“I just…” He looks at me with so much sadness in his eyes it’s like a physical pain in my own chest. None of this makes sense. “You say you’re different now; I want to get to know this new version of you. We’re both here, that has to mean something. Can we spend some time together?”
I let his words sink in for a few seconds. He wants to know me. I don’t understand why, but he wants to spend time with me. My heart pounds against my ribs, and I force a casual shrug like I couldn’t care less about whether we hang out or not, like I’m not already wondering if we’ll end up naked in bed together.
I nearly gasp at my own train of thought. I don’t even know him. Sure, I’m familiar with his celebrity persona, but who is Lando really?
After that, the conversation turns casual again. I tell him about working at the bar and a little about my sister. And he tells me about his parents and what it’s like to wonder every time you leave the house if someone is taking pictures of you to sell to the gossip sites.
I suppose I should get home, I text after we finish eating, hoping he’ll invite me to hang out longer. I feel like we’ve hardly scratched the surface. I still want to know more about that weekend, but I don’t know how to ask. I want to know everything that happened between us.
“If you’re up to hanging out longer, I have something in mind,” he suggests with a smirk. I cock my head in question, wondering what he could possibly have planned. “It’s a surprise.”
I shake my head, my chest constricting at the thought of not knowing where we’re going. What if something happens before I can enter it into my calendar?
“No?” Lando asks, his forehead wrinkling as he tries to understand.
I pull up my calendar and show it to him. Every single place I’ve gone and what I’ve done over the last nine years, even if all a day says is watched movies at home all day.
The creases in Lando’s forehead deepen, and I pull my phone back to send him an explanation.
Do you know what it feels like to have an entire year of my life missing? Not to mention the patchy memories of years before that. I can’t ever look back and wonder what I was doing on a particular day again.
As he reads my message, Lando’s expression changes from confused to sad understanding.
“How about if I put where we’re going into your calendar and then you don’t look until I’ve had the chance to surprise you?” he suggests.
I let out a relieved breath and nod, passing him my phone with a smile.
Track 12: Side A
Key Lime Love
Dawson
We pull up in front of a little pie shop a few miles away from the seafood restaurant.
“I did a lot of research, and it turns out this place is supposed to have the best key lime pie in the area,” Lando says, and my mouth falls open.
How did you know? I type.
“You told me.”
Of course, I did.
This is making me think of your song “Key Lime Love.” That’s one of my favorites.
Lando gives me a tight smile and then climbs out of the car without response. Maybe his music is a sore subject right now with the recently canceled tour? I want to know more about it. I want to know everything about him. I don’t understand the clawing need inside me when it comes to Lando. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I step out of the car and am surprised to see him waiting for me with a shy smile. I walk toward him, and he holds his hand out with almost a question in his eyes. It takes me a second to realize he’s asking if he can hold my hand.
I bite down on my bottom lip to hide my smile and slip my hand into his.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled together in concern.
I pull out my phone and type out a response.
I’m trying to figure out if I hit my head again and this is a coma dream. Lando reads my message and then quirks a questioning eyebrow at me. Hello, I’m holding hands with a freaking rock star.
This time he shakes his head, and his lips purse.
“I may not be a rock star much longer.” He rolls his shoulders back like he’s trying to release tension, and then he gives my hand a tug. “Come on, let’s get pie.”
I follow him into the shop and my mouth waters at all the different pies on display. It’s official, I’ve died and gone to heaven.
My eyes dart around the display case, trying to decide what kind of pie to get. Obviously, key lime is in the lead since it’s my favorite. But the cherry cheesecake looks amazing, and so does the Dutch apple, not to mention the lemon meringue.
Lando’s fingers brush my arm to get my attention, and I look over at him.
“You want to get that?” He points at a display of a whole pie tin with slices of eight different pies. I nod enthusiastically, and my stomach rumbles, even though we just had lunch. Lando smiles widely, his lips parted, and I wonder if he’s laughing.
On a whim, I reach out and put my hand against his chest to feel the rumble, confirming that he was in fact laughing at me. I smile shyly up at him, and he grabs my hand, lifting it to his lips to place a kiss on my palm.
“Do you want to take the pie back to the place I’m staying? We can sit on the porch, stuff ourselves with pie, and talk?”
I nod in agreement, entering the information into my calendar and then happily taking the pie box when the woman behind the counter offers it.
It’s not long before we pull up in front of a nice little beach house and Lando parks his car.
He taps my shoulder, and I turn my head to read Lando’s lips.
“This is the same place we stayed together nine years ago.”
My heart sinks. He’s asking if I remember this place; if some part of me remembers him. I turn my gaze back to the house and try hard to recognize it. It’s just a little white house right on the beach, exactly like I was picturing when I heard Parker rented a place for the week for me. But beyond that, no other memories surface. I strain myself, willing my brain to pluck a useful memory out of the black abyss. But nothing happens, and my shoulders sag.
I offer Lando an apologetic smile, and he gives me a one shoulder shrug in return as if to say it’s okay. It’s not okay. I clench my teeth and try harder to pull up a memory. But the harder I try, the further out of reach they feel.
Lando’s finger on my chin turns me to look at him again. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head and pull out my phone to type him a message.
I fucking hate my brain right now. It decided the memory of wetting my pants during class in the first grade was worth keeping. But a weekend with a sexy, famous bass player needed to be dumped.
Lando smiles and shakes his head as he reads my message and then looks back at me. “We’ll make new memories.”
Lando
I wish I hadn’t mentioned that this was the place we stayed before. Dawson hasn’t stopped frowning and squinting at the house since we pulled up. I wish he could remember that weekend, but if I have to win him over a whole second time, I’ll do it.
There’s enough of a breeze to carry a hint of ocean spray over our skin as we sit on the porch eating our pie.
Dawson sets his plate down and taps something out on his phone. Mine vibrates seconds later.
I’m sorry I can’t remember anything about that weekend. I’m trying really hard.
I set my phone aside and grab Dawson’s hand. “It’s not your fault. But you know, I think part of you remembers some things about that weekend,” I tell him. He cocks his head to one side, waiting for me to explain. I brush my finger over his tattoo. “You said these same words to me when I warned you that trying to have a relationship with me might not be easy.”
Dawson rolls his eyes and sends me a new message.
I was a lit major, I don’t think having a Shakespeare tattoo proves much.
“You could’ve gotten a million quotes tattooed. You chose this one. Some part of you remembers me,” I insist, not because I need him to r
emember me, but because I feel like he needs to feel like it’s true.
He nods, a smile just starting to form on his lips before he types another text for me.
And I love your band even though I can’t remember what your music sounds like…
That confession warms me from the inside. Part of him does remember me.
I notice a light blush on his cheeks, and I can’t help reaching out and brushing my fingers along his soft skin.
“I always loved your blush.” The pink deepens, and I smile more widely.
It’s embarrassing, he texts.
“What is?”
The crush I’ve had on you for so long. I didn’t even know you, and I was obsessed.
I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud at his confession. Not laughing at him, obviously. But at the sheer ludicrous nature of this situation.
“Dimples, I don’t think you’re even ready to know the depths of my obsession with you. Trust me, whatever celebrity crush you thought you had, it can’t touch the way I’ve felt about you for years.”
His eyes go wide, and I wonder for a second if I’ve put too much on the table. But then he leans forward and brushes a sweet kiss to my cheek, lighting me up from head to toe. It’s baffling and exhilarating to find that after all these years, Dawson can work me up more with a kiss on the cheek than any other man has been able to do between the sheets.
We both return to focusing on our pie after that and enjoying the scenery from the front porch.
“Do you still write?” I ask.
Dawson’s face falls, and he shakes his head. I want to tell him about my problem. I can imagine what a relief it would be to have someone to talk to about my missing words. I know the guys are trying to hide it, but I can feel the weight of their worry and expectations. If I can’t find my words, we’re all going to lose a fuck ton of money. If I can’t find my words, we can kiss Downward Spiral goodbye. But Dawson’s shuttered expression keeps my mouth shut. He doesn’t want to talk about his writing, and I doubt he’ll want me unloading on him about mine.
We finish our pie and find lighter, easier topics to talk about for a while before I realize there’s something important I haven’t asked him yet.
“Are you living around here now? Or are you on vacation for a few days…?”
There’s no way in hell I’m letting him get away again so soon if he’s supposed to be going home tomorrow or something. But it’ll be difficult to insist on going with him without looking like a psycho.
On vacation for the whole week. My sister set this all up for my birthday.
“It’s your birthday?” It hits me like a punch in the gut just how little I know about this man who’s haunted every waking and sleeping moment for years.
Last week.
“Happy birthday.” I press a brief kiss to his left dimple. His skin is soft and warm under my lips, making it difficult for me to keep the contact brief. “Can we spend more time together before you go home?”
Dawson nods, and I let out a sigh of relief. At least I’ll have a week to remind him how good we are together.
Eventually, the sun starts to get low in the sky, and I offer to give Dawson a ride back to where he’s staying this week. The beach house feels quiet and empty when I get back. I pace around for a while, wondering what Dawson is doing back at his place and why I took him back instead of convincing him to stay with me.
I end up with my laptop in front of me, idly browsing through some of my favorite sites. Then, a thought occurs to me.
I type Learning sign language into the search bar and thousands of videos and websites come up. I blow out a breath realizing what a massive undertaking this could be. But Dawson and I can’t rely on texting and lip reading forever. I want to know as many ways to communicate with him as possible.
Track 13: Side B
Promises
Lando
We climbed out of the car back at the beach house, still exhilarated from the fan boat ride. Instead of heading for the house, Dawson made straight for the beach, and I followed closely behind. The sand between my toes was warm and rough, and the sea breeze wrapped around me like a happy cocoon. I wanted to stay here forever, build a life right here on the ocean with Dawson. And that thought was as reckless as it was exhilarating.
Dawson came to a stop near the water and grabbed my hand. He held it high in the air, throwing his free arm out and tilting his head toward the sky.
“Life is amazing, isn’t it?” He sighed with a content smile on his lips. My heart yearned for him, even though he was standing right beside me. I needed him. I didn’t want to let him go.
“It really is,” I agreed. “If I give you my number, do you promise you’ll call? Can we try to make this work?”
“Hell yes,” he agreed without hesitation.
“It won’t be easy,” I warned. “I’ll be touring a lot. It may be awhile before I’ll be able to come back to visit.”
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” Dawson said wisely. “And if Shakespeare wrote it, you know it must be true.”
I was too busy fixating on the true love part. It was too soon for something like that to be real. But I thought maybe one day we’d look back and say it was love at first sight. It sounded cheesy, but some people get married after knowing each other a week and they live happily ever after. Sometimes crazy things happen. And sometimes your heart knows exactly who it wants.
Dawson let his arms down and then stooped to pick something up off the ground. When he stood back up, he held out a rock to me that was shaped like a guitar pick.
“It’s for playing rock music,” he said seriously, and I doubled over with laughter. I couldn’t understand how I could feel so much in such short a time, but the words I love you were on the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t say them. It was too soon; that would’ve been crazy. But it was enough to hold them in my heart and believe that they might be true…one day.
After another round of enthusiastic sex, we ended up naked in the living room with my bass guitar in my lap.
“Play something for me?” he asked, stretching happily like a lazy cat in the sun, completely unashamed of his naked body.
“What do you want me to play for you?”
“Something no one else has heard?” he requested hopefully.
I had to think for a few seconds before I came up with something I hadn’t played at least for Lincoln. And then without realizing it, I was playing a song I wrote the previous week while my dad was in the hospital. It was about wanting him to be proud of me before he dies. My eyes fell closed as the words tumbled from my lips, and the smooth baseline carried the lyrics forward.
When I finished, tears flowed openly down Dawson’s cheeks.
“My dad died last year,” he told me after I set my bass down.
“I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have played that.”
Dawson waved me off and then crawled into my lap. “He was a writer, a brilliant writer. I was too afraid to ever show him anything I wrote because I thought he’d hate it. I wish I had now.”
“I bet he’s proud of you. An MFA in literature is nothing to sneeze at.”
Dawson shrugged. “I have my sister, and my mom isn’t so bad. It’s just a bummer to wish for things you can never go back and change.”
I nodded and held Dawson close until he climbed out of my lap and asked to hear another song. This time I played something a little less depressing and gave a little more of my heart to Dawson as he danced around the living room, singing along to the chorus once he caught on to it.
Track 14: Side A
It Started with a Kiss
Dawson
The next morning, I wake up to a text from Lando asking if I want to hang out and grab drinks this afternoon. There’s one side of my brain telling me to pump the brakes, that nothing good can come of what’s unfolding between us. Lando likes me in a way I don’t understand, and this can only lead to heartbreak.
&
nbsp; I lay in bed debating for a half hour about whether to agree to see Lando again. In the end, my heart wins out over my head, and I tell him to pick me up at two.
I putter around the house after that, reading another few chapters on my e-reader and then taking a shower and shaving. I also enter the plans for today into my calendar and read over the past few day’s entries with disbelief. If I didn’t have them right there in black and white, I might not believe them. Hell, if I woke up from another accident with these past few days gone, I’d never believe these calendar entries.
If I’d have written down every detail of that weekend with Lando before, would I have even believed it when I woke up? Doubtful. I don’t believe it now, and he’s told me plainly that it’s true. Lando has no reason to lie about any of it. That doesn’t mean this makes any sense.
When Lando arrives to pick me up, we do a weird little dance of trying to decide if we want to hug or kiss on the cheek. It ends up with an awkward side hug and Lando patting me on the shoulder.
There’s a voice in the back of my head that won’t stop calling me a coward for not just grabbing Lando’s face and kissing the hell out of him. I wish I was still the man who wouldn’t think twice about shacking up with a gorgeous stranger for a weekend. When Lando was describing the man he met back then, it didn’t sound like me at all. It’s difficult to remember that was ever me, or if he’s made up some idealized version of the perfect man and has been carrying it around inside his head for nine years.
I suppose there was a time when I was less afraid than I am now. But that was before I knew how fragile life is. I was a stupid kid who was sure I was invincible. Now I know just how untrue that is. Of course, I’m more cautious. I’d be stupid not to be after what I’ve been through. I’m not a coward; I’m practical.
We head to a nearby bar, just down the street from the one we went to the other night. Lando gets us a couple of drinks while I sit down at a table and look around at everyone else in the bar laughing, dancing, enjoying themselves. I wish I could feel as free as they all seem to. Lando’s touch on my shoulder draws my attention.
Play it by Ear (Replay Book 2) Page 6
