Say Yes: Shawn: Say Yes Series Book Two

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Say Yes: Shawn: Say Yes Series Book Two Page 14

by Amelia Mae


  From where I’m sitting, I can’t see who it is, but I hear my mom say, “Whoa.”

  I hear a voice. Definitely a man.

  “Aya,” my mom calls, “It’s for you.”

  “How did you find me here?” I ask Shawn as we sit on the porch chairs.

  “Cora,” he answers, “She’s worried about you.”

  “Well, I’m clearly fine. Just needed a few days to clear my head.”

  “I understand.”

  I wring my hands.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand to know.

  He gets off the chair and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his.

  “I’m in love with you, Aya,” he tells me, “And I want to be with you. Everything makes me think about you. I’m going out of my damn mind.”

  “Shawn…”

  “Please,” he begs. He’s still gorgeous, but a little weary looking. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  He leans in to kiss me. My heart hammers. But I turn away so that his lips fall to my cheek.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “It’s not that easy,” I tell him, slightly offended. “After all that shit… It just can’t be.”

  I get up and turn to go back inside.

  “Go back to the road, Shawn.”

  And I close the door in his face.

  28

  Shawn

  I text Jack as I get back into my car for the drive back to LA.

  Shawn: I need more time. Can you deal without me for another few days?

  Jack: I guess. But you’re pushing it.

  The band is pissed at me. I get it. We’re on our first headlining tour and I’m bailing on it for a girl.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon apologizing to the guys and to Christian for being so difficult. Then I spend most of the evening prying Cora for information on Aya’s schedule until she hangs up on me.

  Then comes figuring out how I can prove to her that I’ll do anything to get her back.

  The problem is that I have no idea how.

  I’ll admit that I thought that showing up would be enough. I thought it was the grand gesture. Like in the movies. The appearing on the doorstep just as she’d given up all hope or the running through the airport to stop her from getting on that plane type of thing.

  But Aya’s not that easy and I love that about her.

  Over the next few days, I call. Beg her to talk to me. Or meet me in person.

  But she refuses to pick up the phone or respond to text messages. After awhile, I fell like a stalker and I definitely don’t want that.

  “She came home last night,” Cora tells me, over the phone. “She said she’s feeling better.”

  “That’s good.”

  “And that you keep calling her.”

  “Yeah,” I admit, “I don’t know what else to do.”

  I hear her sigh loudly. “Look,” she says, “I don’t know if Aya really never wants to hear from you again, or if she’s just hurting and needs more time.”

  That sounds hopeful. “I can wait for her. I can give her all the time she needs,” I say.

  “That’s great. But, Shawn, if a woman tells you to stop calling her, you should stop calling her,” Cora warns. “You’re not going to get closer to Aya by annoying her.”

  “Yeah,” I concede, “You’re right.”

  “You’ve put your cards on the table,” she says, “Now, you have to let her make the next move. That’s what Ian did for me. He gave me time and space to figure myself out. And I came back to him. I don’t think it would have worked out any other way.”

  “True.”

  “Be patient,” she tells me.

  I hear beeping on her end of the phone.

  “That’s Ian,” she tells me with a giggle. “I should take this.”

  “Alright. Thanks for your help.”

  “Of course,” she says, “But if you hurt my friend again, I’ll kick your ass.”

  I want to laugh, but her tone is serious. She cares about Aya as much as I do. We say goodbye to each other and hang up.

  Moments later, I get another call. This time from Jack.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  He’s snippy. “You need to come back. Now.”

  “I thought I could have a couple more days.”

  “Sawyer’s been filling in and it’s been okay, but Christian’s ready to audition a new bassist for the remainder of the tour. He’s flipped a shit,” Jack tells me.

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  “Fuck yes,” he confirms.

  I don’t want that to happen, of course, but they could find another bassist. I could be replaced.

  I could actually lose the band.

  “The guys and I don’t want that, obviously. We want you,” Jack says, “But there’s not a whole lot we can do to prevent Christian steamrolling us.”

  “Can you…”

  “Just get back here. Tonight. Fly out to Phoenix and I’ll get you at the airport.”

  “But Aya…”

  “Aya’s going to have to wait,” Jack says, “Don’t tell me she’s worth losing everything over.”

  I stay quiet. She might be.

  “Well, then, fuck it. Stay in Los Angeles or wherever the fuck you are. But you’d be a pretty shitty person not to honor your commitments and I’m sure Aya’d agree with me there.”

  He’s right. “She would.”

  “I’m booking you a flight right now and I’m expecting you in Arizona tonight,” he tells me. I can practically hear him grinding his teeth.

  “Fine,” I say reluctantly, “I’ll be there.”

  “Good,” he sighs, “But if you don’t show up, I can’t guarantee your standing with the band.”

  “I’ll be there,” I reiterate.

  “Really?” he asks. He sounds like he doesn’t believe me. “You don’t sound all that concerned.”

  I am. But I’m more concerned with losing Aya.

  “I’m packing right now,” I tell him.

  He hangs up without a goodbye.

  I head into my bedroom and start throwing clothes into my duffel. Jack texts me the information for my flight.

  I rifle through my tee shirts, tossing the clean ones in the bag and the dirty ones in the laundry basket. I find my Pixies tee shirt. My favorite one. The one I gave to Aya.

  She must have slipped it into my bag while she was packing.

  This is the last straw.

  It can’t be over.

  I have to do something now. Something big.

  Something that will make her feel heard and understood.

  Something that will show her how much I love her and that I’m no longer afraid of my life on the road tearing us apart.

  I get a text from the airline confirming my flight.

  I have an idea.

  29

  Aya

  My phone dings.

  Mom: You have a passport, right?

  Aya: Yes.

  Aya: Why?

  Mom: How fast can you pack?

  Aya: What’s going on?

  This is starting to sound serious. And kind of scary.

  Mom: The dance studio is closed for renovations for the next two weeks, right?

  Aya: Yes.

  Aya: What’s going on? You’re making me nervous. Did you do something illegal? Do we have to flee the country?

  Mom: Of course not.

  Mom: A car is picking you up in two hours. We’re going to Seoul!

  Aya: What the hell?!!

  Mom: Just pack. I’ll explain when we get there.

  I’m worried. This is not like my mother at all. I mean, she does know that a trip to South Korea is the only thing on my bucket list. Bus she’s not the type to book a last minute trip to Asia.

  Well, there are only two other people who know this about me.

  One is Cora and she’s back in New York busy with grad school.

  The other is Shawn.

&nbs
p; And I’ll bet my front teeth that he’s got something to do with.

  I meet my mother at the airport in front of the terminal where she stands talking to Shawn.

  “First class,” he says, handing me the tickets. “Hope that’s okay.”

  “I’ve never flown first class,” my mom replies for me, her eyes wide. She’s wearing khakis, a polo shirt, and a baseball cap, managing to look like a tourist before we’ve even left LA.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. I suddenly notice that he’s holding his own ticket and carrying a large bag. “You’re coming with us?”

  He shakes his head no. “I’m headed to Phoenix. Back to the tour.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed.

  “I figured this was a trip that the two of you needed to do together. Alone.”

  I look at my feet next to his. He’s wearing Converse sneakers. I’m wearing them too, but mine are magenta and his are black. My feet look tiny next to his.

  They also looked tiny when they were tangled up with his.

  My mom chimes in, breaking the silence and pulling me back from memory lane. “Oh my, first class and last minute. These must’ve cost a fortune.” Of course, she blurts out the most inappropriate thing possible.

  I look at her with an eyebrow raised. Shawn just laughs.

  “How about I go wait in line to check our bags and give you two a minute,” she says. “Thank you, honey. This means a lot to us,” she says to Shawn as she gives him a quick hug. She takes my rolling suitcase and drags it inside, leaving us alone.

  “Well… thank you,” I say again.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Why…”

  “Because,” he starts, “Aya, I love every part of you. Even the ones you think you haven’t discovered yet.”

  I swallow hard. I hadn’t expected him to say something like that.

  “Maybe taking this trip will help you feel more…” His voice drifts off.

  “I don’t know the word for it either,” I finish.

  “If this was overstepping… If you never want to talk to me again after this…”

  I cut him off. “It’s amazing,” I tell him, honestly. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  He smiles.

  “I’ll let you get back to your mom,” he says, “She’s quite the character.”

  I nod. “Yeah, she is.”

  “I should go too. I’ve got an hour to kill before this flight and then three very angry bandmates waiting to kick my ass when I get to Seattle,” he says.

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah.”

  I lean in to hug him. I can’t resist. I miss the way his body feels against me. I miss the way he smells. I wrap my arms around him and hold him for longer than a friendly, thank-you-for-sending-me-on-my-dream-trip hug should be, but I don’t want to pull away.

  “Thank you,” I say for the third time in as many minutes.

  “Always,” he says.

  I watch him turn and walk away.

  I catch up with my mom who is about halfway through the long check-in line.

  I don’t say anything.

  “So… he seems nice” she remarks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m never going to get over how good-looking he is.”

  I nod.

  “And to send us on this trip. On a whim.”

  “It’s pretty romantic, I guess,” I say, wishing we could change the topic.

  “No it’s not.”

  I’m startled.

  “Aya, if he wanted romantic, he’d have flown you to Paris or something.”

  “South Korea’s not romantic?”

  “The point is that he’d be there. With you. Not sending you on a trip to where you were born. With your mom,” she says, “He… he loves you, honey.”

  I look down at my shoes again.

  “I’m the biggest skeptic when it comes to this kind of thing,” she says, being earnest. “But even I’d give him a chance.”

  I blink a few times. I kind of can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  And then my feet start moving without my brain telling them to.

  “I’ll be right back,” I call to her, over my shoulder as I head back outside.

  I look around, hoping I can still catch him.

  I spot him, leaning against the building, his back to me.

  “Shawn,” I call out to him, practically running towards him. He turns around and I slow down.

  He waits for me to say something. Hell, I wait for me to say something. Anything. But I’m drawing a blank.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter.

  I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.

  I definitely caught him off guard, but he quickly surrenders to me, clutching my body against his chest and kissing me back just as desperately.

  “Get a room,” some rude passerby shouts.

  We break the kiss and catch our breath.

  “I’ll be here when you get back,” I tell him.

  That makes him smile wide. He kisses me again, softly.

  “I’ll be waiting,” he whispers.

  Epilogue

  Shawn

  Three Months Later

  “Thank you Las Vegas,” Dylan yells into the mic.

  The fans cheer.

  My ears are ringing, but I’m smiling like a lunatic. I look out into the sea of people and wave goodbye as the stage lights go down and the house lights go up.

  It’s about midnight when we finally finish signing autographs and having press people pressure us for sound bites.

  It’s so hard to believe it, though. Our first headlining tour.

  And tonight was the last stop.

  The band is scheduled to fly home tomorrow on an ungodly early flight that would put us in LA at around eight in the morning.

  But that’s not soon enough for me.

  Sure, Aya and I have called and texted and Skyped, but I haven’t seen her in person since the airport. And I need to.

  Right fucking now.

  I’ve rented a car and I’m driving back to LA tonight to surprise her.

  “You’re sure you want to do this, man?” Jack asks.

  I nod.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy and maybe I am, but I jingle the keys to the Toyota say goodbye to the band and the road crew.

  “Safe trip,” Ian calls after me.

  Dylan nods in agreement.

  It’s a calm, clear night and the drive is pretty uneventful for the first few hours.

  My phone rings. It’s Aya and I feel myself hardening because it’s three in the morning and I’ve gotten used to this particular type of phone call over the course of the tour.

  “Hey, sweetheart.”

  “Shawn,” she gasps. Her voice is low and breathy. I hear a faint buzzing in the background and smile. “You sound funny. Am I on speaker?”

  “Yeah. But I’m alone in here.”

  “Good,” she says. Then she lets out a soft moan.

  “Keep going,” I urge, “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?”

  “You. After you play a show and you’re all sweaty,” she answers, “And how I want get you backstage and suck you off.”

  “You’re gonna kill me,” I say, figuring I’d better find a place to pull over before I crash this car. I make my way to the shoulder. It’s dark and there’s no one around me.

  “Then what?” I goad, unzipping my jeans and taking my swollen cock in my hand, giving it a long stroke.

  “You’re gonna come down my throat,” she groans.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re touching yourself?” she asks, though it’s not really a question as much as a confirmation.

  “God yes,” I whisper, giving myself a rough squeeze. “And after you swallow, I’m gonna tear off your panties and make you sit on my face.”

  She makes a strangled sound, like she’s getting close. The buzzing quiets.

  “Did you want to stop?”

  “No,�
�� she pants, “I don’t need the vibrator anymore. Just keep talking.”

  I let out a moan. I’m getting there too.

  “I’m gonna eat you out till you beg me to stop. Get you to come over and over again till you’re all cute and sex-drunk.”

  “Shawn…”

  “Then I’m gonna strip you down and fuck like you want. You want it hard and fast?”

  “I want it hard,” she whispers, “But slow. So I can feel every fucking inch of you.”

  I stroke myself harder. Faster.

  “You close, sweetheart,” I ask, wishing I could see that strained look she gets when she’s trying not to let go too soon.

  “Shawn,” she groans as she comes. “Fuck.”

  She sends me over the edge and I come too.

  “As I said,” I start, “I’m gonna fuck you good. Any way you want.”

  I picture the way she looks after she comes, eyes closed, hair mussed. All spent out. It’s sexy as hell.

  She murmurs something I can’t hear.

  “Then I’m gonna hold you after,” I tell her, “And tell you that I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she says, sounding sleepy.

  I smile and dig a clean tee shirt out of my bag, changing in the car and cleaning up the mess.

  “Get some sleep,” I tell her, “I’ll be home soon.”

  I tried to talk Aya out of picking me up at the airport, but she insisted, which is good, because I know that I won’t wake her when I ring her doorbell at around six in the morning.

  She opens the door and smiles wide when she sees me. I swear she even tears up a little.

  “How did you…”

  “Drove all night,” I answer.

  I catch her as she jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her to the bed and collapse on the comforter, on my back, with her on top of me. I take her face in my hands and kiss her.

  “You look like you’re gonna fall asleep on me,” she says.

  I might.

  Fuck, I’ve been dying to be inside her for months now and the minute I get in her bed, I can barely keep my eyes open.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” I tell her, smoothing her hair back.

 

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