by Lauren Rowe
“Of course, you’re welcome here,” Reed says. He and Georgina offer their condolences about my grandmother and take seats at the kitchen table.
Amalia says, “Adrian, do you mind if I tell Reed about your house hunting?”
“Feel free.”
Amalia gives Reed the scoop, after which Reed enthusiastically offers his assistance, even without any prompting by Amalia.
“Wow, Reed, thanks,” I say. “I appreciate that.”
“Don’t look so surprised,” Reed says. “I told you in New York I’d owe you a personal favor if you appeared in Alessandra’s music video. Well, consider this that favor.”
“Don’t tell Laila about this, okay? I want to get a kickass place as a surprise and invite her to move in with me when the show is over.”
“Aw,” Georgina says. “That’s so sweet.”
I bite my lip. “Hey, Georgina, I feel like I should mention . . . I didn’t actually hit on you at that party. I mean, I did. But on a dare. It was Kendrick’s birthday, and Kendrick, Kai, and I have played ‘Birthday Truth or Dare’ for years now. We all knew Reed wanted you, even back then, so Kendrick thought it’d be funny to make Reed want to murder me.”
Reed chuckles.
“Sorry,” I say to Georgina. “That’s in no way meant to imply you’re not worthy of being hit on. But I know better than to step on the big boss’s toes. Plus, regardless of Reed, I’d already seen Laila that night. And from then on, she was the only one for me.”
“Oh my gosh,” Georgina says, swooning with Amalia. “That’s so lovely.”
“Reed,” Amalia says. “May I ask a favor of you?”
“Anything.”
“When Adrian has found his new home, could you spare me once a week for a few months, so I can get him and Laila nice and settled?”
“Sure,” Reed says. “As long as he doesn’t try to steal you away from me.”
“I’ve already tried, repeatedly,” I admit. “And she keeps saying she’ll never leave you.”
“Never,” Amalia confirms.
“That’s a loyal woman right there,” Reed says.
“And wise, too,” I say. “Why do you think I keep trying to steal her?”
We sing Amalia’s praises for a bit longer, until, finally, Reed gets up from the table and extends his hand to Georgina.
“Make yourself at home,” Reed says to me. “Stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks. I’ll be heading back home the second Laila is back in town.”
Reed stops in the doorway with Georgina. “Hey, I could move a few meetings around tomorrow so we can check out some places, if you’re free.”
“Free as a bird. I’d love it.”
Reed looks at Georgina. “Are you free tomorrow?”
“I can make myself free.”
“Please do. You make everything more fun.” Reed flashes his fiancée a beaming smile, the likes of which I’ve never seen on his face before. And in reply, Georgina pats Reed’s scruff playfully, causing the huge diamond on her finger to sparkle under the kitchen lights.
Out of nowhere, the sparkle on Georgina’s finger has me imagining me slipping a similar rock onto Laila’s hand. Not only asking Laila to live with me in whatever fancy house Reed helps me find, but to marry me, too. Suddenly, I realize the idea of proposing to Laila doesn’t even freak me out! Actually, whoa, yes, it does. But only a little bit. Not as much as I would have thought. And that’s a pretty mind-blowing development.
“. . . or in the hills?” Reed says from across the kitchen.
“Huh?” I say. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”
Reed says, “I asked if you want to live by the coast or in the hills.”
“Coast.”
“Okay, I’ve got the perfect real estate agent in mind. I’ll text her now and tell her to drop all her silly plans for tomorrow.”
“Thanks so much, Reed.”
“What’s your budget, so I can tell her?”
“You know my financial situation better than anybody. What should my budget be?”
“With all the exposure you’re about to get from the show, the new album and your duet with Laila will both be smash hits. So, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now, in the near future, I think it would be very realistic for you to get a place in the range of seven to nine mill.”
“Whoa. Seriously? I bought a house for my grandma in Chicago for five mill, and I had to take out a huge loan.”
“You won’t have to do that this time. How much is the show paying you?”
“Zippo.”
“What?”
“They’re not paying me a dime. They were initially going to pay me four mill for the season. But through a series of events I don’t particularly want to talk about, I’m now making exactly zero dollars for being a judge on the show.”
Reed looks flabbergasted. “What the fuck, Savage?”
I laugh, realizing I’m not mad in the slightest about the money I’ve paid to Laila, or about the money I’m letting the show keep to ensure Laila remains on the show. In fact, I’d do it all again, if it would ensure I’d be right back here in my life, head over heels in love with Laila, wanting to move in with her. “What can I say? I traded money for love,” I say. “And I’d do it again.”
Reed chuckles. “Goodnight, Savage.”
“Goodnight.”
Reed and Georgina exit the kitchen. And when they’re gone, Amalia turns to me and says, “Adrian, I don’t know what you did to ‘trade money for love,’ but whatever it was, I know Mimi is smiling down on you, feeling very, very proud of you for doing exactly that.”
Twenty-Nine
Savage
“Savage!” Laila shrieks happily from the foyer of our massive reality TV mansion.
At the sound of Laila’s voice, the ache that’s been ravaging my heart since Mimi’s death and Laila’s departure on her trip feels instantly soothed. In fact, as Laila gleefully screams my name again, my heart feels as gleeful as she sounds. I feel happy. Relieved. And certain of the path I’ve been sprinting down the past couple days in Laila’s absence.
Having returned to this house from Reed’s only a few minutes ago, I’ve been sitting here on the couch, excitedly skimming the offer Reed’s real estate agent just submitted for me on the house of my dreams. It was a dream I didn’t even know I had a week ago, but now that I’ve seen that house, and Laila is back, and I can so clearly envision how happy I could be with Laila, I know in my bones Mimi was right all along. This is what I’ve always needed and wanted. Love. Acceptance. Trust. Family. Stability. Grace. And I’m going to have it all with Laila.
Quickly, I slam my laptop closed and sprint through the house toward the foyer. When I get there, I find a tanned and sparkling Laila, surrounded by far too many pieces of luggage for her short trip to Mexico. When she sees me, she barrels to me, and then launches herself into my waiting, open arms like a missile. Somehow, I catch her without falling over, and as she wraps her legs around my waist and peppers my face with kisses, I squeeze her tightly, clutching her to me, groping her ass, breathing her in, and, finally, kissing her deeply, without holding back. For the first time since Mimi died, I suddenly, in this moment, feel like me again. Only better. I feel at peace now. I feel whole, despite the Mimi-sized hole in my heart.
I love you, I think. But what I say is, “I missed you.” Once I start saying the magic words to Laila, I’m sure they’ll pop out of my mouth as easily as “good morning” and “goodnight.” I certainly had no problems saying them to Mimi. And I say them to Sasha all the time, too. But saying them to Laila feels different. Monumental. I want to be sure, totally sure, when the words come out of my mouth, they’ll be met in kind.
“I missed you, too,” she gasps out.
We’ve got plenty to talk about. I’m sure she’ll tell me all about her trip and show me photos. And I’ll tell her that I’ve been doing a lot better, in terms of handling my grief about Mimi. I’m sure I’ll tell her some of
the cool stuff Reed’s got lined up for my band’s album release next week. But right now, I don’t want to talk. I need to get inside her.
I put her down where we’re standing, pull up her sundress and yank down her undies, grab her hot little ass, and indulge in the pussy that owns me. When she’s wet and moaning, even before she’s come, I back her up to the nearest wall, pull my cock out of my jeans, pick her up, and impale her. I’ll make sure she gets hers before we’re done. But in this moment, I feel a primal, urgent need to get inside her and fuck her hard. To claim her by leaving my load inside her and marking her as mine.
My thrusts are animalistic and raw. With each hard thrust of my body, we both growl and grunt. Moan and groan. She takes my bottom lip between her teeth and grits out, “Yes!” And I fuck her with everything I’ve got. With each movement of my body, I’m slamming into the farthest reaches of hers. Invading her. Conquering. With each thrust, I’m leaving a piece of myself behind. Giving all that I am to her. All that I could be, if only she’ll promise to love me in return. Now that my walls are down and my heart is bare and vulnerable—beating, totally unprotected, in Laila’s palms—I realize just how guarded and scared I was before now. How much I held back, for fear of rejection. The same rejection I thought I’d suffered during the last month of the tour.
“Laila,” I grit out, impaling her against the wall with every ounce of force I can muster. I’ve fucked her against a wall before. And those times, I’ve whispered into her ear, “I’m pinning you against the wall because you’re a work of art.” But this time, there’s no way I could make a quip like that. In this moment, I can’t be smooth or funny. Dirty talk isn’t a possibility. I’m raw. Wrecked. In love. Desperate. I need her to understand I’m hers now. Mind, body, and soul.
“Adrian,” she replies. And the tone of her voice, the fact that she’s used my first name, for some reason, that one word has said it all. She’s mine. Every bit as much as I’m hers.
“I love you,” I choke out. “I love you, Laila.”
She bursts into tears. “I love you, too.” I feel her body rippling around mine. Milking mine.
A sensation of white-hot ecstasy consumes me, as my body quakes and convulses. When my body quiets down, I set Laila on her feet and kiss the hell out of her.
“How have you been doing?” she asks softly, cupping my face in her palms. And it’s plain from her tone she’s referring to my grief about Mimi.
“I’m a whole lot better, now that you’re here.”
“I shouldn’t have left you.”
“I insisted, remember? And, honestly, it was for the best. Being without you . . . it made my feelings so obvious. So indisputable. I don’t only want you, Laila. I need you. I love you. I can’t live without you. I can’t be happy without you. I can’t be me without you.”
Her eyes water. “I feel the same way. And it became so clear to me when we were apart. I realized . . .” She stops herself. “Actually, I have a much better way of telling you what I realized. During my trip, I wrote a little song that will tell you exactly what I realized.”
I smile. “You wrote a song for me?”
“Yes and no. I wrote a response to ‘Hate Sex High’—a slowed-down version with new lyrics. It’s your song, done my way.”
“Oh my God, Laila.”
“There was a piano at the hotel and I’d go down there every night and play for a bit before bedtime. You know me. My favorite way to unwind. And one night, when I was missing you so much, I started playing ‘Hate Sex High,’ just to feel closer to you. And when I got to my name in the song, I switched things up a bit. And, suddenly, all new lyrics for the entire song started flooding me. I jotted them down on my phone, so I could maybe sing you my version of the song one day, if ever I mustered the courage.” She chuckles. “I didn’t think in a million years I’d be playing the song for you right after returning home from my trip. But now, I can’t stand the thought of this moment passing without me playing it for you.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
She grabs my hand and leads me into the living room. While Laila takes a seat at the baby grand, I stand next to the piano, watching her, my heart crashing with anticipation.
Smiling, Laila lays her fingers onto the keys. “Wow. This feels even more nerve-wracking than performing on Sylvia.”
“Take your time.”
She looks into my eyes for a long beat, apparently mustering her nerve. “I can’t believe I’m about to play this for you. I’m so happy, Savage. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
We share a huge smile. Until, finally, Laila begins to play her song:
[Click here to listen to Laila performing “True Love High” for Savage]
True Love High
Yeah, yeah
I’ve fallen, fallen deep into love with you
I’m feeling something so beautiful
You saw me with him at the show
I was a liar
I played it cold to your face
I was on fire
I said I was his all along
Knew you wouldn’t like it
I wanted you desperately
But wanted you only on your knees
I’ve fallen, fallen deep into love with you
And I’m feeling something so beautiful
I’ve fallen, fallen deep into love with you
And I’m feeling something so beautiful
La la la la la I love you, I love you
La la la la la la I love you, I love you
I saw you so clearly that night
Like it was the first time
You made me a bowl of fish soup
And sang with a sweet smile
I swore not to catch any feelings
But couldn’t resist
Now I’m a slave to you, boy
And you’re stuck with this bitch
I’ve fallen, fallen deep into love with you
And I’m feeling something so beautiful
I’ve fallen, fallen deep into love with you
And I’m feeling something so beautiful
La la la la la I love you, I love you
La la la la la la I love you, I love you
You fucked with my body, baby
Then stole my heart
I said you meant nothing to me
I was yours from the start
Yours from the start
Yours from the start
All along, been chasing a
True Love High
As Laila sings out the last high note of her song, I feel a tsunami of love and certainty crashing into me. Pure euphoria. But even more than that, I feel a deep sense of completeness. I’ve found the great love of my life. The woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, without a doubt. I’ve found true love, exactly the way she just sang to me.
I scoop Laila up in my arms and kiss her deeply. And then, as words of love and adoration flow from my lips, as the last remnants of fear and indecision leave my body, as certainty and peace and grace flood me, I pick my woman up like a bride, carry her up the staircase and to our bedroom, and worship her body for the next two hours, stopping only when we’re both too physically exhausted to keep going.
Thirty
Savage
“Wake up!” Laila shouts. She taps on my forehead. Tap, tap, tap. “Time to wake up, Adrian! Wakey, wakey!”
I squint at her. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I have a surprise for you!”
I look at the clock on the nightstand. It’s just past eleven in the morning. Which wouldn’t be an unreasonable wake-up time, normally. But, in this instance, Laila and I stayed up until sunrise, talking and making love. Rummaging through the refrigerator. Sharing a contraband bottle of whiskey while soaking naked in our hot tub. Basically, reveling in our true love high.
“Laila, go back to sleep,” I mutter. “You can give me this ‘surprise’ later.”
“I can’t wait.�
�� Tap, tap, tap. “The most important part of my gift finally arrived a minute ago and I cannot wait another second to give it to you!”
I rub my eyes and yawn. “You got me a gift?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you and you sent me and my family to Cabo and treated us to the fanciest vacation, ever. Because paybacks are a bitch, bitch! So get up!”
I sit up. “I don’t need a present from you.”
“Too bad. I already had a little present in the works for you, when I left for Cabo. But while I was there, I realized it wasn’t nearly enough, so I started making some other arrangements. And now, I’ve finally got all of it and I can’t wait to give it to you!” She grabs my face and kisses me. “Stay right here and don’t move a muscle and don’t you dare go back to sleep!” She rustles my hair, squeals, and sprints out of the room, leaving me feeling dazed and confused and highly intrigued.
A moment later, Laila returns to the bedroom, carrying a large cube wrapped in bright paper, as well as a book-sized wrapped gift lying on top of the cube. She tosses the small gift onto the mattress and shoves the large cube at me. “Open this one first.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” I say.
“Fuck right off with that. I have more money than I know what to do with and a man I love with all my heart. Of course, I’m going to buy you a gift or two, especially after you sent me and my family on such an extravagant trip.”
“Laila, it was Cabo. Let’s not overstate the extravagance here. Plus, I sent you on that trip as a gift. Gifts don’t require payback.”
“Would you shut up and open my gift, motherfucker? I can spend my money any way I see fit, whether you like it or not. And what I want is to give my man this gift.”
“Jeez. So feisty.” Chuckling, I take the large gift and begin unwrapping it and soon discover it’s an old-school guitar amp.
