight attendant and the cabin in general as I shove his hands away and face the front of the plane, flushing.

  To him, I murmur, “You are a menace to society.”

  His curved lips brush my ear. “That’s not what you called me last night.”

  My thighs squeeze together at his lowered voice because I think I’m wet again. We had sex three times before falling asleep, and twice more this morning.

  How either of us is still horny defies logic and biology.

  “You promised not to do that on the plane.”