Say Yes: Ian: Say Yes Series Book One

by Amelia Mae

  “Well, then, interview question,” she says, getting all official. “What kind of girls does the elusive Ian Brooks actually like?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, half-assing an answer, “Somebody cool. Chill. Can roll with the punches, that sort of thing.” He tries to excuse himself.

  She slips a business card into his palm. “In case you change your mind,” she whispers as she breezes away.

  “Cora. Cora!” Dylan says, dragging me back to reality.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I ask.

  “What’s your favorite Say Yes song and why?” asks the overly friendly reporter.

  “Oh, um, I like Rough Morning,” I tell him, looking around for Ian.

  “And why?” he prods.

  I spot Ian, standing by himself, the business card in hand. I expect to see him toss it into the trash, but instead he tucks it into his pocket.

  Maybe he’s not as “all in” as Dylan thinks.

  Ugh, I hate how jealous I am. This woman did nothing wrong.

  “I don’t know…” I say carelessly. “It’s… catchy. Excuse me. Ladies’ room,” I mutter as I shift past Dylan and the reporter, my composure dwindling more and more by the second.

  The ladies’ room is a single stall, so, thankfully, I won’t run into anyone.

  I fix my makeup, mad at myself. Mad that I let this one little incident get to me. Mad that I’m almost thirty and standing in a bathroom stall, crying over a boy like a damn teenager.

  Cora, we’ve been through this before. Ian’s going to be around other women. You have to stop being a jealous cow. You can’t fall apart every time this happens. He said you’re exclusive. You have no reason to doubt him.

  Except that he held onto the business card, I argue with myself.

  I hear a knock at the door.

  “Cora,” Ian says softly, “Can I come in?”

  “Give me a minute,” I answer. But the door opens anyway. Guess I forgot to lock it.

  “I wasn’t going to do anything with her,” he says, “I swear.”

  “But you kept the card,” I say.

  He takes the card from his pocket and flushes it down the toilet. “Look, it would’ve been weird if she caught me throwing it out.”

  I start, “I just… hate that she touched you. I hate watching other girls touch you.”

  “I won’t lie, Cora,” he says, gently as possible, “There was a time when I wouldn’t have minded her touching me. I would’ve taken her back to my hotel, fucked her and forgotten her name. Some people, well, most people are still used to that version of me. And they treat me like that.

  “But I told you, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You have to know that I don’t look at you the way I’ve looked at other women in the past. There’s something real here.”

  That makes me feel a little better. “God, Ian. I knew when I got back in to the dating game that it would be hard. I mean, a lot’s changed since high school.”

  “I can pick you up in my old, beat up Toyota and take you to the movies if you want,” he laughs.

  I ramble. “I’m serious. This isn’t baby steps back into the dating world. I’ve been pushed off the deep end and I’m swimming with sharks. And I know that we’re only friends with benefits and I know that it was my call, but sometimes, I have no idea what the fuck I’ve gotten myself into.

  “Except I do know that I can’t be the cool, chill girl all the time. Sometimes I’m gonna be the insecure girl with resting-bitch-face who falls apart in the bathroom over something stupid.”

  Ian takes a step towards me and puts his arms around my waist. He tucks my head under his chin and holds me close, like he did that first night.

  “I get it,” he says softly.

  “You get it?” I question. “You think I don’t know that it sounds crazy?”

  “It doesn’t,” he answers earnestly, “You’re being honest. Please. Always be honest with me. Even if you think you sound crazy. I promise you, you don’t.”

  I close my eyes and settle into him, feeling like a weight’s been lifted from my chest.

  “I’m asking a lot of you. We, the band, are asking a lot of you,” he says, “I get it.”

  I let out a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you.”

  A few minutes later, Ian leaves the bathroom. I give him a minute, staggering our exits. I make sure the coast is clear and step out into the hallway, only to come face to face with the handsy woman from earlier.

  She smiles smugly. “Busted.”

  17

  Ian

  The story hits the tabloids the next morning. The headline is some clever play on Dylan Cotter’s girlfriend getting caught in the bathroom with his bandmate. It paints Cora out as some party girl slut and makes it seem like she’s caused enough bad blood between me and Dylan that the future of the band is in jeopardy.

  Only at the tail end of the article does it say that maybe, just maybe, Cora was having a tough moment and needed a friend for comfort and the encounter was totally innocent.

  But no one believes that. Not for a hot second. In their minds, we had sex in a bathroom stall right under Dylan’s nose.

  And, naturally, it was all Cora’s fault.

  We’re back on the bus en route to the next city and the band and Cora have been on the phone with our agents and PR all day. Nikki’s been texting nonstop.

  “Couple days and it will all blow over, don’t worry,” I tell Cora.

  “I know,” she says.

  Christian has been calling both to yell at us and to arrange that Dylan and Cora be seen at a variety of locations and amp up the PDA, which makes me sick to my stomach.

  So far, Cora’s been able to sneak into my hotel room every night without suspicion. And the bus is no problem Now, she and I aren’t to supposed to even stand near one another in public. This is going to suck.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” I say to Dylan, once Cora’s out of earshot.

  “I’ll live,” he replies, “But, really, it makes me look like a asshole that can’t keep his own girlfriend happy, so she goes running off to my friend for something she can’t get from me.”

  “I know.”

  “Not to mention that she’s gonna be painted out to be some slut while they probably won’t bat an eyelash at you,” he points out.

  I nod. It’s true. Fucking double standards.

  “We’ll be more careful. I promise. I won’t talk to her. I won’t even look at her when there’s cameras around.”

  “Do me a favor,” Dylan starts, “You and Cora take my turn tonight in the private room. We’re on the bus all night. Fuck her till you can’t stand the sight of each other. Get it all out of your system. That way you’ll be able to keep it in your pants when we get to the next show.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him.

  I shower, but don't bother getting dressed, returning to the main area of the bus with just a towel around my waist. Shawn and Jack are playing some 007 video game and Dylan is on his laptop.

  I find Cora in her bunk, on her phone.

  “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low.

  “Hi,” she replies. “Just texting Aya. She says hi.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s good. Just got her certification to be a pole dancing instructor.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  “Yeah.”

  I soften my gaze. “More importantly, how are you?”

  She sighs. “Not bad for Say Yes’s Yoko.” She gestures to her face and long, black hair. “Didn’t take people too long to come up with the comparison.”

  “It’ll die down.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish I could make you feel better,” I tell her. I’ve never wanted anything more than to take Cora’s pain away.

  “You showing up at my bunk in nothing but a towel is kind of helping,” she says with a smirk.

  I offer her my hand. “Come on. Dylan’s gifted us his turn in the private bedroom.
You’re all mine tonight.”

  She takes my hand, climbs down, and follows me into the bedroom.

  We close and lock the door. I put my arms around her, but she keeps her hands glued to her sides.

  She’s hesitant.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I feel guilty,” she says, “I don’t deserve to feel good right now.”

  “Of course you do. You deserve to feel good all the time.”

  She doesn’t believe me.

  I run my fingers through her hair. “Just sleep with me tonight,” I tell her.

  She rolls her eyes.

  “I mean it,” I say. I do mean it. I want her close to me. I want to get my arms around her and feel her body pressed up against mine. I want to hold her and make her feel safe.

  I’ve never wanted to do that with a girl before.

  Just sleep.

  Of course I wouldn’t turn her down if she changes her mind and demands sex.

  Fuck, it’d be so hot if she demands sex.

  I lie down on the bed and watch as Cora wriggles out of her jeans. She remains in her black tank top and red panties as she climbs in next to me and makes herself comfortable. She shivers and I wrap the comforter tightly around both of us.

  She purrs as she settles into my arms and drifts off to sleep.

  In the morning, I wake before she does and lie still, stroking her hair, watching her while she dozes on my chest.

  She looks peaceful. Like her stress has dissipated.

  I lie there, just being with her. Could be minutes. Could be hours. I don’t know or care.

  She blinks herself awake.

  I keep my voice low. “Morning.”

  She cracks a little smile. “Morning,” she replies. “What time is it?”

  “Ugh,” I grunt. I check my phone. “Around seven thirty. We have another hour before we have to get up.”

  Still sleepy, she runs her hand down over my stomach and presses her lips to my neck. It tingles. Her hand creeps lower and lower until she reaches my cock, which is sporting its usual morning semi.

  I harden immediately in her hand.

  I chuckle. “Baby, where are you going with this?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

  She continues to stroke me as she kisses and sucks on my neck.

  “What?” she says with false innocence, “I like morning sex.” She runs her thumb over the head, which is now weeping with pre-cum. She lowers her voice, “And I don’t think I’m the only one.”

  She shifts, so that she’s completely on top of me, in the perfect position to ride me. Oh, fuck yes. She takes off her tank top, letting her tits spill out. She lifts her hips and I slide her red panties over her ass, down her legs and off.

  “I like those,” I tell her.

  “Me too,” she says, “My favorite color.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asks, in that sultry, sex-kitten voice that makes my dick throb.

  “Black,” I tell her, barely able to register the question, let alone choke out an answer. “But I thought you hated cheesy get-to-know-you questions.”

  “I do. So I’ll ask a non-cheesy one.”

  “Okay, but..” I stammer, “The blood isn’t exactly in my brain right now.”

  I can’t help but realize that her nipples are dangerously close to my face. I take one in my mouth and suck, then move to the other, making her groan, low and throaty.

  “Favorite sex position?” she asks, finally.

  I know that answer immediately.

  I scoop her up, under her ass and flip her so that she’s on her back. I take one ankle and guide it over my shoulder and line up my cock with her entrance, teasing her with the head, hoping it’s as torturous for her as it is for me.

  “This one,” I tell her, “I get to be as deep inside you as possible.”

  “I like this one too,” she says, her breath heavy.

  She’s dripping wet, but I go slowly anyway, easing into her inch by inch. She moans loudly. Loud enough that the other guys definitely hear her. I silence her with a kiss as she arches her back, letting me push inside her just a little bit deeper.

  She bucks and rides me from beneath, matching my movements. Every moan and cry makes me want to ram her harder, kiss her more ferociously.

  Ruin her for any other man.

  I watch her stomach tighten. Her thighs shake.

  I hear her breath go ragged as she gasps out my name.

  I feel her pulse and constrict around my cock as the orgasm threatens to take over her body.

  “Come for me, baby,” I hiss, “Come all over me.”

  At that, Cora comes, soaking my dick and I practically roar.

  I see white as I crash down with her.

  I pour everything I have into her, until my body is completely spent and I can’t really feel my limbs. I might be crushing her, but I can’t find the strength to move.

  Cora holds my head close to her chest.

  I feel her racing heart. I listen as it slows to its normal pace.

  I take her face in my hands and kiss her.

  18

  Cora

  For the next few weeks, Dylan and I plant ourselves in front of the faces of several social media mavens and put on a show for them. We amp up the PDA. Nothing tacky. Nothing overkill. Not so much that we look like we’re overcompensating for the speculation that our love is on the rocks.

  A picture of us sipping champagne at a club after a show surfaced in a tabloid and another shot of us holding hands and trying to ignore the cameraman appeared in a teen magazine. Both images have captions commenting on how hot we are together or how cozy we look and basically imply that we’re always looking for the nearest place to sneak off to and fuck.

  Dylan and I had staged an “intimate” breakfast at the hotel earlier, him, disheveled, with his sunglasses indoors on and me with pretty messy hair, trying to play like this is the morning after.

  And, since I’m not allowed to creep out of Dylan’s room and tiptoe into bed with Ian, the messy hair was unfortunately not sex hair. It’s been three very long days since Ian and I could spend the night together and I’m going a little bit crazy. I think I might be a sex addict. Dylan and I stayed in separate queen beds and I had a fitful night sleep.

  It’s all phony and ridiculous, but it’s our job. Provide bait for the paparazzi.

  But they take it.

  And so do the fans. Dylan is bombarded with fans, mostly young women, who want his autograph, or a picture, or a kiss.

  Or his love child.

  He’s gracious with them. He really was made for this kind of life.

  A few even want my autograph. I’m flattered, but it’s awkward. I don’t know how many pictures were taken of us eating breakfast this morning.

  But it’s doing the trick. No one remembers the bathroom incident. Christian is happy. Nikki isn’t freaking out.

  According to our insta-life, everything’s fine.

  Better than fine. Perfect.

  My actual life, however, is a mixed bag.

  I was able to do a few auditions via Skype, but didn't hear back from any of the casting agents. I went out for a small role in a feature film that my agent was able to arrange for me during our stay in Chicago, but they wanted someone with a different look and more experience. Obviously, I can’t audition for any theater work as we aren’t spending more than a few days in any one city.

  I had one audition back in Los Angeles for a role in a television crime drama that would have been great for me. I considered asking Ian to fly me back for a few days to take it, but, honestly, touring is getting so exhausting that I didn’t think I’d have the energy to deliver a quality performance in front of the casting director, so I just cancelled.

  I’m getting a little disappointed in myself.

  We have several long days on the bus between shows, which is great because with no cameras around, I can actually be with Ian. Like,
he can actually put his arm around me when we’re hanging out with the band. We can pull the curtains closed and tuck ourselves away in a bunk. Or lock ourselves in the private room. We don’t have to pretend for anybody.

  But, at the same time, days on the road also get a little trying. I hear the same jokes. Play the same video games. Have the same conversations. I’m going a little stir-crazy.

  I’m relieved to get to New York City.

  Say Yes has a show later and the guys are taken to soundcheck and a couple of meetings, so I have the afternoon off from fake-girlfriend-land. I get to spend a couple hours alone in the hotel room, watch television and order room service. Sounds like a dream come true right now.

  My phone goes off with a text alert.

  Aya: How’s life on the road? Looks like you’re living it up. What are you doing right now?

  Cora: I’m in a hotel room watching reruns of Frasier. Very rock and roll.

  Aya: You were on TMZ last night.

  Cora: Great. What are they saying about me this time?

  Aya: I wouldn’t worry about it. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.

  Cora: Right.

  Aya: And I’m not watching for you.

  Cora: Hmmm?

  Aya: Shawn.

  Cora: I knew it! You hooked up at the after party!

  Aya: No, we didn’t.

  I’m shocked.

  Cora: But you like him though.

  Aya: I do. But… ugh! I was nervous, so I drank a couple shots and got drunk and I was such a fucking dork in front of him. He was so nice and crazy hot and I wrecked everything.

  Cora: You probably didn’t.

  Aya: Trust me. I really fucked up.

  Cora: Shawn’s the most chill person I know. I’m sure he wouldn’t hold it against you.

  Aya: It’s too late for a re-do now. He hasn’t mentioned it, has he?

  Cora: Honestly, we don’t get much time alone with him.

  Aya: Spending all your time in bed with Ian? Nice.

  Cora: I’m mostly being led around and “being seen” with Dylan. But I’ve been spending time with Ian too, so I can’t complain.