Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
It wasn’t power; it was equality. I didn’t feel like he was older, smarter, or more talented. It wasn’t him, and it wasn’t me. It was us.
I had sex with Matt. He had sex with me. And they were two very different experiences. With Isaac, we made love.
Wrapped in his arms, he laid us on the bed, my heart pounding against his. That was what I imagined musicians thought about when they wrote about sex and intimacy—and love.
Between labored breaths, he stroked my hair. “I’m sorry we feel like a lie. I’m sorry that this will hurt a lot of people we love. But, baby,” he kissed the top of my head, “I wouldn’t change what’s happened. My feelings for you are too big; they don’t leave any room for regret.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE J. GEILS BAND, “LOVE STINKS”
Isaac
I loved Matty, but I saw the world through a different lens.
Not everything that was right was fair. And not everything that was fair was right.
Sarah Jacobson belonged to no one. No finders keepers—no dibs. I never asked her to love me, and she never asked me to love her.
Matty lived a charmed life, and I lived with the truth. I was good with the truth as long as no one judged me. I gave up my dreams so that Matty could have his—he just didn’t know that.
“Are you sure it’s not weird that I’m wearing the same dress?” Sarah finished buttoning her dress, hair wet from our shower together.
“Different night. Different crowd,” I said. “I’m wearing the same jeans,” I zipped them.
She rolled her eyes. “I feel like you’re going to let me sing one song with you tonight.”
I chuckled, sitting on the end of the bed to pull on my socks and boots. “You do, huh?”
She couldn’t hide her grin, not that I would have wanted her to because that girl brought me to my knees with one look—wrapped around her finger or tucked in her back pocket.
It was that simple. She had me whether she wanted me or not. I never imagined my dream being as simplistic as watching someone else live theirs. Until her.
“Well, I did the thing. Not that I did it so you’d let me sing.” She glanced up at me, balancing on one foot to pull on her boots while her cheeks turned pink. “I wanted to do it.”
To be perfectly clear, I never would have asked her to put my dick in her mouth for any reason. But who was I to say no when she removed the towel from my waist after our shower and seemed eager to try something new?
“Lenny makes the rules, not me,” I said.
“Oh,” she twisted her lips and nodded several times. “I see. So, I sucked the wrong guy’s ...”
I loved how her innocence tripped her up.
“The wrong guy’s dick?”
She huffed and deflated.
“Sunday Morning, I’ll never tell you what you have to do, but I’m sure as hell going to tell you what you’re not going to do. And sucking another man’s dick is at the top of the list.”
“Same difference.” She frowned.
“Not the same.” I stood and adjusted my belt before hooking my fingers into the pockets of her dress and pulling her to me.
She slid her hands around my waist and peered up at me with her mesmerizing blue eyes. “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”
“What time do you have to be back?” I asked.
“By dinner. Heather said they were planning on returning around six. So just drop me off where you usually do, and we should be good.”
“Well, that’s not until tomorrow. Let’s grab dinner. Hit the show. Fireworks. Bed.”
She beamed. “I don’t know what I’m looking forward to the most.”
“Bed, baby. You’re looking forward to getting in this bed with me and not sleeping for the whole night.”
She giggled. “But I love fireworks.”
“Get your ass in the truck.”
I played for forty-five minutes, watching Sarah at a table right next to the stage the whole time. It thrilled me to pretend that she was my favorite groupie, but I knew better. She was itching to wrap her hands around the microphone and sing her beautiful heart out.
Watching her jaw drop during my last song was almost too much. I sang “Love Stinks” and the crowd sang the chorus. By the end, Sarah lifted her hands in the air and sang along too.
“We have time for one more song,” I announced, watching Sarah’s shoulders fold inward, resigned to the idea that I wasn’t going to give her a bigger glimpse at her dreams. “If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to bring a special guest on stage with me.”
That look—the one she gave me—was bigger and better than anything in the whole fucking galaxy. With one single look, she simplified my existence and the meaning of my life to a singular purpose: spend every day working to earn that look from her.