Say Yes: Shawn: Say Yes Series Book Two

by Amelia Mae

  “Hi, um…” I start, “Is Shawn here?”

  “In his bedroom,” he answers, showing me in and pointing to Shawn’s room, like I don’t know where it is.

  There door is partly open, so I poke my head into his room.

  Shawn looks at me, clearly surprised. “Aya?”

  He’s packing. He has a folded sweatshirt in his hand and an open duffel bag on the bed.

  We stare at each other.

  “I want one more night,” I tell him.

  “What?”

  “Our agreement,” I explain, “We would be together and exclusive till you leave for the tour. You’re not gone yet, so I want one more night.”

  “What does that mean?” he asks, his voice low and his eyes never leaving mine.

  I roll my eyes. How much clearer do I have to be?

  “Fuck me, Shawn,” I demand, “One last time before we never see each other again and I go back to having mediocre sex with guys I meet on Tinder.”

  He blinks like he still can’t believe I’m asking this of him.

  “I’ll say please,” I tell him.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Not anymore,” I promise him, “Please.”

  I take off my sweatshirt as Shawn crosses the room and closes the door behind me. He backs me up against it and pins my hips with his. He lowers his head and inhales like he’s preparing to slam his mouth against mine and take me roughly right here.

  I’m ready for it. I need it.

  Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to mine for the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had. It practically knocks the wind out of me.

  As, he pulls away, my chest heaves.

  “Harder,” I demand, “Just take me.”

  He takes my face in his hands and shakes his head no and kisses me again, gently. Without any tongue.

  “Like this,” he whispers in my ear before his lips travel to the spot below it. He trails kisses over my jaw and down my throat. Then he sinks to his knees and brings his hands to my waist, running his thumb over the notch of my hip bone. He plays with the hem of my tee shirt before lifting it to reveal a few inches of my stomach.

  He closes his eyes and presses his lips to the skin under my belly button. He’s barely touching me, but it’s making me shudder.

  He kisses lower. And lower. Until my knees go weak and I can barely stand. I have to close my eyes.

  He gets up from the ground and kisses my lips again as he slides my shirt up over my sides. I raise my arms to help him get it off. Then his mouth is back on mine, moving so slowly it’s almost cruel.

  I’m breathing hard, boneless against this door.

  I slide my hands up underneath his shirt and over his ab muscles because I’m desperate to touch him. His skin is warm and he smells fresh and clean and familiar.

  Hard and fast isn’t what I need right now.

  I need to be wrapped up in him.

  Held.

  Kissed.

  Not fucked. Made love to. It’s a term I usually abhor, but, for this, it’s the only one that makes sense.

  I need the kind of sex you have with someone when you want to make sure he’ll always remember you. I want Shawn to lie awake in his hotel bed tomorrow night thinking of me.

  Shawn peels his shirt up over his head and lets it fall to the floor. Fuck, the sight of him stripping never gets old. I let out an achy noise at the sight of his bare chest. Usually, my little noises make him smirk, but tonight he’s all serious.

  He walks me over to the bed, lays me down, and climbs on top. He closes his eyes and his lips find mine and he kisses me for what feels like forever.

  Just kisses me.

  I arch my back so that he can reach behind me and undo my bra.

  He wraps his lips around one nipple and gives it a hard suck which makes me groan. His fingers toy with the other as he tugs lightly with his teeth until I’m a wordless, gooey mess.

  “Ugh,” I moan, “God, Shawn.”

  “Fuck, I’m gonna miss this,” he hisses.

  “If you’re going to talk like that, then shut up.”

  He nods, a hint of a smile on his face. He undoes my jeans and shoves them and my panties down over my ass and all the way off. He tosses them on the floor.

  “Fine. I can’t talk and eat you out at the same time anyway.”

  25

  Shawn

  I decide as soon as she walks through my bedroom door that if this is the last time that I ever get to be with Aya, I’m going to make it count. I’m going to fuck her so good and so hard and so deep that even if she’s ever with anyone else, she’ll still feel me.

  Though the idea of her with anyone else makes me so crazy, I’m seeing red.

  I kiss her thoroughly, with everything I have, so that I know that when she’s lying in bed at night, she’ll miss my weight, my mouth, my hands.

  She’ll still whisper-moan my name as she makes herself come.

  I graze my teeth over her bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth the way I know she likes. As I release it, right on cue, her head rolls back and she sinks into the mattress.

  “Shawn,” she moans.

  I can’t help but smile. In the grand scheme of things, Aya and I haven’t known each other for too long, but I swear, I can play her body like my bass guitar.

  I slip one finger inside her. Then two. Then three.

  She’s ready. She’s so wet, she’ll take me easily.

  But still, I go slowly with her, easing my way in, letting her get used to me the feeling of me filling her up and stretching her out, listening to that beautiful low, breathy noise she makes as I do.

  Her eyes are half-open. She bites her lower lip.

  She’s already unraveling and I haven’t even started moving.

  “More,” she mewls.

  Far be it from me to leave a woman wanting. I rock my hips, driving my cock inside of her.

  It’s deliberate.

  Controlled.

  I keep my rhythm steady and thrust again and again.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” I whisper, “Look at me.”

  She blinks. She’s hazy.

  It takes a few seconds for her eyes to meet mine, but she looks up at me and smiles.

  “Hey there.”

  I stop moving and stare at her like she’s fading away.

  How are you gonna feel when she’s not there?

  It’s too intense. I can’t handle this.

  I feel like my heart is in a vice. I can’t look her in the eyes anymore, so I lean down to kiss her and start rolling my hips again.

  It’s all too much.

  I hold her close and keep moving until I see her start to come, then I speed up and rock her through it, following moments later.

  When she calms down, I kiss her lips again.

  “Stay the night?” I ask, though I’m not really giving her the option to leave. My arms are around her and I clutch her tightly against my chest and I’m not letting her go.

  She doesn’t resist.

  In the morning, she won’t let me drive her home. She mumbles something about having to go find her car.

  I want to say something significant to her. Something that will make both of us feel okay about the past few months and the end of this faux relationship, but I don’t think the words exist.

  So I just wait with her until her ride arrives.

  And I kiss her goodbye.

  Around ten, we board the bus and head off to our first stop, Reno.

  The other guys are more amped than usual when we start our start-of-tour ritual. I make some food for the four of us in the buss’s tiny kitchenette and Jack passes around beers for our traditional toast. I clink my bottle, take a few sips, eat a few bites, and half-listen to the conversation happening around me, but my heart’s not in it.

  A few beers later, Dylan heads off to his bunk to go back to sleep and Ian retreats shortly after, phone in hand, presumably to call his new wife. Jack stays out in the sitting area with me.
/>   I chug my beer and open another. I’ve had three or four. Nothing too out of control, but he seems concerned.

  “Slow down, buddy,” he says, taking the bottle from my hand. “We’ve got a show tonight and we can’t have a drunk bassist.”

  He’s right. I put the beer down.

  “I didn’t hear Aya leave last night.”

  “She left this morning. Early,” I tell him.

  “I can’t believe she came over and you two didn’t…”

  I put my hand up to stop him. I know Jack. He was going to make it crude. But what happened last night with Aya was fucking beautiful, even if it was also kind of heartbreaking. And I don’t want to tarnish the memory.

  “I’m shocked,” Jack scoffs, “Usually she’s screaming like a banshee when you two are—”

  “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  I guess I look serious enough because he drops it.

  “How are you holding up?” he asks, not joking around anymore.

  I shrug.

  “I don’t have to tell you that I think your breaking it off with her was a stupid idea,” he says.

  “Then don’t.”

  “An you know what? I don’t even think you believe it was good idea anymore.”

  “Shut up, Jack,” I tell him.

  Fuck it. I swipe my beer off the table and down the rest of it.

  Suddenly, Ian climbs down from his bunk and joins us.

  “What the hell happened with Aya?” he asks, an accusatory tone to his voice.

  “We ended things,” I explain, “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Well, Cora’s pretty worried about her,” he continues, “She won’t pick up her phone and she went to go stay with her mom for awhile. Apparently she only does that when she’s really upset.”

  “I’m sorry.” I feel like that’s the right thing to say, even if saying it to Ian is utterly useless.

  “Maybe you should try to talk to her?”

  “Ian, I’m the last person she wants to hear from right now,” I say, “Anything I say to her is only going to upset her more. She should get all her sad out, then go get drunk and bang a stranger. Start forgetting about me.”

  “Is that what you really want?” Jack asks, “You want Aya to forget about you?”

  “Like Eternal Sunshine-style?” Ian chimes in, attempting to lighten the mood. “Where she just walks past you on the street some day and you don’t even register in her mind?”

  “Fuck off.”

  That thought is devastating. I can almost tolerate the idea of Aya hating me because, I guess, in a twisted way, I’d know that at least she was thinking about me.

  But meaning nothing to her at all…

  “I’m going to go hang out in my bunk for awhile.” I don’t allow either of the guys to comment, I just climb into one of the top beds, close the privacy curtain and stare at the ceiling until we get to Nevada.

  26

  Shawn

  “Goodnight, Reno, we love you,” Dylan bellows into the mic as the fans cheer and scream. We’ve finished our last encore, so I hand my bass off to a roadie and head offstage.

  “Good job, man,” he says.

  I can barely crack a smile. I didn’t do a good job. I just went through the motions. I think it was the worst I’ve ever played in my career.

  “Well that was some bullshit,” Jack chides.

  He’s right, but I don’t acknowledge him.

  “I thought we were going to tap in Sawyer halfway through the set,” he continues. Sawyer Davies is the bassist for My Hero. He’s a nice guy and totally would’ve stepped in.

  Maybe I should’ve let him.

  I remember the thoughts that raced through my mind when I sat, hungover, in that chapel, watching Ian and Cora exchange vows. He could lose everything tomorrow. His home. His money. The band. And as long as he had her, he’d be okay…

  At the moment, I’m completely apathetic about ever picking up a bass again. I know it’ll pass, but I have to wonder.

  If I lost everything tomorrow, but I still had Aya, would I be okay?

  I don’t know.

  But I’d feel a hell of a lot better than I do right now.

  “Come out with us,” Jack demands.

  “No. Don’t feel like it.”

  “Come on. Drown your emo feelings in beer and strange pussy.”

  “I said no.”

  “You know Aya’s doing the same thing. Strange dick, but same idea,” he says, his expression purely evil. He knows exactly what card to play with me and it’s working like a charm.

  We end up at an Irish bar a mile or so from the concert venue. Ian sips his usual single beer and keeps his hands to himself. That wedding ring serves as a forcefield, keeping the women at bay. They may be horny, but they are respectful. Luckily, Jack and Dylan are all too happy to entertain the majority of the fans who’ve found their way over to us.

  I sit towards one end of the half-circle booth, drinking a pint of dark beer and trying to enjoy myself.

  A woman plunks herself down next to me. She’s pretty. Dark skin, almond-shaped eyes and black hair. She wears a cream-colored dress that makes her look like she’s glowing.

  “You’re Shawn Kinney?” she asks, her accent sounding vaguely Australian, which normally I’d find twenty kinds of hot.

  I nod.

  “I’m Dahlia,” she says, extending offering her hand.

  We shake. “Hello.”

  “I’m such a big fan,” she says, “Can I buy you a drink?”

  A gorgeous woman is flirting with me. I know how this goes. I can do this. I have a drink or two with her and invite her up to my hotel room. Have a good time. Push Aya from my mind and let Dahlia give me something to remember Reno by.

  I try to rally.

  “Sure,” I tell her, swallowing the last of my stout. “Thanks.”

  Dahlia flags down a waitress and orders another beer for me and a gin and tonic for herself.

  Gin and tonic. Standard. Basic. Easy.

  Not Aya.

  The band starts up. It’s a Celtic rock band that’s blending the traditional music with some modern electric guitars. It’s lively and entertaining, but it fails to lift my spirits.

  “Oh, this is fun,” Dahlia exclaims, pointing at the band.

  “It is.”

  We watch in silence for the first song.

  “I like the drum,” she says.

  “It’s called a bodhran,” I say reflexively. I look into her deep brown eyes. Dahlia is exquisitely beautiful, but…

  I can’t do this.

  “Excuse me.”

  She gets up to let me pass by her. I take a fifty from my wallet and place it on the table.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, looking hurt.

  “Let me get your next few rounds,” I say, trying not to offend her. “I’m sorry. I… I have to go.”

  I can’t stay in the bar any longer.

  I can’t stay in this fucking state any longer.

  She’s confused, understandably, but lets me go without protest and scoots over to get closer to Dylan.

  I shoot off a couple texts very quickly, my hands working faster than my brain. But my heart knowing that this is the right decision.

  By the time I get back to my hotel room, the replies have started pouring in:

  Christian: I’m not happy about this, Shawn. This is completely irresponsible and ridiculous. You’re in hot water…

  I stop reading after that.

  Sawyer: Sure, buddy. No problem. Pretty sure I know your setlist.

  Jack: Go for it, brother.

  259-88: Thank you for booking with American Airlines for your flight to Los Angeles…

  27

  Aya

  A couple days with my mom is exactly what I needed. After I left for college, she moved out of Los Angeles and up north into the San Gabriel Valley where she wouldn’t be around so much traffic.

  We spend a lot of the time sitting arou
nd drinking wine coolers and watch a lot of trashy reality television.

  I tell her about Shawn.

  “I’m done with relationships,” I say, resolutely.

  “You said that after Greg,” she reminds me.

  “Well, I really mean it this time.”

  She takes a sip of an alcoholic blueberry concoction that comes in a glass bottle with a picture of a woman in a bikini on it. It’s too sugary for me, but I need one to dull the sting of talking about my breakup.

  I think about what he’d say about people who drink this sort of thing. Sappy. Sickeningly sweet.

  “I can’t give you advice on love,” she says, “But this boy obviously made you happy. Are you sure it’s not just a spat?”

  “Yeah,” I confirm, “Even if he came to came to me on his knees, I wouldn’t get back together with him. I can’t have him think that he can just snap his fingers and I’ll come running.”

  We’re watching The Bachelorette and the woman choosing her mate from a pool of suitors is handing out roses to the men.

  “This is ridiculous,” I blurt out, sipping my vile blueberry drink.

  “Is it any more ridiculous than a temporary relationship?” she questions, “I swear, all these new-fangled dating ideas you kids come up with… It’s mind-boggling.”

  I kind of agree. The idea of temporary exclusivity is pretty strange, but it made sense at the time.

  “I know,” I start, “But when he proposed it, it sounded reasonable.”

  She scoffs. “No it didn’t. It always sounded stupid. You just really wanted to sleep with him.”

  I nearly choke on my sip. Leave it to my mom to cut right to the chase.

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I admit, composing myself. “I didn’t think I’d end up falling for him, though.”

  “And he doesn’t feel the same way?”

  “Actually,” I start, “I’m pretty sure he does.”

  I feel the tears coming, but I shake them away and focus on The Bachelorette. Shawn Kinney has taken up enough of my attention and energy. It’s something else’s turn.

  The doorbell rings and my mom gets up to answer it.