Play it by Ear (Replay Book 2)

by K. M. Neuhold

  “Do you play pool?” he asks, pointing at the pool table.

  I nod and slide off the bar stool to follow him to the pool table. I choose a cue and watch as Lando does the same. There’s a little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows as he weighs two different cues in his hands, clearly taking the process very seriously, and I can’t help but laugh. Who knew the rock star would be so earnest about a friendly game of pool? You certainly won’t find that in any of his online biographies. I would know; I’ve read them all a thousand times. Maybe Lando was right yesterday—my heart remembers him even if my brain doesn’t.

  Lando finally picks a cue, and I finish racking the balls.

  “Want to make the game interesting?” Lando offers, waggling his eyebrows and smirking.

  I chuckle and nod then pull out my phone to elaborate my answer.

  I’m not a millionaire like you. Let’s keep the bet reasonable. Like $5 reasonable.

  “I was thinking something more interesting than that,” Lando hedges, and I quirk an eyebrow. “If I win, I get a kiss?”

  I bite down on my bottom lip, trying not to let his adorably hopeful smile sway my answer. Surely, he could find about a hundred guys in a one-mile radius who’d happily jump into bed with him. Why me? What could he possibly want from a deaf, brain damaged, loser?

  I chance another glance at his face, and my stomach does a somersault. How many chances in life will I get to kiss a rock star? Apparently at least two, but hopefully I’ll remember it this time.

  I nod resolutely and chalk my cue.

  It turns out we’re fairly evenly matched, and I can’t decide if I’m hoping Lando will win or not. He tempts me throughout the game, wiggling his ass when he bends over to line up each shot, drawing my gaze to his nice, round cheeks. Have I spread and buried my face between them before? Have I ever brought Lando to orgasm with just my tongue in his ass? Would he let me?

  He casts a glance at me over his shoulder, and his smirk tells me my thoughts are written all over my face.

  “I won,” he informs me, and I blink out of my lust filled stupor to look at the pool table. Damn, he did win.

  Lando stands up and turns to face me with a smile. My breath is rasping painfully as I try to calm my heart down. He really wants to kiss me. I close my eyes and tilt my face up toward him. Instead of lips like I expect, Lando traces a finger over my lips and then each of my dimples. My eyes flutter open in surprise.

  “Why don’t we head out?” he suggests. “I’d rather not kiss you with an audience.”

  I nod in a stupor and follow him out of the bar.

  The ride back to my rental house is short, but I spend the entire time thinking over any possible way this could go sideways. The risk of letting Lando kiss me seems to be low, but what if it unlocks the memories of that weekend I’ve forgotten? What if it doesn’t? I’m not sure which would be worse. I want to know and yet I don’t think I could handle it.

  He pulls into the driveway and turns the car off while I will my heart rate to slow. It’s just a kiss. He turns on the dome light in the car, and we turn toward each other.

  “Can I come inside? Or would you rather I leave you here?” he asks, and my mouth falls open. What about my kiss? I tap my lips and give him a questioning look. Lando chuckles. “I wasn’t sure if it was what you really wanted.”

  I wonder if he ever does things because they’re what he wants the most, instead of what makes everyone around him happiest. I suppose it’s a good policy when it comes to kissing or sex, but I get the feeling he applies it to everything.

  I tap my lips again and nod to let him know I do in fact want the kiss he promised. Then, I unbuckle my seatbelt and wave at him to follow me inside.

  In the house, we both kick our shoes off, and Lando follows me to the couch. I feel like I’m thirteen all over again, hanging out in Greg Olson’s basement, sharing awkward glances, and wondering if he’s going to kiss me. I can’t remember if he did or not, and that’s just one of the many memories I wish I could have back. For once, I’m going to take a memory back. If I can’t remember what Lando’s lips felt like moving against mine nine years ago, then I’ll damn well find out now.

  I grab Lando by the back of the neck and drag his mouth to mine. His beard is softer than I expected against my cheeks and chin, and his lips are gentle against mine. I expected the kiss to be heated and hungry, but instead, it’s slow and sweet. It feels like coming home.

  When it ends, I’m left grasping at any way to both make this real and protect myself. Lando brushes a kiss to each of my dimples.

  Lando

  “I’ve missed you, dimples,” I murmur against his lips, knowing he won’t know what I’m saying.

  When I let him go, Dawson pulls his phone out of his pocket and, with shaking fingers, types a message.

  I don’t know what you’re looking for, but if it’s a vacation hook-up, I need you to realize you’re not messing around with whoever that guy is you’re so stuck on. You’re with a deaf, brain damaged, wannabe writer who hasn’t written a word in years.

  “My words are lost too,” I admit, feeling a desperate kinship with him.

  I haven’t written anything since the accident. I think my brain is too broken now. I was such an arrogant little shit back then. I was sure I was going to be the next Dostoyevsky. I haven’t written a damn thing since college.

  I roll his words around in my brain for a minute or so and then shake my head. “You know what I think your problem is?” I say, and Dawson narrows his eyes at me like he’s already preparing to argue against whatever I’m planning to say, but he motions for me to go ahead. “I think you’re setting yourself up for failure with your expectations. Would it be great to write the next Crime and Punishment? Of course. But that doesn’t make other books less valid or less important to those who’ve read them. Instead of trying to write a book that will change the world, let yourself try to write a book that will change one single person’s world.”

  His mouth drops open in surprise before he catches himself and shrugs with feigned indifference to my suggestion. I smile when he starts to type out a reply.

  No fair psychoanalyzing me if I don’t get to do it in return. How long since YOU’VE written anything?

  I read his message, and my smile fades.

  “Over a year. Our whole last album was songs I wrote ages ago.”

  I thought your last album had a different vibe than all the previous ones. Is it weird that I read your lyrics?

  “It’s not weird, it’s kind of nice. And yeah,” I agree with a sad smile. Those were mostly songs I wrote before. Before we were famous, before shit started falling apart, before I met Dawson. I don’t even know the person who wrote those songs, but damn was he a wide-eyed dope with no idea what was coming for him.

  Where do you think your words went?

  “I don’t know. Somewhere just out of reach. Close enough to drive me insane but too far to grab. You—” I stop myself before I can say something stupid. Telling Dawson he was my muse wouldn’t be helpful right now, not after he told me earlier that he’s not that person I remember. But maybe whoever he’s become can still inspire me. “I was seeing this guy, Roland…” I admit Dawson tenses. “He wasn’t anything special really, but he was the second guy I dated in a row who turned out to be just after my fame. Everything just started feeling so…empty. I used to know why this was my dream, but I can’t quite recall anymore.”

  The rock star life lost its shine. You’re too disillusioned to write, Dawson guesses. I nod at his spot-on assessment.

  “Maybe we can find our words together?” I suggest, glad he can’t hear the quiver in my voice.

  Dawson smirks as he types out the next message.

  The only thing I’m interested in finding is your prostate.

  “Works for me,” I agree, ready to let the heavy stuff go for now.

  Favorite sex position?

  My cheeks heat as I read his words, memories flashing thr
ough my mind, rapidly making my cock throb and my spine tingle.

  “The last time you asked me that, we ended up…”

  Dawson’s eyebrows go up.

  You can’t stop a sentence just when it’s about to get interesting.

  I chuckle and instead of answering out loud, I type a response.

  We fucked in every room of the beach house, in every position we could think of.

  Dawson’s breath catches, and my cock shifts against my leg as blood rushes to fill it.

  Too bad I can’t remember your favorite position. You’ll have to show me ;)

  “Gladly,” I agree. “But next time. For now, I’m going to head back to my rental and text you tomorrow morning because there’s no reason to rush whatever this is between us.”

  Track 15: Side A

  Painful Truth

  Lando

  The rhythmic thud of raindrops on the window lulls me in and out of sleep all morning, pleasant dreams of Dawson’s lips moving lazily against mine blur with reality and keep me hard and restless, but unbelievably happy.

  I can almost taste the words to describe the feeling, right on the tip of my tongue. But rather than reach for a pad of paper to try to catch them, I just let the words and feelings roll over me in waves.

  I forgot what it felt like to be this happy, this hopeful. The only thing that could make this better would be Dawson in bed beside me.

  When I finally manage to muster the will to do anything other than enjoy the moment, I grab my phone and watch some more sign language videos and practice a little. Then, when it’s late enough to not give the impression that I’ve been laying around all morning waiting to text him (I totally was), I send him a message.

  Lando: Do you have any plans today?

  Dawson: Just to lay around and read deliciously filthy romance novels.

  Dawson: Oh god, that sounds like I’m boring as hell. Let me try that again…

  Dawson: I have tons of impressive and exciting plans today, why do you ask?

  I chuckle at the string of texts, warmth filling my chest.

  Lando: Tons of impressive and exciting plans? Damn, I was going to ask if you wanted to go on a date and then have sweaty, incredible sex, but it sounds like you’re already pretty busy.

  Dawson: Sweaty, incredible sex? I could probably move some things around.

  Lando: I had a feeling those would be the magic words ;) I’ll pick you up at noon?

  Dawson: K. See you then.

  I drag myself out of bed and hop in the shower, completely ignoring my raging erection at all costs. If I’m going to have Dawson in my bed tonight, I’d rather wait. In my bed, inside me, owning me…

  I groan at the images that filter through my mind. Images I’ve become so familiar with replaying over the years that now they’re little more than a collage of flesh and a symphony of hot, wet sounds.

  I hurry through washing up and get dressed quickly before I can let my overeager dick convince me to jerk one out before my date.

  Once I’m dressed, I find another text from Dawson waiting for me.

  Dawson: I gave you access to my online calendar, can you put our date in there?

  Lando: Will do.

  I find his calendar and put in Matheson Hammock Park—kiteboarding and early dinner. I wonder what it must be like to live with such a deep fear that you’ll wake up tomorrow and have no idea what you did the day before. What was it like for that to happen to him? To simply have a year of your life completely gone? My heart aches for him.

  It doesn’t take long to get to Dawson’s. He’s waiting out front when I pull up and hurries over to the car as soon as I’m parked. He has a big smile on his face and is wearing a pair of hot pink swim trunks that let me know that the man I remember isn’t quite as lost as he thinks.

  He slides into the passenger seat and starts writing a message immediately that vibrates on my phone within seconds.

  What’s kiteboarding?

  “I’m not totally sure. I saw it on the website for the park, and it said the waters there are great for beginners because it’s really calm. It seemed fun to try?”

  Dawson looks wary but excited. I can see the war between who he was and who he’s become playing out on his face. The Dawson I knew wasn’t afraid of anything, he told me so himself. This Dawson has a lot more fears. It’s understandable, but it’s not making him happy. It’s not who he really is inside, not who he wants to be.

  Finally, he nods in agreement, squaring his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle. I reach over and lace my fingers through his and then pull out of the driveway and head for the park.

  The rain stopped over an hour ago, and the sun is shining overhead by the time we reach the park.

  We get out of the car, and I grab a blanket out of the trunk. I tilt my head toward the beach and Dawson follows me. It takes a few minutes to find a good spot and when we do, I lay out a blanket and tug Dawson down beside me. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion as I spread out on my back and pat the spot beside me. Fluffy white clouds drift lazily through the sky above us.

  I tap Dawson on the shoulder and point at one of the clouds. Then, I do the sign for dog that I learned yesterday during my many hours of watching sign language videos online.

  Dawson smiles widely and nods in agreement. Then he points at a cloud and makes a sign I didn’t come across in my research. I cock an eyebrow at him, and he lets out a hoarse laugh. He does the gesture again and then grabs his crotch. I look back at the cloud, and now I totally see what he was getting at. I laugh deep from my belly in a way I thought I’d forgotten how to.

  Dawson laces his fingers through mine and warmth settles in my chest. He rolls onto his side, and I turn my head to see his face only inches away, a smile lighting up his features. The seafoam green color of his eyes is even more vibrant than my memory allowed. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, and my body flushes with heat. His eyelids drift close as he tilts his head, offering me his lips so sweetly, and I take them.

  He whimpers against my mouth as our lips move in tandem, tasting and savoring each other.

  When I pull away, Dawson chases my lips, making a disgruntled noise at the loss of contact. I brush my nose against his and then turn my head back to the sky, so we can look for more shapes together.

  After we’ve found a whole zoo worth of animals, and at least three more dicks, we put the blanket away and rent a couple of kiteboards.

  Dawson’s nervous when we both step onto our boards, but after a few minutes of gentle drifting on the water, he starts to relax, and I can hear his giddy laugh. I join in laughing and enjoying the beautiful day.

  Eventually, we head toward the restaurant at the far end of the park. I can feel Dawson’s eyes on me as we walk, watching me and smiling.

  “What?” I finally ask with a laugh as we near the restaurant.

  He bites down on his bottom lip and smiles at me again and then types a message and sends it to me.

  It’s just so weird. Less than a week ago, I was watching a gossip story about the band on TV, and now I’m on a date with you. It’s surreal.

  I read the message, and my heart sinks a little. He mentioned that he’d had a bit of a celebrity crush on me before. Is that all he sees me as now? Just some famous dude to hook-up with on vacation so you can tell you friends about it? Will I only ever be Lando, bass player for Downward Spiral, to him now?

  Why do you look so sad? he texts.

  “It’s nothing,” I lie, shaking my head and forcing a smile.

  Dawson reaches over and puts a hand on mine but seems unsatisfied. After a few seconds and a determined look passing over his face, he steps closer and wraps his arms around me. My body warms at the gesture. When was the last time someone gave me a hug? Fuck, how sad is it that I can’t remember? He keeps one arm around me as he types another message, and I rest my chin on his head as I read it.

  It felt so weird at the time, I had this urge to text you and check on you and comfor
t you. I thought I was going off the deep end, turning into a weird stalker or something.

  My heart flutters, and I hug him tighter, kissing the top of Dawson’s head and then tilting his face to kiss each of his dimples.

  “Let’s get inside; I’m starving,” I suggest, and he nods fervently and makes a C shape with his hand and slides it down his chest. “Hungry?” I guess the sign, and he smiles and nods again.

  When did you learn those signs? Dawson texts me once we’re seated and our orders are placed.

  “The last few nights and a little this morning.”

  His mouth drops open, and he stares at me for several long seconds.

  Why? he asks once he composes himself.

  “I figured it would make it easier to communicate. I don’t know much yet, but I’ll keep learning,” I assure him.

  Dawson stands quickly, his chair making a loud noise as it scrapes against the floor and nearly topples over. For a horrifying second, I think he’s about to take off. Instead, he comes around the table and grabs my face between his hands. He slams his lips into mine hard enough to nearly knock me backward. His mouth is hot and demanding against mine as his tongue slips inside, tasting me and driving me half insane with need.

  “Thank you,” he whispers against my mouth before placing one more peck against the corner of my lips and going back around to his side of the table.

  With a wicked smile, I pull up Dawson’s calendar on my phone again and add a new event for the evening.

  Dawson’s phone vibrates with the new entry notification. He reads the entry that says At Lando’s fucking him until he can’t see straight and throws his head back with a rough laugh.

  You’d better be planning to eat your dinner fast after that tease, he texts.

  While we eat, we text about mundane things and Dawson shows me a few more signs, mostly dirty ones. When the check comes, Dawson’s eyes widen when he notices me leaving a 100% tip.

  “My mom was a waitress,” I explain sheepishly. “I have more money than I’ll ever need, might as well use it to make other people’s lives happier where I can.”