Play it by Ear (Replay Book 2)

by K. M. Neuhold

  I’m not sure if it’s hours or minutes of beautiful torture as we move together, bathed in moonlight and both aching, right on the edge of too much pleasure but not willing to end the moment and push ourselves over.

  Lando’s breath stutters and a deep flush creeps over his skin from his neck all the way down to his toes. His body tenses and shivers, his eyes fluttering closed just before his tight, inner muscles clench around my cock in a slow wave. Thick ropes of cum splatter his stomach and my comforter. My fingers dig into his hips as he milks my orgasm from me, pulling it from deep inside and making me dizzy as my balls tighten, and I pump my release into him.

  Track 27: Side B

  The Wrong Choice

  Dawson

  The buzz of the airport didn’t penetrate our bubble as we stood trapped in an endless moment of despair. It felt like time was splitting in two, creating a distinct before and after. Would we forever use this weekend as a cornerstone of our lives?

  Lando’s hands were firm on my arms, like he was afraid as soon as he stopped touching me, everything would end. He was right; we both knew the seconds were slipping away.

  “You have my number programmed in your phone?” he checked again, and I offered him a sad smile.

  “Yes, I do. I’ll call you tonight, then you’ll have mine, and I’ll know you’re safe and sound in New York. This isn’t goodbye, right? You promised this wasn’t goodbye.”

  “It’s not goodbye,” he agreed, putting his arms around my middle and pulling me close. His beard tickled my chin and cheeks as his lips found mine. I didn’t want to lose a single second of this moment. I wasn’t sure if we were just getting caught up in the hormones and romance of the weekend or if we really did have a future. Either way, I never wanted to forget the way Lando made me feel.

  “This sucks,” I said with a laugh when our lips parted.

  “It does,” he agreed. Over the loudspeaker, they announced the boarding of his flight and we both tensed. “Come with me,” he blurted.

  “What?”

  “Come to New York. There’s nothing keeping you in Florida yet, right? You can look for a job in New York, you can write, and we can see where this goes.”

  My heart was screaming yes, yes, yes. It was crazy and impulsive, and I wanted it so badly.

  “I…can’t,” I answered, the words tasting wrong as I said them. “Maybe in six months or a year when we know each other better?” I didn’t know why I was saying it. I wasn’t afraid of anything, and this was little more than an exciting adventure. What did I have to lose? But I couldn’t make myself change my answer.

  I put my hand on Lando’s chest and felt his heart beating wildly.

  “Dimples, I—”

  “Shh,” I covered his mouth with my hand. “This isn’t goodbye,” I repeated.

  He nodded, even though his eyes weren’t quite as sure anymore. His lips pressed gently to my palm still covering his mouth, and I smiled.

  “Have a safe flight. I’ll see you again before we even have a chance to miss each other,” I bluffed.

  “Thank you for the best weekend of my life. I’ll see you soon.”

  As he walked away, my heart wouldn’t stop demanding I run after him, but my brain kept me firmly in place, watching as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Track 28: Side A

  The Best Year Yet

  Lando

  Sitting on the couch with Dawson’s feet in my lap and the TV on in the background while he helps me write a new song is better than any other New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had. Last year, I watched Lincoln sulk, Jude pick up a prostitute, and Benji desperately pretend this was what he pictured when he dreamed of being a rock star.

  Dawson gives my beard a little tug to get my attention, and I realize I’ve been staring at him instead of paying attention to the lines he’s trying to cross out in my song.

  He taps his pen against the paper again, and this time, I look down to see what he’s written beside the line I had down. He’s right, his wording is much better.

  I nod and take the pen from him to cross out my original line. Then I sing through what we have so far to get a feel for how it will flow. I catch Dawson staring wistfully and I press a kiss to his temple. I promised I wasn’t going to push one way or the other about the surgery. Whatever he decides, I don’t care. I love him exactly how he is, and if he wants to get the surgery, I’ll love him then too.

  When I finish singing through, I jot a few more lines, and Dawson proceeds to cross out and replace words once again. I chuckle, but he’s right. He does have a knack for words, even more than I do.

  “You should start writing again,” I encourage. Dawson shrugs and focuses on the work he’s doing. Maybe the change of scenery when we move will spark something for him. He has words to share with the world. And that is something I’ll happily push and nag him about.

  When we finish the song, Dawson writes a title across the top The Best Year Yet.

  I like it, I sign before kissing him.

  When he pulls away, he taps his wrist to mime a watch and then points upward.

  I check the time, and it is getting close to midnight, so I nod. We gather up some blankets and pillows and head up to the roof.

  We sit on the roof of Dawson’s apartment complex with a shared blanket over our shoulders. Compared to New York winters, this feels wonderful, but Dawson shivers slightly beside me.

  I check the time on my watch, and Dawson taps my hand, so I show him the time as well. He smiles widely and tilts his head back to the sky expectantly.

  I nuzzle close to him and bury my nose in the side of his neck, greedy for his scent to fill me.

  He picks his phone up off the ground beside him and types something. Seconds later, my phone vibrates, and I smile. This is nice. New Year’s Eve is my favorite, the message reads.

  Why is it your favorite?

  It feels like a fresh slate. It’s a chance to start new and make this next year the best one ever.

  I nod in agreement and kiss his cheek. This will be the best year yet, now that I have Dawson back in my life. He’s coming to New York, and we get to build the life we were meant to have.

  I touch his shoulder to get him to look in my direction, and my hand shakes as I hold up my newly learned sign. Dawson’s eyes go wide in surprise, and he puts a hand over his chest like he needs it to contain the beating of his heart. Then he returns the gesture, and I laugh with relief.

  I grab Dawson and pull him into my arms. He reaches up and taps my lips with his index finger, a request in his eyes.

  “I love you,” I tell him out loud this time, his eyes trained on my lips like he wants to memorize the shape they take when I hand him my heart.

  “I love you,” he says in his rusty, beautiful voice.

  His lips brush mine, and my heartbeat skyrockets, his taste on my tongue like a drug. My fingers tangle in his messy curls, and he moans into my mouth until the bright burst of a firecracker draws our attention back to the sky.

  Happy New Year, I sign just how he showed me. Dawson laughs and signs the same thing.

  He crawls into my lap, and I smile as I watch him type into his calendar Lando told me he loves me onto January first.

  Dawson

  Cuddled under the covers, early morning on New Year’s Day, I read the calendar entry I made last night. Lando loves me. It may be reckless and way too fast, but I don’t care. I want to jump off the cliff and see if we can fly.

  Unfortunately, jumping off a cliff is a lot less daunting than telling my sister that I’m moving to New York…sometime soon. I should probably ask Lando when exactly we’re moving. I need to get out of my lease, pack up my shit, quit my job…shit, probably find a new job.

  Lando’s hands are on my waist, turning me over before I can protest.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks once I’m facing him.

  “Moving stuff.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” he asks and even though I can’t hear him,
I’m sure there’s fear in his voice, maybe it’s even trembling.

  “No.” I shake my head quickly and then kiss him. “Lots to do,” I say in way of explanation.

  “I’ll help. We’ll make a list after we get up.”

  “I have to tell Parker.”

  “Shit, yeah,” he agrees. “Want to have her for dinner, and we’ll tell her together?”

  I nod and cuddle closer to him.

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans and open the door to greet Parker.

  Happy New Year, she signs before pulling me into a hug. I pat her back and enjoy the feeling for a moment. When I move, how often will I be able to see my sister? Maybe we can do weekly video chats?

  When she lets me go, Parker greets Lando with a tight smile. Well, what I’m going to tell her over dinner certainly isn’t going to endear her to him.

  I offer her a drink, and then the three of us end up sitting in the living room. Based on the tense body language of Lando and Parker, I’m assuming there’s an awkward silence going on. Hey, there’s a bonus of being deaf: no such thing as awkward silence. But those musings will have to wait. Right now, I need to pull up my big boy pants and tell my sister that I’m moving approximately twelve hundred miles away. And on top of that, I’ll likely be traveling around frequently on tour with Lando so who knows where I’ll be half the time.

  Lando starts telling Parker about bungee jumping, and her eyes go wide, her gaze turning toward me with surprise.

  You jumped off a bridge?

  I give her a nervous smile and nod. I’m sure she’s going to have an opinion about that kind of activity. Instead of a lecture, she gets up and pulls me into another hug.

  I’m proud of you, she tells me, and my mouth falls open.

  You are? I thought you might be mad.

  I couldn’t possibly be mad about you living again. I love every version of you, but I’ve kind of missed my boneheaded, impulsive brother.

  I look at Lando for guidance on how to respond, but his face is blank. Duh, that was all too much for him to follow just yet with sign language.

  I’m moving to New York, I blurt. Can you blurt something in sign language? It felt like a blurt.

  Parker rears back like I’ve slapped her.

  “You what?” she says, and I cringe.

  Are you yelling?

  She closes her eyes and rubs her forehead, and I wait for her to gather her composure. I chance another look at Lando who’s looking between my sister and me like he can’t decide if he’s supposed to get involved or not. I give him a small shake of my head and a reassuring smile.

  When Parker opens her eyes again, there’s more of a resigned sadness in them than anger or surprise.

  Are you really moving? You hardly know this guy.

  I can’t explain it, but it feels right. What have I got to lose? A shitty job? A shitty apartment? If things go south, I’ll come back. But I don’t see this thing falling apart. He’s The One; I can feel it.

  She rolls her eyes and shakes her head and then takes a deep breath.

  I don’t know when you suddenly became a hopeless romantic. But I don’t get the sense I can talk you out of this. Just know I’m there for you anytime you need to come home. And I’ll put my foot up his ass for good measure if he hurts you.

  Thanks, sis.

  She waves off my thank you.

  Have you told Mom [RC1]yet? she asks after a minute.

  I’m planning to text her tonight. I doubt she’ll think much of it. Not like we spend much time together as it is.

  True.

  After one more hug, Parker tells Lando the same thing she told me about putting her foot up his ass, and he assures her he won’t do anything to earn that.

  I pull out the to-do list I made on my phone and cross out tell Parker. Now I just have to quit my job, get out of my lease, and pack my shit.

  Lando told me we didn’t have to be in New York until the end of February since that’s when they’ll have to be ready to either sign a new contract or not. But now that I’ve decided to move, I’m looking forward to taking that step, moving forward and starting a new adventure.

  A few hours after Parker leaves, Lando and I lay cuddling on the couch. Lando taps my shoulder, and I tilt my head to see whatever he wants to say.

  “I want to get a tattoo.”

  I consider grabbing my phone from the table to text the question, but decide I can’t be bothered.

  “What do you want to get?”

  “I want you to pick something for me. One of your favorite quotes.”

  My eyes go wide. Lando wants to get one of my favorite quotes tattooed on himself?

  “That seems like a big commitment. What if you hate the quote and we break up?”

  “I won’t hate it and we won’t break up.”

  “Fine, let me think about it. Picking a quote to go on my own body is one thing, picking one for someone else is entirely different.”

  Lando nods firmly and pulls my head back down against his chest, effectively ending the conversation.

  Track 29: Side A

  New York Dreaming

  Dawson

  Two weeks after I told Parker I was moving and we’re getting off a plane at JFK in New York City. It was depressingly painless to quit my job and break my lease. Aside from Parker, it was way too easy to pick up and leave the place I’ve called home almost my entire life.

  Lando reaches for my hand, and I lace my fingers through his.

  Ready? Lando signs after we grab our bags from the baggage carousel. He had convinced me to pack and ship most of my stuff so all I had to bring with was a small suitcase of clothes for the next few days until the rest of my things arrive.

  Ready, I agree. As far as I can remember, I’ve never been to New York. From what I’ve learned over the past month, I’m sure there was a time when I would’ve been excited to experience all that New York has to offer. Right now, all I’m feeling is a little queasy. The words New York in my calendar really don’t capture the reality of how huge this feels. But when Lando’s finger tighten in mine again, I know I can do this.

  When we step out of the airport, I expect to have to flag down a taxi or maybe call for an Uber. Instead, we’re met by someone Lando seems to know, who leads us to a black SUV with dark tinted windows.

  “This is my regular driver, Remy,” Lando tells me, and Remy offers me his hand to shake. The man surprises me by signing hello after we shake hands.

  Nice to meet you, I sign, and Remy blushes.

  “Sorry, I only learned one or two signs before I came to pick you guys up. I’ll learn more though, I promise.”

  He learned ASL for me?

  Lando puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head. Then he ushers me into the car.

  The city passes by in a blur of people and buildings through the dark tinted windows. Lando and Remy seem to be holding a conversation, but I don’t bother to try keeping up. Instead, I content myself to lay my head on Lando’s shoulder and watch the city pass by.

  I wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d come the first time Lando invited me. Would it have worked out back then, or were we both too young and immature to do things right?

  The car comes to a stop in front of a large, gleaming building, and Lando gives my hand another squeeze.

  “Home sweet home.”

  I blink up at the building as we step out of the car. It’s…intimidating. There’s a doorman who opens the door to the opulent lobby of the building, and I start to think I may be in a little over my head here.

  The elevator doors open right into Lando’s penthouse, and I gasp. I’m not sure what I was picturing but holy shit. You could fit three of my houses inside this place.

  “Wow,” I mutter. I can feel Lando behind me as I take in the floor to ceiling windows, the expensive furniture, the gleaming appliances.

  When I finally turn back to face him with wide eyes, he gives me a sheepish smile and strokes his beard.
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  “I know it’s really cold and impersonal. We can decorate together, anything you want.”

  I knew Lando was rich, but it was abstract before like the size of the sun—you know it’s massive, but you never think about it because it isn’t relevant to your life. Now that it’s staring me in the face, I’m not sure what to do with it.

  It’s been weeks since I’ve looked at Lando and thought of him as a rock star. But standing in his home, evidence of his wealth and fame everywhere, it’s difficult not to think about it.

  “Hey.” Lando steps in front of me, his gaze holding mine. “This stuff isn’t me. The person you’ve seen for the past month, that’s me. Please don’t let this change how you see me.” There’s genuine fear in Lando’s eyes, and that shakes me out of my stunned assessment of his place.

  I was just surprised. Everything’s fine, I text him to reassure him once I get my wits about me again.

  He gives me the grand tour, and it only takes stepping into the bathroom for me to warm up to the place. There’s a huge jacuzzi bath and a shower with six shower heads. His bedroom—our bedroom—has me drooling as well with a king size bed soft enough to sink into and sheets that must be approximately a billion-thread count. They’re so soft, they feel like butter against my skin when I climb in to test it out.

  Lando crawls in beside me and smiles. “You like it?”

  I nod and tilt my face up for a kiss, which he offers easily. I’m not sure what I must’ve done right in a past life to end up making out with a rock star in a bed that probably cost some ten thousand dollars, but I’m glad I did.

  Lando

  When we make it back to the living room after the tour of the place, I spot my bass guitar in its stand beside the couch. My fingers itch to play again. I don’t think I’ve gone a month without playing since I first learned how.

  “Come here,” I sit down and pat my lap. Dawson climbs on without hesitation. I situate him so there’s enough space for my bass guitar, and then I grab it off the stand. Dawson cocks his head curiously. I take one of his hands and place it on the bass and put the other against my throat, and then I start to play. I know it’s not the same as being able to hear the songs I’ve written for him, but I want him to be able to feel the music and to know it’s for him.