More Than Maybe

by Erin Hahn

  “Wow, it’s…”

  “Pretentious?” he says dryly.

  I snort. “I was going to say big. It’s hard to tell if it’s pretentious yet, but I would venture anything seems uppity compared to the dive that is the Loud Lizard.”

  Luke exhales slowly, taking it in. “He acts like he’s not, but I think he’s still annoyed with me.”

  “Because of the song?”

  His gaze finds mine. “The song, the disregard for his latest career choice, the refusal to plug his club on our podcast, me, in general.”

  “He loves you, though.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  “I get the impression that Charlie’s a good guy. He’ll come around. He’s just disappointed.”

  “D’you think he’s right?”

  I’m already shaking my head. “Luke, no. It’s like when you say you’re cold and someone else tries to tell you it’s hot. It doesn’t matter what they think; you feel cold. It doesn’t matter how talented he thinks you are, and believe me, Luke, you’re … exceptional, but if you don’t want to perform, you shouldn’t. What do you want to do?”

  He faces me full on and takes my hands in his. He’s not that much taller than I am, so I can look straight into his eyes. I search them, losing myself easily in the calm gray blue. I’m feeling dizzy, but his hands are holding me steady.

  “I want to write songs.”

  I smile. “That sounds perfectly you.”

  He tilts his head. “You don’t think it’s a waste?”

  “Never. Unless you decide one day you want to be the voice behind your lyrics. Then seize the moment, Greenly.”

  The corner of his lips draws into a lopsided smile, and I’m somehow attached to the movement. At first, I think I’m going to kiss that one little spot where his smile is still quirked. But the closer I get, the more I want every bit of his mouth.

  Every song lyric about tasting someone cycles in my brain, and I’m so curious to taste Luke Greenly. Which is super weird, I know. I’ve barely kissed anyone ever, and I’ve certainly never tasted them, but … oh my gosh, he’s moving closer.

  He’s so close that, despite his frames, I can see the navy specks in his irises, and navy has always been my favorite color and I wonder if this very moment is why.

  “Vada?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and I can smell the hot chocolate on his breath. It’s delicious. When I swallow, it’s loud in my ears.

  “Yeah?”

  “D’you think … I mean, is it okay if I…”

  I can’t speak because I don’t want to waste my mouth on words when I can close the distance between us and show him just how okay it would be if he kisses me.

  Or, I suppose, when I kiss him, because that’s what happens.

  At first, we’re all soft, closed lips and tentative fingertips. Like butterfly wings or a brush of feathers against sensitive skin. But then there’s a shift, and my skirt floofs between us as his hands circle my waist in a way that feels like he’s possessing me.

  I don’t hate it.

  I possess him right back, sliding the palms of my hands up his jacket, over his shoulders and around his neck, my fingers tangling in the corn silk blond hair at his nape as his lips open up and gently pull my bottom lip between them.

  Oh my gosh.

  Something in me comes alive at the sensation of his warm cocoa mouth, cautiously insistent, and almost inside of mine, and well, since he’s there …

  Update: french kissing is the best thing ever.

  I don’t know why tongues make everything so much more … everything. But they do. It’s hot and wet and his hands are tangled in tulle and my legs are pressed to his and my heart is thudding in the back of my throat but I can feel his heart beating in his neck and now I want to kiss his neck because I want to feel what that is like and I do and did he just make that sound or did I? Why would you ever do anything else when you could spend every moment of every day kissing Luke?

  Every moment before now has been a wasted opportunity, and when I’m done kissing Luke, I will be having a stern talk with myself about that.

  Too soon, he pulls back, grinning like an idiot. His mouth is red-stained, and a thrill of pride rushes straight to my toes because I did that. I’m sure my mouth matches, idiot grin and all. We stand there, inches apart, on a chilly, darkened street, smiling at each other, me dressed like a country music ballerina and he like the skater boy he is and then there’s applause?

  Luke’s head slowly turns, his smile freezing as he takes in our audience.

  “Shite,” he murmurs, and the cuss has my mouth watering all over again. What is wrong with me? My entire body is buzzing with awareness, and I’m so baffled and in love with the feeling.

  I lick my lips surreptitiously in the hope that there is enough of his taste lingering to cool my jets.

  There’s not.

  His eyes are wide, but he must read something in my expression, because his mouth quirks in an adorably proud way. “Vada,” he says, his eyes laughing. “God, you’re beautiful. We need to get off this street, though.”

  I follow his gaze to the crowd gathered in front of the trendy collegiate bar called 21 across the street. “We’ve been caught by the smokers,” I say.

  “I’m afraid we have a bit of a walk of not-quite-shame, but—”

  I take his hand impulsively and throw it in the air like we’re on final curtain call. “On three,” I say. “One, two…” Together we bow, to wild enthusiasm. Some smarty yells, “Encore!” and I’m not gonna lie, I’m tempted, but Luke shakes his head.

  “Let’s go, you little exhibitionist.”

  The nickname pulls me up short. “Oh God,” I say. “I didn’t even think. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to…”

  There’s a wrinkle between his eyes as he tries to follow, but when it finally dawns, he shakes his head. “Ah. No, not the same. You didn’t post that on Instagram. You weren’t half attending to your social media while kissing me. Were you?” He lifts a single blond brow.

  “Please, I couldn’t have told you my name if you’d asked me while you were kissing me.”

  That was clearly the correct response. He wraps my hand in his and keeps walking. “Excellent.”

  After a bit, I confess. “I could almost understand, though.” Luke looks curious, and I plow on. “I mean, that was literally the best moment of my entire life. I wouldn’t mind the memento.”

  His smile is relaxed and happy, and he brings my hand up to his mouth, pressing softly. “Best moment of my life, too. But you don’t need the memento. We’ll be repeating that, and often.”

  LUKE

  Hey, girl, are you a parking ticket?

  VADA

  Wut.

  LUKE

  ’Cause you’ve got fine written all over you.

  VADA

  Oh em gee.

  LUKE

  Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?

  VADA

  Luke.

  LUKE

  Hold on, hold on. I have one more. Pretend we’re in class for this next one, though, okay?

  VADA

  Okay. Important question. What class?

  LUKE

  U.S. history. Obviously.

  VADA

  Obviously.

  LUKE

  Do you have a pencil?

  VADA

  Y-yes?

  LUKE

  ’Cause I want to erase your past and write our future.

  VADA

  Why are you the way you are?

  LUKE

  You like me, though?

  VADA

  I do. YouTube: Taylor Swift feat. Ed Sheeran “End Game”

  LUKE

  YouTube: Taylor Swift “You Belong with Me”

  VADA

  Hot damn. Just when you thought he couldn’t get any cuter, the Brit sends you country music–Taylor Swift. *heart eyes*

  29

  LUKE

  The next mornin
g, I’m woken by my brother banging on my bedroom door. I’m only given half a second before he bursts in, shit-eating grin in place.

  “And how was your night? Took you an awful long time to drive Vada home.”

  I sit up, rubbing my face. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly noon. Mum wouldn’t let me in to steamroll you. Said it was ‘uncouth.’”

  “I’m surprised you’re awake, honestly.”

  Cullen sits down, uninvited. “Zack’s on his way. We’re going to head downtown and do all the classic post-prom stuff. Dinner and a show.”

  I snort. “Yeah, because most seniors are heading out to the theater to see something off-Broadway after the prom.”

  He nudges me halfheartedly. “Sorry about the other night. With the partners. I tried to warn you, but…”

  I shrug. “Eh, it wouldn’t have mattered. They would have tracked us down eventually. And Dad was right. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

  “Dad said that?”

  “Among other things.”

  “What kind of other things?”

  I reassure him. “Not those things. He hasn’t mentioned the club or advertising since. Maybe they got the point.”

  “Hopefully. Anyway, not to ruin your day, but I thought you ought to know … someone caught you and Vada making out in front of Dad’s club last night. It’s all over Instagram.”

  My stomach lurches, remembering the standing ovation we’d gotten from the smoking college students. “No shit.”

  “No shit,” he confirms. “It’s a bit grainy, but they recognized you. No one has tagged Vada yet, since your face, and likely tongue, are blocking her from view, so she should be safe.”

  “Ugh, you arse. Why didn’t you lead with that?”

  “Why? It’s not like you can do anything about it. I just wanted you to know. And to congratulate you on finally getting your act together. You guys looked really happy last night. I’m proud of you,” Cullen says in a lofty voice that makes me want to punch him. But I’m either too tired or too blissed out on Vada’s kisses to care. He continues, raising a well-shaped black brow. “The Cure? Excellent choice. Well done.”

  I flop back on my pillow with a groan, but secretly, I’m pleased as fuck. “Whatever. Go be all cultured with your boyfriend and leave me alone.”

  * * *

  That night, I sit in the crowd, slumped in my seat and wearing Cullen’s Detroit Tigers hat, which is maybe Zack’s now that I think on it, because there’s no logical reason my brother would know anything about baseball. At any rate, I’m definitely on the down low tonight. After being spotted by the camera-hungry smokers, I’m prepared.

  I didn’t tell a soul Vada would be performing tonight, but I couldn’t stand the idea of staying away. She’s dancing to my music. How often does an artist get the opportunity to see someone respond to their work, live and in color?

  Which sounds like a very sophisticated and creative and, I don’t know, noble reason to show up. Really, I just want to see her. I know. I saw her last night. I kissed her last night.

  I want—need—to kiss her again.

  That should be enough. A kiss should have released this mountain of tension and chemistry between us, and all it did was make me want her more. It ought to have tided me over a few days. Instead, I barely slept last night. Could barely think today. I wasn’t kidding when I told her I was saving that picture of her in the dress to desensitize myself to her.

  That’s legit.

  I’m kind of an idiot for her.

  Several dancers from her class take the stage. Thank God they are doing the dance class first. I don’t plan to stay all night. Even though I’m not performing, I have sympathy hives just thinking of getting up in front of all these eyes and having my hard work assessed, live.

  Madame whatever-her-name-is finally calls up Vada. She’s dressed in a simple black pair of loose-fitting linen pants and a loose-fitting black tunic, and she looks radiant under the lights. I suck in my breath as the song starts, hearing the familiar chords.

  Her interpretation is incredible. I watch, rapt, my breath held in as she slowly removes the tunic and pants, revealing a simple black one-piece bodysuit. It’s not meant to be seductive but like she is removing a part of herself. The song is about shedding others’ expectations and being your own person, and I know without her telling me that it’s not so much a piece of her but a piece of him, Marcus, that she’s discarding. She’s gleaming and glowing, her pale skin a striking contrast against the dark curtains and stage. An apparition borne out of my words. As my voice sings about taking a risk and fighting fears, she spins across the entire stage, tossing expectations away. Ignoring the weariness of the world. Fuck the rest of the world.

  Fuck ’em.

  A smile spreads across my face as I watch her, so proud of her and what, or who, she’s overcome. Grateful. To witness this moment. I might have sung those words and even believed them, but I realize I thought more of what they would mean for her. All my bullshit about standing up to Charlie and being my own man and whatever else was only that. Words. No action.

  The action is there on the stage. Vada’s left her entire self up there, bared to the world, and I’d hidden behind my keyboard and laptop.

  I’m not changing my mind about singing. I’m just saying … I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess maybe I want to be more like Vada. Listen to my own lyrics, probably.

  Take some risks.

  * * *

  After the show, I’m waiting in the lobby for Vada, stalking the exit since she doesn’t know I’m here, when my phone vibrates, one, two, three times. I shuffle the flowers I brought and dig it out.

  CULLEN

  Fuck. Where are you?

  CULLEN

  I swear I had nothing to do with this.

  CULLEN

  Pick up your phone. Seriously, where are you?

  CULLEN

  Luke. I’m not kidding. Answer your phone.

  I’m startled as it rings again, and I answer. “Christ, Cullen, I was”—Oh. I can’t tell him—“busy,” I finish quickly. The lobby is loud, and I automatically raise my hand to cover my other ear, only to hear the crinkle of the bouquet. “Hold on,” I say. “I can’t hear you. Let me find a quieter place.”

  I shove through the glass doors and out into the cool night. “Okay. Start over. What’s wrong?”

  “(Not) Warren backed out of Liberty Live.”

  My stomach clenches, and my arm sinks, flowers and all. “What? Why would they do that? It’s only a few days away!”

  “They got a better offer, apparently.”

  “What the fuck? They promised Vada.”

  “That’s not the worst part, Luke. The other bidder was the Bad Apple.”

  I groan. “No. No way. He wouldn’t do that. They aren’t even open yet.”

  “Apparently, they’re opening the same night.”

  I’m spinning, but I can’t tell if it’s all in my head. “What? But. That’s insane. They can’t do that. There’s no way. That’s such shady business. What is Dad thinking?”

  Cullen releases a slow breath over the phone, and it’s static over the roar in my ears as the implications of everything sink in.

  “I don’t know. He seemed surprised at my reaction. I don’t think he realized it was the same night. Or the same band. Maybe it was those idiot partners of his? He stopped listening to the podcast, apparently; it doesn’t matter. What matters is the benefit concert is fucked.”

  “Luke?” I swing around. Shite. It’s Vada.

  “I have to go, Cullen.” I crush the phone in my hand.

  “Hey,” she says. “I didn’t know you were here. Did you watch?”

  I swallow. Trying to grasp on to the feeling from a few minutes ago. Before I answered the phone, when I was high off Vada. But I can’t. I’m sunk. She’s sunk. The club is sunk. Liberty Live is sunk.

  And it’s my fault. All my fault. I was the one who’d bragged to Dad’s partners abo
ut the Loud Lizard getting (Not) Warren. I’m the one who’d told them exactly what they’d needed to take Liberty Live out—what would crush Vada’s plans.

  I muster up something that hopefully resembles a real smile. “Yeah. I did. You were brilliant.”

  She closes the distance between us. Her hair is already down around her shoulders, and the scent of her shampoo covers me, making my stomach pitch painfully toward the dirt below my feet. “Are those for me?”

  I look at the flowers in my hand. They don’t even feel attached to me anymore. I pass them to her. “Definitely. Vada.” I shake myself. I need to get this out first. Before the rest. Before I lose my chance. “That was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it—”

  “Twitching. I told you,” she jokes, but I shake my head, needing her to hear this.

  “No. Incredible. Moving. Spectacular. The best thing I’ve ever seen, and to have it to my song, it’s like … I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell you what that meant.”

  She presses a finger to my lips. Her eyes are bright in the glow of the parking lot lights. Then her lips are replacing her finger, and I can’t stop myself from kissing her back. Feeling every part of her against me, her scent overwhelming me. She tastes like nothing in this world, and I’m desperate to memorize it.

  For such a short time, she was mine.

  I pull back and wish I could smile at the slightly dazed look in her eyes. I clear my throat.

  “Vada, that was Cullen.”

  “Yeah?” she asks. Her hands are tracing circles on my shoulders, and they burn through my shirt.

  I step back, putting distance between us. “Vada, I have bad news.”

  She blinks, and her brows crease in concern.

  “The Bad Apple is opening the same night as Save Liberty Live.”

  “Oh,” she says. “That’s … well, not ideal. But we’ll have (Not) Warren, so—”

  I’m already shaking my head. “We won’t have (Not) Warren. The Bad Apple outbid us. They dropped out.”

  “What? Why would they—”

  “Vada, we were outbid by my dad.”

  Her face tightens. “Your dad? Charlie did this?”