Play it by Ear (Replay Book 2)

by K. M. Neuhold

  After he places the order for the pizza, Lando opens his arms with a hopeful expression, and I don’t hesitate to snuggle against him with a content sigh. I lay my head against his chest and enjoy the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. This has to be the most surreal moment of my life, laying in the arms of a rock god after building sandcastles and getting an epic blowjob. This doesn’t feel like my life, but in a strange way it does. In a way, this feels more right than anything has in the last nine years.

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and I see a message from Lando. I must’ve been really in my own head to not notice him typing a message.

  What are you thinking about?

  I’m thinking about how strange this is. And how right it feels. Ever since my accident, everything has felt slightly off, like that feeling you get when you walk into a room and forget why you’re there. I figured it was the memory loss and being suddenly deaf. I think it was that I was missing you and never even knew it.

  Do you believe in fate? Soul mates? Lando asks in his next message, and my heart trips at the implication. I’ve never been much of a believer in fate, at least not that I can remember. And after my accident, it would’ve been hard to feel like that was meant to be. And if it was, fuck who or whatever makes those decisions.

  I don’t know. I believe in falling in love and working hard every day to show that person what they mean to you. I believe in falling for someone before you even understand why they’re right for you. I believe in making your life the way you think it should be, I respond.

  I’ve always been glad I took the chance and spent that weekend with you nine years ago. It’s all I’ve thought about since. But I feel like if we hadn’t had that weekend, you wouldn’t have had your accident.

  I can feel the tension and guilt rolling off him at this confession. He feels like the accident was somehow his fault.

  That accident wasn’t anyone’s fault. Well, it was the drunk truck driver’s fault, but definitely not your fault. And I’m glad you have the memories of that weekend so at least something good came from it.

  I want more than memories; I want a future, Lando replies and warmth washes over me. This is happening fast, but I’m glad to know we’re somewhat on the same page. No matter what I said before, this isn’t fling.

  Me too, I agree.

  After that the pizza arrives, we eat and watch a movie together. It’s one of the best days of my entire life.

  Lando

  My heart aches at the sight of Dawson fast asleep in my bed. The sheets are tangled around his legs, just barely covering the most interesting bits. The morning sun is licking at his skin the same way I did last night, savoring the flavor of him. His eyelashes flutter with the dreams that have followed him to the morning, and a little smile tilts the corner of his lips. He’s utterly perfect.

  I want to leave him to his peaceful sleep, but I can’t resist the urge to steal just one kiss. How many kisses will I get this time? Is there any way I can somehow keep him? These questions are too painful to contemplate in the warm content cocoon of the morning. All I want is to taste a patch of Dawson’s skin, heated by the sun.

  I press my lips to the center of his chest, right in the center of a sunlit stripe, and moan at the salty sweet taste of sweat and lust and Dawson.

  “Mmmm,” he mumbles sleepily, rolling onto his side and curling toward me.

  I drag my fingers delicately over the arch of Dawson’s back and watch as goosebumps explode along the path. I could spend all morning savoring his skin, licking him from head to toe, touching every last inch. But I might have a better case for boyfriend material rather than vacation fling if I can manage to get my ass out of bed and make him some breakfast.

  He only stirs a little as I slide out of bed. I close the door quietly behind me before I realize I’m acting like he can hear me and laugh at myself.

  I start coffee and then pull the items I need out of the fridge and get to work making French toast.

  I whistle to myself as I beat the eggs and add the milk and vanilla to the mix. I’m glad I stocked up well when I ran to the store the first day. It wouldn’t be all that impressive to just hand Dawson a bowl of cereal for our first breakfast together…well, the first one he can remember anyway.

  I hear hesitant footsteps behind me as I flip the first set of toast in the pan. I smile when a pair of arms come around my middle and Dawson presses his lips between my shoulder blades.

  I spin around and cup his face in my hands, tilting it up to brush a kiss to his lips.

  “Good morning,” I say when I release him. My gaze drifts down and I notice the tattoos I haven’t had a chance to get a better look at before.

  I trace my fingers over the two quotes on Dawson’s chest. “All right then, I’ll go to hell.” and “Anything worth dying for is certainly worth living for.”

  “These are from books, I assume?” I ask, and he nods. “Tell me about them when we sit down to breakfast?” He nods again, and I turn back to the French toast to keep it from burning.

  When we sit down together, Dawson has his phone in hand.

  There’s not too much of a story behind either tat. They’re some of my favorite literary quotes. The one about Hell is from Huck Finn and it was exactly the kind of flippant thing I always loved whenever some religious bigot would threaten me with hell for being gay. And the other quote is from Catch-22; it just seemed like a good philosophy.

  I read his explanation and wish I’d been there. I can imagine cuddling on the couch together while Dawson would tell me about the tattoos he was planning to get, maybe even trying to convince me to get one with him. My chest aches, imagining how life was supposed to have been.

  “Move to New York with me?” I blurt before I can stop myself. Dawson blinks in surprise, a forkful of French toast halfway to his mouth. “Shit, I didn’t mean to ask like that. I was going to wait awhile and maybe plan some way to make it a really compelling suggestion. I know this sounds crazy, we hardly know each other.”

  It sounds batshit insane. I know last night we talked about this being more than a fling, but this is really fast, Dawson texts.

  “I know,” I sigh. “Let’s put a pin in this and talk about it later.”

  Dawson looks skeptical as he types out his response.

  What would I do in NY?

  My heart leaps. It’s not a no.

  “Explore the city, meet new people, write amazing words. You can live the life you told me you wanted.”

  The person who wanted those things is dead.

  “Part of him is still in there. I’ve seen it,” I insist. “I know this is fast, but I think we could have something really good together.”

  Dawson shakes his head, his expression a mixture of nerves and longing.

  Let me think about it?

  “Yes,” I agree quickly. “Think about it as long as you need to.”

  Dawson nods and returns to devouring his breakfast. It wasn’t an outright refusal at least, I reassure myself.

  What do you want to do today? he messages after we finish eating.

  “I was thinking I’d try out that big grill in the backyard. We could make some steaks or something? And maybe we could go explore, find an adventure?” I suggest, and Dawson nods. “Okay, I’ll need to stop at the store really quick for steaks and stuff, then we can drop that stuff back here and go find something to do.”

  Dawson

  I thumb through my phone, my feet up on the dashboard as I wait for Lando. When we got to the store, I decided to wait in the car, so I’d have a few minutes alone to process what he’d suggested this morning. I let myself wonder for a few minutes what it would be like if I consider his invitation to move to New York with him.

  Could I even really do it? I wouldn’t know my way around or anything about the city. I wouldn’t know anyone there. It’s not like I have much here to give up aside from comfort. Why does the thought terrify me so much?

  I glance up, intending to look impatient
ly around for Lando, when I notice a number of people mulling around outside the car. People with cameras. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Lando has obviously been found by the press.

  I sink low in the passenger seat of the car, hoping they won’t notice me. Do they somehow know this is his rental car? Or did they get a tip he was at this grocery store?

  I hit the text icon and type out a quick message to Lando.

  Dawson: I think the paparazzi have found you.

  Lando: Fuck!

  Dawson: Yeah….They’re all around the car.

  Lando: Double fuck. Is it possible you could bring my car closer to the store so I can just jump right in?

  His request sends a jolt of fear through me. My hands shake as I imagine placing it on the gearshift and putting the car into drive. My leg muscles twitch at the idea of pressing on the gas. My heart hammers hard against my ribcage.

  Dawson: I’m sorry, I can’t.

  It takes entirely too long between Lando reading the message and the short K he texts back. He officially hates me. Of course, he does; it was only a matter of time anyway.

  As more people show up and surround the car, I tuck my legs closer to my chest, clutching my phone hard in my hand. I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m lying on the blanket on the beach with Lando, picking out shapes in the clouds. When the car rocks a little, my eyes snap open, and I turn my head to find Lando looking harassed and annoyed as he slides into the driver’s seat. He offers me a small smile, just the tilt of his lip, before putting the car in drive and slowly easing it forward, forcing all the people standing in front of it to move out of the way.

  Lando

  I can’t believe they found me. I’m not even sure why they wanted to, other than to ask about where Lincoln is and if the band is breaking up. I abandoned my grocery mission when I got Dawson’s text, just leaving a cart in the middle of an aisle like a jackass. Getting to the car is like trying to get through a zombie hoard, people everywhere shouting at me, flashing cameras. And when I finally get in, Dawson looks terrified.

  My jaw ticks, and I grind my teeth. I couldn’t give less of a shit about them harassing me, but scaring Dawson is where I draw the line. Lucky for them, they move out of the way as I slowly inch the car forward, because I’m not feeling generous enough to care if I run over someone’s foot if they don’t move.

  No one follows us out of the parking lot, which means they likely already know where I’m staying. Fucking hell.

  Instead of heading back to my vacation rental, I turn toward Dawson’s. I really wish he could hear me, so I could ask if he’s okay without taking my eyes off the road. I focus on getting there as quickly as possible, where I’ll be able to hold him and make sure he’s all right.

  We reach his rental and as soon as the car is in park, I turn to him. He’s still curling himself small, his hands trembling. I reach out and put my hand on his. It takes a few seconds before he raises his eyes to meet mine.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  Dawson gives a quick nod and then types something into his phone. I shift and reach for my phone. I don’t find it in my back pocket where I swear I put it. I check the other and don’t find it there either.

  “Shit, I think I dropped my phone when those assholes were mobbing me.” I groan and let my head fall back against the headrest. Could this day get any more irritating?

  Dawson’s seatbelt clicks open, and then his door creaks as he gets out of the car. I follow suit, trailing him up the steps to the house. He finds a pad of paper in the kitchen and jots a quick note for me.

  We can do this old school until you go get a new phone, he suggests, and I nod. I’m sorry I couldn’t move your car.

  “No, hey, it’s okay,” I assure him, stepping close and wrapping my arms around him. “I shouldn’t have even asked you to do that. I just sort of panicked.”

  He rests his head against my chest for a moment before wiggling away to write me another note.

  You don’t hate me?

  I tilt his chin up and give him a stern look. “I could never hate you, dimples.” I press a kiss to his soft lips and then each dimple to punctuate my point. When I let him go, I let out an annoyed sigh thinking about the press again. “I am going to have to go somewhere else now that they know I’m here.”

  Dawson’s eyes go wide, and he tenses in my arms.

  Back to New York? he writes, looking panicked.

  “Hell no,” I growl, tightening my grip on his waist.

  He chews his bottom lip as he considers whatever he’s about to write next. Finally, he jots it down and turns the pad for me to read it.

  My place?

  My heart leaps, and I smile.

  “Are you sure? It’s Christmas and all; I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  He nods emphatically and taps his message with his pen.

  “Okay, I’d love to,” I agree. As much as I want to leave everything at that and help Dawson pack, there’s one thing still bothering me. “Was it just that you were nervous about the paparazzi surrounding the car or can you not drive at all?”

  Dawson bites down on his bottom lip and avoids my gaze. I put my finger under his chin and tilt his head back up, raising my eyebrows in question. I don’t want to push, but if there’s something Dawson is struggling with, I want to know about it.

  He sighs and scribbles something down, then passes me the paper.

  Since my accident, I get panic attacks or something when I try to drive. It’s no big deal; I get by just fine without driving. Besides, if I move to New York, I won’t have to drive at all.

  My heart leaps at his mention of possibly moving, and I get the feeling he threw that in there to distract me from the issue at hand.

  “Maybe you should see someone about it if you’re having panic attacks?”

  I’ll think about it.

  I smile and then press a kiss to Dawson’s lips. I understand why going through what he did would mess with his head. All I want is for him to be able to live his life to the fullest, just like he wanted.

  “Ready to pack and get the hell out of dodge?”

  He nods and sets the pen down, then we get to work gathering his things.

  Track 20: Side A

  It’s Rimming Not Rocket Science

  Lando

  Dawson puts going home and bringing Lando into his calendar, and then I help him pack up his stuff. We do a drive by of my rental to see if I’ll be able to get my things. As I suspected, the place is crawling with paparazzi and people who don’t deserve the title of journalist. Luckily, I didn’t have my guitar or anything important in the house at the moment. My laptop will have to be abandoned for the moment, but I’m not worried about it. I’ll get Archer to send someone.

  I tap Dawson’s shoulder to ask if I can use his phone to call Archer. He hands it over and I use the rental car’s Bluetooth feature to make the call.

  “Hello?” Archer answers.

  “Hey, it’s Lando.”

  “Lando, how’s it going?” Archer asks, sounding happier than I’ve heard him since I can remember.

  “You sound happy. Things going well with Bennett?” I ask, finding myself smiling.

  “You are such a gossip whore,” Archer admonishes gently.

  “We all have our vices, mine is sticking my nose in my friend’s business. At least it’s not cutting or drugs,” I point out.

  “Yeah, we’ve had enough of all that to last more than a lifetime,” Archer agrees dryly. “Anything I can do for you, or was this a social call?”

  “No, the press found me,” I tell him. “I wasn’t at the beach house at the time, and I can’t get back in there right now without a problem.”

  “Dammit. Are you coming back to New York or do you want me to make arrangements for somewhere else?”

  “Actually,” I cast a quick look at Dawson, who’s gazing out the window. “I have somewhere to go, I’m driving my rental car there. It’s about a two-hour drive, but I doubt the go
ssip hounds will find me.”

  “Oh? Where might that be?” Archer asks. “Please tell me you’re smart enough not to go home with some vacation fling.”

  “It’s not like that, it’s…” I glance at Dawson again and my heart fills with so much love I almost can’t breathe. “I found him, Arch.”

  “Found who?”

  “Him—the guy I left all those years ago.”

  “Holy shit,” Archer sounds equal parts awed and relieved at my announcement. “I’m really happy for you, and not just because he’s your muse.”

  I bark out a laugh.

  “Yeah, I already feel the words just under the surface. But that’s not why I’m interested in him, it’s just a side benefit.”

  “Of course,” Archer agrees. “Why don’t you text me his address and as soon as I can, I’ll get someone to gather your things and get them to you.”

  “Will do, boss,” I agree. “Oh, and I lost my phone. Can you overnight ship one for me?”

  “I’m on it. Drive safely and let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  “Of course. And keep doing whatever, or whoever, made you sound so happy when you answered the phone,” I suggest.

  Archer’s only response is a chuckle before he hangs up.

  With Dawson’s address in my GPS, the ride is quiet. It hits me how boring it must be to be deaf on a long car ride. You can’t make small talk or listen to music. I suppose you could watch a movie if you had the right device with you. I make a mental note to always make sure I have my tablet loaded up with movies for Dawson any time we have to take a long drive in the future.

  When we reach Dawson’s place, I grab his bags, and he shows me up to his apartment on the third floor of the building. It’s spacious and bright, with big windows facing east.