Say Yes: Shawn: Say Yes Series Book Two

by Amelia Mae

  “Because being on the road will drive us apart. She’s gonna see women throwing themselves at me and get jealous.”

  “That’s beyond cocky,” Nikki scoffs.

  “It’s true though. It’s what drove Torie away. It’s what ended all my other relationships,” I argue, “She’s gonna wonder if I’m being faithful to her and I’m gonna wonder the same thing. And then the fighting starts. Then the mind games. I’ve been through it all before. Just trust me. It won’t work.”

  Jack groans. “Of all the asinine…”

  Nikki puts a hand on his shoulder to quiet him. She looks at me thoughtfully.

  “Let’s put it this way,” she says, carefully, “How are you gonna feel when you break up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean how are you gonna feel when she’s not there when something funny happens and you want to tell someone? How are you gonna feel when she’s not in your bed at night?” she asks, “When she’s not waiting for you?”

  I think about it.

  “How would you feel if you never saw her again?”

  I look at the ceiling, then down at my shoes and let out a heavy sigh.

  I don’t want to find out.

  23

  Shawn

  I wake up on the floor of Jack’s hotel room with a mild hangover. He nudges me with his foot like a dead bug.

  I look up to see him wearing a black suit and his hair is slicked back. He looks like he’s going to a wedding.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Get up and take a shower,” he says, handing me a cup of shitty coffee as he helps me to my feet. “Want me to get your suit so you can change here and you won’t have to go back to your room?”

  I shake my head no. “Thanks,” I mutter as I chug the coffee and stumble into the shower.

  I reach my hotel room door just as Aya is leaving. She steps out of the room, into the hallway, turns to face me and… takes my breath away.

  She’s been primped and salon-polished in preparation for the wedding. She stands before me in a backless red dress. Her hair is done up. Her makeup is subtle and perfect.

  She looks like a fashion model.

  I’m fucking speechless.

  “Hi Shawn,” she says flatly.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her, picking my jaw up from the floor.

  “Thank you.” She remains expressionless. “Room’s all yours.”

  I nod.

  “Shawn,” she starts, “I don’t think we should tell everybody we’re ending things early. Not at the wedding.”

  “We’re ending things early?”

  She gets a pained look on her face. “The way I see it, we can end things and hurt a little now, or we can wait the two weeks, break up then, and hurt a lot more. I think this is easier, don’t you?”

  I don’t answer.

  She fusses with her dress. “I’ll let you get ready and meet you downstairs. We’ll pretend everything’s normal until Cora and Ian leave.”

  “Okay.”

  “And then I’m going to leave tonight too. I booked a flight back to LA.”

  “Please don’t,” I ask, “I’ll beg if I have to.”

  Sure, I’d started picturing life without Aya and as terrible as it sounded, I was able to stomach it because I didn’t think it was starting now.

  I take her hand and squeeze it. I try to haul her close to me, but she shirks and I back off. She can’t leave me. Not yet.

  “I’ll see you downstairs,” she says as she lets go and walks away.

  I close the door.

  I shave, fix my hair, and change into my suit.

  I give myself a once-over in the mirror. I look alright. Good, even.

  Almost good enough to be on Aya’s arm at a wedding even.

  My heart sinks.

  I sit in one of the few chairs in the tiny chapel, on the aisle. Jack is next to me. Cora’s mom is across from us and Dylan is next to her.

  Ian stands at the altar, a big smile on his face. He looks hopeful. Stars in his eyes.

  He looks like a fool in love.

  Nikki stands next to him in a black suit, a red rose boutonniere pinned to the lapel that matches her brother’s. She looks proud.

  The processional starts and we watch as Aya glides down the aisle, her dress sweeping the floor, carrying a bouquet of white flowers. She smiles delicately, not letting anyone know that she’s in pain.

  I try to do the same, but I’m hit with that same vision that I’d had last night. That it’s me standing up there. Watching Aya walk down the aisle. Staring into her eyes as an officiant pronounces her mine forever.

  And I shake the image away.

  It’s never going to happen.

  I’ve gone and made sure of that.

  Then the wedding march begins and we all stand to watch Cora. She looks beautiful in an off-white lacy dress. Her smile is as wide as her fiancé’s.

  They look at each other like they know what the other is thinking. And it’s more than I want to tear your clothes off and take you right here. It’s I’m always coming home to you and I belong with you and a million other gushy romantic things.

  It’s like… if everything he’d ever worked for disappeared. If the band broke up, his money was stolen, he got evicted from his apartment, and he could never play drums again, he’d still have Cora, so he’d be alright.

  As in love as I’ve ever thought I’ve been with any girlfriend, I’ve never felt that.

  Except maybe…

  Fuck, I can’t even make myself look at Aya.

  I still feel that letting her go is the right decision, but as I watch my friend profess his love for the woman who stole his heart, I’m crumbling on the inside.

  If I look at her, the woman who’s stolen mine, I’ll just lose it.

  24

  Aya

  The ceremony is short, but sweet and touching. Ian and Cora wrote their own vows and talked about how they never really thought they’d see the other after graduating high school, but they’re grateful that fate works in mysterious ways.

  The officiant pronounces them married.

  Ian leans in and whispers something to Cora that makes her smile and blush a little. Then he kisses her for what seems like forever and Cora’s mom wipes a tear from her eye.

  I look at Shawn. He’s tamed his usually wavy hair and wears that slate grey suit so well it should be illegal. He’s putting on a happy face, but his smile is waning.

  Then they head back down the aisle. Nikki and I follow them and all eight of us head to the restaurant for the reception dinner, where I’m of course seated next to Shawn.

  Thankfully between the many speeches, toasts, and rounds of glass-clinking to get Cora and Ian to kiss, there isn’t much of an opportunity for the guests to chat amongst ourselves.

  They’ve rented the small, elegant private room in the back of the restaurant and we’re served beautiful food and very good champagne, which I’ve decided to indulge in despite my better judgement.

  Around ten, Cora and Ian make their exit. They have a plane to catch tonight and they’ll wake up in Mexico to start their honeymoon. Cora’s mom has decided to stay in Vegas for another few nights and play the slots. She’s taken a strange liking to Dylan, who has volunteered to keep her company, and they leave for the casino. Jack and Nikki head out to a club.

  That leaves me and Shawn alone in the restaurant, polishing off the champagne and wedding cake as the staff begins the cleanup.

  “Are you ignoring me?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer honestly, “But I don’t know what to say to you either.”

  He finishes his glass. I assume he’s getting up to leave, but he reaches across the table for Jack’s abandoned drink.

  “You look beautiful,” he tells me again.

  “Thank you.” I swallow. “You look good too.”

  He does look good. Ridiculously good. Like a rocker boy who cleaned up nice for a GQ photo shoot.

  I can’t get ov
er his face clean-shaven. Usually he’s got a little stubble that prickles my face when he kisses me. Or feels rough against my thighs when he… Stop it, Aya. You put an end to that, remember?

  “Are you really leaving tonight?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Can I at least take you to the airport?” he asks.

  “I think it’s best if I just go alone,” I reply, “Easier.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he says.

  “Shawn, it’s not about convenience. I just don’t think I can handle the whole airport goodbye thing.”

  I’m barely holding it together as is, but I don’t want to tell him that.

  “Then don’t,” he says, “Stay here with me. We’ll go back to LA as planned and we’ll figure out what we’re doing when we get there.”

  I groan. Not in the good way. “You don’t get it.” I’m exasperated. I’m tired of explaining it. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of the fact that I can’t even really wrap my head around his constipated logic anymore. “If you really wanted to be with me… It’d be hard, sure, and we might not make it. But you’re not even willing to try.”

  He sighs. “I just think it’s for the best.”

  “And I don’t. So we’ve reached an impasse.”

  “I guess so,” he says.

  I lean in and give him a long hug.

  And then I leave.

  My flight is uneventful.

  I take a Lyft to my apartment and arrive just as the sun is coming up. I’m exhausted, bleary, and gutted.

  I throw myself on my bed, still fully dressed, and sleep well into the evening.

  And when I wake up, life goes on.

  I go back to teaching several classes per week and giving Johnny his private lessons. He’s improved so dramatically, I almost can’t believe it.

  “Don’t arch your back,” I instruct him, coaching him through his first few attempts at inverting. “I know it seems like what you should do, but actually you want to round your back to get your legs up and over. Like a turtle.”

  I demonstrate the shape, hunching to emphasize my point. It makes him laugh. He tries the move again and, this time, it’s a little closer.

  He catches his breath and takes a sip of water. “How are things going with Mr. Nice Abs?”

  I sigh. I really didn’t want to talk about Shawn. He’s leaving for the tour tomorrow and I’ve been spending the week avoiding him.

  Not that it’s difficult. We have no real reason to ever run into each other. He lives in Hollywood and I’m in the valley, so no danger of standing in line at the grocery store or CVS and seeing him walk in while I’m standing in line and have terrible bed-head or I’m fresh from the studio and haven’t showered yet. If I wanted to see him, I’d have to make a special trip out there.

  “Shawn? Oh, we ended things,” I tell him and quickly change the subject, “Next time you try that, don’t kick off from the ground so much. It’s not a good habit to develop. Eventually, you’re going to do this from a climb.”

  I hope he takes the hint and doesn’t bring up my personal life again.

  “Damn, I’m sorry,” Johnny says, “He was hot.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “You were lucky.”

  “Come again?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny explains, “To be with someone like that. He was once-in-a-lifetime hot.”

  I’m taken aback. And a little angry. But mostly concerned that this is what goes through Johnny’s head. Yeah, I mean, I was lucky. Shawn’s a great guy, but you can’t just tell that from a picture of his abs.

  “Is that it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral. “He was hot, therefore I was lucky.”

  “Oh God, is this going to be a beauty-is-only-skin-deep lecture again?” he asks with a groan, “Cause I actually met...”

  I cut him off. “He was smart and funny and kind and great in bed. And, you’re right, I was lucky. But, you know what? He was lucky too. I’m also smart and funny and great in bed. And I totally deserved to be with someone like him. And so do you, no matter how negatively you see yourself,” I’m flying off the handle here, but I don’t care.

  I keep ranting. “And you know what? I put up with a lot of bullshit for him. His whole breaking-up-is-protecting-you-from-my-crazy-life-but-I’ll-make-an-exception-if-you’re-pregnant thing. My God. It’s insane.”

  Johnny blinks twice. “You’re pregnant?”

  “No,” I practically cry out, throwing my head back. “Fucking hell.”

  I take a deep breath and try to compose myself, wiping my eyes before I face Johnny again. He puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “You are awesome, Aya. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise,” he states.

  “Thanks,” I reply, though I’m a bit confused where this is coming from.

  He looks at the ground. “And I wanted to tell you that I actually met someone.”

  “What?” I ask, “Really.”

  Johnny blushes a deep red. “Yeah. His name is Tim and we met in a class I was teaching. He came up to me afterward to ask a few questions and then asked me to grab a coffee. We’ve been going out for a couple of weeks now.”

  I hug him fiercely. “That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

  “He said he admired my confidence,” Johnny tells me, “So I guess that strutting around in heels and acting like I’m hot shit in these pole classes is starting to work.”

  I smile. “You completely deserve to walk around acting like you’re hot shit, Johnny.”

  That makes him smile. “And no matter how hot that guy was, if he’s dumped you, then he can go fuck himself and his perfect abs.”

  I have to laugh. I’ve been trying not to think about Shawn. Or fucking. Or Shawn’s abs.

  I have to get us back on track.

  “You’re not getting out of this lesson that easily,” I say, ”I know you’ve got at least one more crack at this leg hang left in you.”

  He rolls his eyes, but does the move again.

  This time he almost gets it.

  After the lesson, I’m done for the day. It’s barely eight in the evening, but it’s been dark out for hours. And it’s cold. Well, cold for Los Angeles.

  I tug my old UCLA sweatshirt over my head and head to my car, but I don’t feel like going home.

  Shawn’s leaving tomorrow.

  I’d done a pretty good job of keeping that thought out of my mind for most of the day, but now that I’m about to go home to an empty apartment and sleep in an empty bed, it’s really hitting me.

  It’s over.

  The NoHo arts district is full of cool, hipster bars that serve fancy craft beer I’ve never heard of and I decide that I deserve a drink.

  Maybe two.

  I take a seat at the bar. It’s pretty empty on a weeknight, but it’s warm and the vibe is friendly. Plus, I’m not really here to pick anyone up. I shrug off my sweatshirt and order an amber ale.

  Distinguishing. Brazen. Unique.

  Damn, I’m doing Shawn’s bartender thing.

  A guy approaches me and takes the seat to my left.

  “Buy you a drink?” he asks.

  I shake my head no. “Thanks, but I’m not good company tonight.”

  He nods respectfully and leaves me alone.

  The bartender, a curvy woman with thick glasses and a septum piercing, sets my beer down.

  “He was cute,” she tells me.

  “Yeah,” I agree, half-heartedly.

  “You should go for it,” she says with a wink.

  I keep my face neutral, but pleasant. It won’t be long before I am going to bars to meet someone, but I don’t feel like starting tonight.

  “I wasn’t lying,” I explain, “I’m really not great company right now.”

  She nods in understanding. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  I down about half my beer quickly and play with my phone. I wish I’d brought a book or something to stare at because people-watching in a bar usually leads to bein
g hit on and I’m not in the mood.

  There’s a television in the corner of the room that’s set to a music video station that certainly likes their alt-rock. The current video is something shot in black and white featuring a pretty brunette singer with big doll-eyes and plenty of eyeliner surrounded by four ridiculously attractive male musicians. I look up the song on my phone as it plays.

  Hole in My Heart by My Hero.

  Of course My Hero only makes me think of Shawn and the tour that starts tomorrow. And, to add insult to injury, he’s going to be on a bus with this pretty singer and playing in front of gorgeous fangirls who all want to fuck him.

  And he’ll eventually forget about the tattooed pole dancing instructor from the valley who stupidly went and fell in love with him.

  The video ends. I finish my beer.

  Then I hear the low resonance of a bass guitar introduce the next song. The video changes and suddenly Dylan’s face graces the screen. It’s a familiar Say Yes song. Her Name in Stars.

  I was planning pay for my beer and head home, but instead, I flag the bartender down.

  “Can I get a shot of Jameson?” I ask her, “Actually, can I get two?

  If she’s judging me for my sudden need for hard liquor, she doesn’t show it. She just pours the shots, hands them over and I drink them in under a minute.

  She pours two more and hands one to me. “Looks like you need it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Cheers,” she says as we clink glasses and down our whiskey together. Then she returns to customers on the far side of the room.

  I try not to watch the video, but I can’t help it.

  The camera pans to a shot of all four guys, playing like they’re the house band in some dive bar and my eyes are glued to Shawn, his thin cotton tee-shirt, and his shy smile.

  I already miss him.

  Before I know it, I’m paying my tab, calling a Lyft, and sitting in the backseat of a Hyundai with an man named Artem, being driven to Shawn’s apartment.

  I ring the doorbell and Jack answers. Shit, I hadn’t expected to see anyone else.