by Amelia Mae
“It’s okay,” she whispers, resting her head on my shoulder, making herself comfortable. “We’ve got plenty of time.”
I smile. We do.
“I love you, Shawn,” she says, closing her eyes.
“I love you too.”
About the Author
Amelia Mae hails from Los Angeles, CA and loves dirty rock songs and the stars that make them. She hopes that you’ve enjoyed reading Shawn and Aya’s story as much as she’s enjoyed writing it.
When she isn’t writing, she enjoys pole dancing classes and spending time with her two pit-bulls, Pete and Buddy.
Sneak Peak
Say Yes: Jack
Say Yes Series Book Three
Coming Winter 2019
Nikki
I’m done playing bad cop tonight. These boys can take care of themselves.
I flop down on one of the bus’s two couches and flip on the television. I change the channel until I find a rerun of Friends.
Perfect.
I watch as Monica proposes to Chandler in a candlelit room and let the stress of the day dissipate.
“Scoot over.”
I look up and see Jack approaching, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing dark jeans and a Rolling Stones tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off to show off his arms. He’s always fucking showing off his arms.
And why not? The man’s got some serious arm porn going on there.
I try not to think about Jack’s arm porn and shift closer to the back of the sofa. He lies down next to me.
“What’re we watching?”
“Friends,” I answer.
“Sounds good.”
“It’s not like you’re actually gonna pay attention,” I say, a little more snarky than I mean to since I’m trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach that I’ve been getting whenever Jack’s around.
I’m just hoping he’ll say something dumb or mean or gross so it’ll go away.
“Probably not,” he says with a shrug. Well, as much of a shrug as he can muster with my head on his shoulder. “But I’ll keep you company.”
Of course not. He has to go and say something kind of sweet.
Just then, the doors open. Ian and Cora sneak inside and slink off to his bunk to have whispery, love-making-y sex, or whatever newlyweds do.
Six months after the wedding still counts as newlyweds, right?
The wave hello to Jack and me, but are too wrapped up in each other for conversation. He grabs her ass and she laughs and blushes. They’ve barely closed the curtain before they’re all over each other.
I can hardly begrudge my brother his happiness. Even if I find it a little obnoxious.
Seconds later, Aya and Shawn tumble in, slightly drunk and very giggly.
“Aw, don’t you two look cozy,” Shawn teases.
Aya looks at the TV. “I love that episode. It’s so romantic.”
I raise an eyebrow. Really?
She shrugs. “For a sitcom.”
They bid us goodnight and head off into the private room for the loud, raucous sex I’ve been listening too on and off for the past three nights. The door shuts and almost immediately Aya’s moaning.
“Fuck me,” Jack grimaces.
I roll my eyes. “I thought you liked listening to a woman come.”
He chuckles. “Normally yeah. But when the name she’s screaming is your brother’s, it’s weird.”
“True.”
Jack yawns. “I mean, I’m happy he’s happy.” He gets up and heads for the kitchenette. “Want a beer?” he offers.
“Please.”
Jack plucks two bottles from the fridge and returns to me. He trips over something on the floor. Aya’s straightening iron. He tosses it to the other sofa with a scowl.
“Fucking hell,” he starts, “There are too many girls here.”
He takes his spot on the couch, lying next to me again.
I clear my throat. I’m a girl.
Not that he’s ever noticed.
“Nah,” he backtracks, “You’re with the band. You’re supposed to be here.”
Well, that I can’t argue with. It’s literally my job.
Ever since Shawn pulled that shit bailing on the first few tour dates last time to chase after Aya and Ian got caught fucking Cora outside a concert venue by a paparazzo, the band’s manager, Christian, aka my boss, has put me on the tour as the Say Yes’s nanny.
Not that they’re really wild party animals anymore, but these boys have done some dumbass shit in the name of love.
“You jealous of Shawn? Or Ian?” I tease.
I watch as, on the television, all of the other Friends, congratulate the newly engaged couple.
“Not really,” he answers, “I’m happy for them, but that kind of shit’s not for me.”
I nod. Jack has explained his aversion to relationships about a million times. To me. To the guys in the band. Even to his mom, who gets kind of sad that he denounces monogamy so easily.
He claims that no matter how intensely he might feel for a girl, he’ll eventually get bored of her.
He’s also explained to me, multiple times, that I’m the only woman he’s ever been able to stand more than a few days with. Because we’re friends.
Just friends.
And that’s really starting to fucking suck for me.
Jack
I half pay attention to the TV. Mostly I watch as Nikki loses her battle with fatigue and falls asleep on my shoulder.
I let her lie there peacefully for about an hour or so while I stare at the ceiling, enjoying the quiet and the fact that she smells so pretty.
Like summertime and peaches.
She stirs.
“It’s okay, darlin,’” I tell her, easing her through that weird moment of waking up in an unexpected place and not remembering how you got there. I’ve been there too many times. “You’re on the bus. With me.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyelids drooping. She tries get up, but stumbles.
“Let me put you to bed,” I offer.
I get up, help Nikki to her feet and steer her towards the bottom bunk on the left, closest to the front.
The one right next to mine.
“No,” she says, “Bathroom.”
I reroute her. She’s more coherent now and shuts the door behind herself.
I flop down on the couch again and change the channel a few times. Television doesn’t interest me much. I’m generally not big on sitting still long enough to get invested in something.
Nikki returns to the living room area wearing a Killers tee shirt with the neck cut off and tiny, tiny shorts that should be fucking illegal on a woman with an ass that nice.
Jesus Christ.
“Big plans tonight?” she asks.
I shake my head no. We’re going to be on the road all night, so obviously I can’t go out or meet someone. “Maybe I’ll keep watching and see if Ross and Rachel ever get together,” I tell her, flipping back to Friends in case she changes her mind about going to bed and wants to hang out longer.
“They do,” she says, “It takes ten seasons and her getting a job in Paris.”
“Spoilers,” I tease.
“And they have a kid together,” she tells me.
“Well,” I say, “No need to keep watching then.”
“Sorry.” She shrugs, knowing I don’t actually care.
“What about you?” I ask, “Painting the town beige?”
“Yeah,” she answers, “How about tomorrow? We’ve got the morning off.”
“No plans. You?”
She nods. “I’m getting a tattoo finished. I know someone. She did this one, actually,” she adds, pointing to the winged fairy tattoo on her shoulder blade.
“Nice,” I tell her, “What are you getting?”
She pulls up her tee shirt to show the outlines and shading of several huge peonies tattooed on her ribcage. It must be at least six hours of worth of work there.
“She’s filling in the col
or tomorrow and touching it up,” she says, “Then it’ll finally be done.”
“It’s nice,” I tell her, instinctively reaching out to touch the skin, running my fingers over the ink.
And I swear, Nikki blushes.
So I stop.
Because I absolutely, positively cannot have that.
I mean, Nikki is a beautiful woman. She has big Disney princess eyes, light blonde hair dyed into a pastel rainbow, and an ass that fucking haunts my dreams.
And I’ll admit that in my dirtiest fantasies, I’ve jerked off thinking about her underneath me, taking my dick any way I want to give it to her.
But it’ll never happen. I can’t ruin what I have with Nikki. It’s the best, most honest relationship I have. Sometimes she’s literally the only human being I can stand to be around.
And we have sex, we’ll never be the same.
“Want some company?” I ask her, completely ignoring my own advice.
I often do.
She squints. “Really?” she asks, “It’s gonna be about three hours and it’ll be crazy boring for you.”
“I have nothing else to do.”
That’s a lie. I could practice. I should figure out the riff for the new song Dylan’s trying to write. I have a couple dozen errands to run. And I definitely need to call and make sure my mom’s doing well.
But…
“Okay,” she says, “I’m leaving at around eight. You can be up that early?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool.” Nikki opens the curtain and slides into her bunk. “Night, Jack.”
“Sweet dreams.”
She closes the curtain. I lie back on the couch and turn off the TV. No use pretending to watch it anymore.
I should go to bed, but as usual, my mind won’t quiet down.
If I were home, I’d play guitar until the wee hours of the morning. I’ve soundproofed my entire apartment for that very reason. But I’d wake Nikki and I don’t want to do that.
My phone dings.
Emily: Wanna party? Last chance…
It’s accompanied by a picture of her tits. They’re nice, but I have absolutely no interest in seeing Emily or her tits. We hooked up once, last time I was in Boston, and she stole my phone while I was passed out and got my number. I block her immediately.
On second thought, maybe that was a bad idea.
Maybe I should break this self-imposed dry spell I’ve been in since Christian demanded that Nikki join us on tour to babysit.
It’s not that I can’t hook up with a girl with her around. It’s just that I don’t.
Nikki is one of the few people in my life that doesn’t make me feel different. I’ve always been different. The only Mexican boy in a mostly white school. The only kid without a father and whose mom had to work as a cafeteria lady to make sure he’d get fed every day. The troublemaker with ADD who couldn’t sit still long enough to read a book or take a math test.
She also doesn’t treat me special because I’m some guitar god or get shy because I’m her older brother’s friend.
She’s the only one who really gets me. Who has figured out how to talk to me.
I’d lay down my own life before I’d hurt her like that.
But I’m still going to fuck myself thinking about her ass in those shorts.
Also Available
Say Yes: Ian
Say Yes Series Book One
Prologue
Ian
For the first time in a very long time, I do the gentlemanly thing and walk a lady to her door. I’m trying to play it cool. But, inside, I’m exploding.
This is where she lives. This is where Cora lives.
We stop in front of her door.
“This is me,” she says.
She looks at the ground, then back up at me. The blush on her face is so fucking adorable.
This is it. This is where I finally get to kiss Cora Dwyer. Holy shit.
Every dirty dream I’ve had since I was a teenager has been about this girl and it all starts with this very moment.
I lean in…
And hug her.
Fuck me. Ian, you fucking wimp.
I take a deep breath as my arms wrap around her. She presses her body into mine. Rests her head on my shoulder. Lets out a soft sigh.
Okay, this doesn’t exactly suck.
Her skin is soft and warm and she smells like green apples and… I don’t know… sexy girl?
Is that a smell?
I hold her for a long time. Definitely too long for a normal goodbye hug, but she’s not making any effort to let me go. And God knows I’ll keep her in my arms as long as she’ll let me.
“Good night, Cora,” I murmur into her hair.
“Good night.”
I let her go and my arms feel empty.
She turns for the door. I head for the stairs.
Ian, what are you doing? At least get her number, you idiot.
I hear her unlock the door. I double back before she gets inside.
“Do you have a phone?” I ask.
“Most people do,” she says, giving me a little sass.
“I mean, do you have a phone number?”
She nods, hands me her cell, and I dial myself.
“The band is having a show tomorrow night. At the Anonymous Bar,” I tell her, “It’s sold out, but I’ll put you on the list. It’ll be fun.”
“I’ll think about it,” she replies.
“I’d really like it if you came.”
She swallows and bites her bottom lip. “I’d really like to come.”
I fight the urge to say something dirty.
“Great. It’s a date,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. I just wink.
It makes her smile, which makes my heart melt.
Deep breath.
I lean in to kiss her on the cheek. Totally innocent. Only she turns at the same time I accidentally get her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” we both stammer out, neither of us seeming all that sorry.
“It’s fine,” she says with a smirk as she takes her sweet, sweet time closing the door behind her. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I head for the stairs, my lips are still tingling and I’ve got a big, stupid grin on my face because I finally kissed Cora Dwyer. And we have a date tomorrow.
Well. Sort of.
Ian
One Day Earlier
We sit around the coffee table of our manager, Christian’s lavish apartment in West Hollywood. He finishes arranging about fifty headshots. Models. Women. All objectively good-looking.
Though, to be honest, they all look sort of the same to me.
Tall, busty, blonde, flawless. So flawless they’re almost plastic.
We’re casting the girl for our upcoming video, Her Name in Stars. Christian insists that she be both girl-next-door pretty and the sexiest knockout he’s ever seen.
Anywhere in between simply will not do.
As he scans the picture and tosses the rejects to the floor, I’m beginning to understand why women complain about being held to an impossible standard of beauty.
Personally, I don’t care who they choose. It’s the best song our band, Say Yes, has ever recorded and I know in my bones that it’s going to be a huge hit. Like the kind of hit that’s going to help us cross the line from opening act to headliners.
The video and the girl are just the icing on the cake.
Dylan, our singer and the one who wrote the song, considers the models scrupulously. No doubt, he’s trying to find a girl who resembles the now infamous Jane Doe who inspired the song. He sighs, disappointed.
Jack, our guitarist and his step-brother Shawn, our bassist, trade the headshots like playing cards, deciding which brother got to sleep with which model in some alternate universe where they guys get to assemble a harem of beautiful women to indulge their every fantasy. Not that either brother ever struggles for female attention. It’s just their twisted way of amusing themselves.
He’s right. I mean, our first model bailed on us for a better paying gig. She kind of interrupted our entire shooting schedule. And in order to get the video done on time, the new model is going to have to go in with virtually no rehearsal.
And the shoot is in two days, so we have to choose someone fast.
I nod and force my gaze down at the photos. It isn’t a hardship, really, being forced to look at pictures of beautiful women. Judging them is weird though.
The door opens and my younger sister Nikki, Christian’s assistant, enters with coffee and food. She talks to Christian about the band’s schedule for the day. Nikki may be my family, but when she’s in work-mode, she pretends not to know me. She hates that she has this job because of nepotism, but she’s worth her weight in gold as far as the band’s concerned.
“Nikki, come here,” Jack beckons, holding up a picture of a raven-haired model. “What do you think of her?”
Nikki takes the photo and considers it. “Wouldn’t kick her out of bed,” she says with a flirty smile, handing him a coffee. He squeezes her on the shoulder.
I don’t mind my sister befriending my bandmates, not that I really get a choice in the matter. She is an adult. It is weird, however, that she's especially close with Jack. I mean, my sister has that eternal Disney-princess type innocence and Jack is a pretty proud manwhore.
Nikki straightens her conservative pencil skirt and smooths her less-than-conservative pastel rainbow hair and continues to stare at the model. “She looks familiar, but I can’t quite place her.”
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Cora Dwyer.”
I blink. Twice. I can’t have heard that properly.
“Why does that sound so familiar?” Nikki asks.
Jack and Shawn look at me knowingly and I feel my face get hot.
