Reckless Love_A Second Chance Romance

by J. Saman

  “Done. My phone is upstairs, but we can study in the dining room unless you want to do it in my bedroom.”

  “Definitely not.” She scrunches her nose like the idea of going upstairs with me is gross. I hold my hand up to my chest like she just shot me. “You’re not wounded. Your ego is far too big for little old me to hurt it.” If only she knew. “Hey Jameson?” she calls out, the moment my foot hits the first step.

  I lean over the half-wall that separates the stairs from the living room. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for not commenting on my weird food order.” She’s serious and she must be reading the confusion on my face when she says, “Sometimes I can be a bit…particular with things.”

  “I know,” I tell her, because I do. Like I said, I know her. She’s a perfectionist. She always has to be in control of a situation. She has OCD tendencies that I’d be willing to bet run deeper than she’d like people to know. At least, that’s how she was in high school. In the two weeks that I’ve had class with her, she hasn’t shown me anything different. “Doesn’t bother me, Lee. I like that about you.” I wink at her and run up the stairs, not even giving her a chance to comment or look embarrassed, or whatever it is girls do in that situation.

  I grab my phone off my desk, as well as my notebook and pen. Popping my pen into my mouth, I roll it around, grinding my teeth into the worn plastic as I scroll through my missed calls. Two more from Dianne, my stepmother, and three from Lyric. I feel terrible about that and am surprised she caved on studying with me so quickly.

  I dial up the Mexican restaurant because I know their number by freaking heart and order our food. Veggie tacos for her and chicken for me, then I head back down to her. She’s already set up at my dining room table, the way I expected her to be, laptop open and ready, notebook set up with pen across the paper at a forty-five-degree angle. But what I didn’t expect was Travers to be standing over her, smiling like the damn Cheshire cat as his eyes feast on her like she’s the dessert after the meal he’s been waiting for.

  “Called in the food,” I say louder than I need to. Travers doesn’t budge away from her, even though I’m positive he just understood my back-the-fuck-off tone. “Should be here in less than an hour.” Lyric twists around his large body to find me, but she doesn’t comment. “Do you want a beer or anything to drink?”

  “Water. We’re studying.”

  I should have known. “Are you going to scold me if I have a beer?”

  She shrugs as I approach her other side. “It’s your house. But if you wait, I’ll have a beer with dinner.”

  “Deal.”

  “Is this your super-secret girlfriend none of us know about?” Travers asks, his eyes still on Lyric.

  “Study partner,” the two of us say in unison. “Lyric, this is my roommate Travers. Trav, this is my childhood friend and study partner Lyric. She’s going to help me get an A in our corporate finance class.”

  “You’ve got your work cut out for you, sweetheart.”

  “Dick,” I mutter and he laughs, reaching out and slapping my shoulder like he’s swatting away a bug.

  “Childhood friend, huh?” Travers asks with more interest than I would like and Lyric shrugs. I really don’t have anything to add to that one. “Okay then. We’ll leave it with a vague uncomfortable silence. I gotta jet to meet up with Sam and Tony, but it was a pleasure to meet you, Lyric. I hope I get to see you again real soon.”

  He goes to take her hand and I reflexively smack him away. “Back off my study partner. She’s immune to your charms.”

  “No woman is immune to my charms.” He runs a hand through his blond hair and winks one of his green eyes at her. “It’s the southern gentleman in me.”

  “And as long as you don’t try to put your southern gentleman in me, we’ll get along just fine.”

  Travers laughs, loud and hard. “How did you know that was my next line?”

  “Read you like a book,” she says, smiling back.

  “I like you. You’re a lot fun, Lyric. Enjoy studying with this sulky bastard.”

  I flip him off and he blows me a kiss before leaving. Cane is already gone so now I’m alone with Lyric. It feels…I don’t know. Not awkward. Not necessarily that. But I’m definitely more hyperaware of her. Of her sounds. Of her scent. Of the way she moves and where her eyes go. Why? I think I’m affected by her. I want her. I sit down next to her and find myself moving my chair closer to her than I probably should.

  I don’t want to want her. I genuinely do not. We grew up together. We’re from the same town and know the same people. We now go to the same college and I absolutely do need her help to get an A. Lusting after her is not an option.

  “Why do you need an A in this class?” she asks, opening her textbook to coincide with the class PowerPoint that’s pulled up on her laptop.

  “Are you reading my mind now?”

  She looks up at me, her hazel eyes swimming in confusion.

  “I was just thinking about how I need an A in this class.” And about what you’d look like naked and sprawled out on my bed as I made you come with my mouth. Fuck, now I’m getting hard.

  I. Cannot. Lust. After. Her.

  She leans back in her seat; the spine of the chair is tall and stiff without a lot of give to it, so she doesn’t have far to go. She’s waiting me out, I realize, and typically, I don’t talk about my family. I don’t talk about my situation with them, but maybe her family life is far crazier than mine. Her father is a rock star after all. That has to come with its own set of challenges. It certainly got her a lot of attention growing up. So, if anyone can understand me, understand the demands placed on me, it’s her. “My father requires an A in all of my business and finance classes in order for me to work for his company.”

  She stares me down for a long moment, a lifetime of questions scrolling across her face, then asks, “And that’s what you want? To work for him?”

  “Not him necessarily, but his company, yes. I want his company to one day be my company and the only way that’s happening is if I earn it.”

  She smiles softly, liking that answer. “Then I think we should get started. There’s a lot of material to go over.”

  “Can I ask you a question before we get into this?” I pop my pen in my mouth, chew on it a couple of times to break the buildup of tension inside of me.

  “Sure. Go for it.”

  “Why are you in college?”

  She lets out a small bemused laugh. “Where else should I be?”

  “Making music.” She frowns and I wonder if her dismay is directed at me or the fact that she’s not making music professionally yet. “You could be in Hollywood making albums.”

  “Do you like trading on your father’s name?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t mind having to work my way to the top. It means I earned it and wasn’t handed it.”

  She points at me with an ah-ha expression like I just got her. “I don’t like trading on my father’s name, either. That’s all anyone cared about in New York. ‘When is the Great Gabriel Rose coming to visit the school?’” She puts air quotes around the words, a sarcastic inflection in her tone. “Would he perform there? Would he come and help teach the students? On and fucking on. It was infuriating. And yeah, I do intern for Robert Snow at Spin Records over the summers. Obviously, he knows my father and they have a long history of working together. But Robert made me show him what I could do before he even considered taking me on. And if I don’t get a degree and my desired career in music doesn’t pan out, then what would I do?”

  “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  She smiles, leaning forward until she’s practically in my personal space. I lean forward, too, most definitely invading hers, but instead of blushing or catching her breath at our proximity—as is the way it goes whenever I do this particular move with other girls—her grin turns mischievous. Sinfully sexy. “And I think you can get an A all on your own. I can’t tell if you’re selling your
self short academically, intellectually, or if you’re the sort of guy who likes to cover his ass.”

  Before I can stop myself, I draw in closer, our faces, noses, mouths, inches apart. Her eyes widen, but just barely. She’s trying so hard not to pull away. To throw the game she started back at me. But I’ll never lose this. Not with any woman I find as fuckable as I find her. Our eyes are locked, the corner of my lips perking up as I skirt along the flesh of her cheek until I reach her ear. I blow out a warm breath, her body trembling with the smallest of perceptible shudders. I inhale, savoring the uniqueness of her fragrance. It’s not perfume. It’s not even body wash or shampoo. It’s all Lyric. And it’s amazing.

  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Chapter 3

  Lyric

  * * *

  Comprehensive Music Theory is probably one of the most annoying classes a music major can take. Especially since there are like three levels to it here. And yet, it’s imperative for any artist. Mainly because they all have a different style. A different strength and skillset; learning the foundation of something that can be so instinctive is a good thing.

  I’m not an artist. Not traditionally, anyway. I don’t sing. I mean, I can sing and I’m not bad at it, but it’s not where I excel. I can play several different instruments, but none of them at a professional level. I make music. I write music. I compile it and blend it together and alter it to the way it’s meant to sound.

  So, this course is sort of ridiculous for me.

  I don’t need to learn about the elements of the score. Clefs, intervals, naming octaves, downbeats and upbeats. The list goes on and on. I don’t need that. I know it. It’s in my soul, it’s been my life’s education, and I believe excessive classical training isn’t always the best if you don’t have that innate ability. It can confuse you. Make you second guess things about your talent that you probably shouldn’t second guess.

  But even so, I take notes and follow along, doing my best to work on the keyboard or whatever instrument our professor has us working with that class. Some students sing. I try to avoid that.

  Mostly because I have a pretty good indication that everyone in this class knows who my father is. I get looks and watch as people quietly whisper in that obvious, I’m-talking-about-you-and-not-doing-the-best-job-at-hiding-it way. I keep to myself in here. Cass is in this class with me and she makes it much easier to tolerate. This class, and our advanced corporate finance class, are the only two we have together, but I’ll take it.

  “What are you doing after this?” Cass asks as we pack up our stuff. She’s eyeing my finance book like it’s incarnation of evil. I don’t disagree with her on that sentiment. I hate finance and am glad Jameson makes me study it.

  “I’m supposed to meet up with Jameson in the library to study. Do you want to join?”

  She shakes her head like I just asked her if she wants to drive in to Nashville and perform nude at a honky-tonk with drunk, sweaty men surrounding her. “No freaking way. What’s with the two of you always studying together anyway? It’s been like, six weeks now. It’s weird. And maybe a bit disconcerting, since I didn’t know guys like Jameson utilized places like the library. Or studied for that matter. I always assumed they got by on their good looks, especially with the female members of the faculty.”

  I throw her a look as I lift my heavy bag onto my shoulder and adjust it until it’s as comfortable as can be. “He needs an A.”

  “Right. That still doesn’t explain why you two study together like four days a week.”

  I have no answer for that. Especially since we don’t always study when we’re together. Sometimes we get caught up with other things. But I’m not about to admit that to her right now.

  “He likes you.”

  I snort, rolling my eyes. “No, he doesn’t. We’re friends. We grew up in the same town and we hang out. That’s it. His house is nice and off campus and I like his roommates. They’re funny in an annoying, misogynistic, overly flirtatious, big brother sort of way.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense. And it sounds a bit incestuous. And I don’t know about—”

  “Lyric?” A male voice interrupts her from behind me, and I see Cass’s eyes widen and her lips break out into a smile as I turn around. Matt, one of the kids from our class, is standing at the end of the aisle next to Saylor, the girl Cass warned me about. And after meeting her a time or two in this class, and another one I unfortunately have with her, I understand the warning.

  “Hey,” I say with a warm smile for both of them. I feel Cass come to stand next to me on my right and I wonder if it’s so she can see the show better or if it’s an act of solidarity.

  “How’s it going?” Matt asks, but before I can open my mouth to respond, Saylor cuts in.

  “Are you signing up for the holiday showcase?” Does she have to ask that with an accusatory tone?

  “Nope. Not my scene. What about you?”

  She smirks, tossing her bleached blonde hair over her shoulder. Saylor is pretty. A bit too thin, but in a model way that makes her stand out. Especially since she’s very tall and has pretty blue eyes. “Of course. Matt here thinks you should, too, but doesn’t know what you’d do in it, considering you don’t sing or play a particular instrument with any proficiency.”

  God, she’s such a bitch.

  I peer over at Matt and I feel Cass bumping her elbow into my back intentionally. Matt looks stricken and slightly annoyed. “That’s not what I said,” he clips out, throwing Saylor a death glare. Matt has dark hair and dark eyes, and a great smile complete with adorable boyish dimples that you kind of want to stick your finger into. He screams boy-band mock-up in every way imaginable. “I think you’d be great,” he says with a softer note. “but I know you don’t perform. I just thought it would be cool if you wrote something for a specific person or helped a few of us arrange a piece.”

  Saylor glares at him, clearly not liking that answer at all. Her arms cross over her chest and her hip juts out. If looks could kill, Matt would be very dead by this point. “I thought we were going to do a duet,” she snaps at him. “I hardly think we need her to help us. It’s not like she’s that good anyway.”

  “Probably not,” I say, not having any interest in working with her. Or speaking to her. Or being in the same general vicinity as her. “But thanks for thinking of me,” I add for Matt’s sake. I’m not about to get into a bitch fest with this girl. She’s not worth the effort. I move to step around them, wanting to get away from her and this awkward tension that seems to be bubbling up to something ugly.

  “If you change your mind, though…” Matt trails off and I pat his shoulder as I pass him.

  “Thanks, but I think you two have it figured out. I’ll be there to cheer you on.”

  He looks like he wants to say more, but Cass is pulling me by my arm toward the exit of the class. “Jesus, I thought she was going to cut you with one of her talons,” she whispers in my ear. “Did you see the look she was giving you?”

  “I don’t think I could have missed it.” I laugh. We step outside into the mild fall day, my lungs automatically inhaling the sweetness of the October air before I practically slam into a tall, hard body. “Hey,” I say to Jameson, surprise leaking from my voice. “What are you doing here?”

  Before he can answer, Saylor walks up to him, slinking her fingers into the crook of his arm in a way that screams ‘this is mine and you can’t have it’. “I didn’t know you were coming to see me today,” she coos, staring up at him adoringly. Matt is standing there next to her, his eyes bouncing back and forth between me and Jameson. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. Is he here to see her? The thought twists my stomach in a way I don’t appreciate.

  “Actually, Lyric and I have plans to study together,” Jameson says, standing up taller and eyeing me in a way that makes my heart beat just a little faster. “I finished up in my class early and thought I’d meet you here. It’s nice out, and I don’t want to sit in
the stuffy library to study.”

  “I didn’t know you were friends with Lyric, Jamie,” Saylor says, still holding on to his arm like he’s her prized possession. “She hardly seems like the type of girl you spend time with. You usually like us less…rough around the edges. No offense,” she adds, looking at me with the fakest smile in the history of fake smiles.

  “Right. Why would I take offense to that? It’s not like it was rude or anything.”

  Cass snorts and tries—poorly, I might add—to cover it up as a cough. I pat her back and that only makes her choke harder.

  “You see, Saylor, that’s where you’re wrong. Lyric and I have been close for years.” Jameson winks at me and I can’t help but laugh, if for no other reason than the scowl pinching up Saylor’s face.

  “Really?” Matt asks, his gaze still shifting between Jameson and myself. “How’s that?”

  “We grew up together,” Jameson and I say in unison. How annoying is that? I scrunch up my nose and roll my eyes, but Jameson is smiling widely at me. “Yup. Lee here is my favorite dirty little secret.”

  “Don’t you wish.”

  Saylor’s nose wrinkles like she’s smelling garbage, and Matt appears a little confused.

  Cass slaps Jameson’s arm and my back, trying to cut the tension. “Well, this is fun and everything in a totally non-awkward as ass way, but I need to get going. There’s a cup of coffee out there calling my name. I’ll catch you later, Lyric.”

  I cock an eyebrow at her and she throws me a small bow and a shit-eating grin.

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Oh, you better.” Her eyes flick to each of us, then walks off, throwing a small finger-wave over her shoulder.

  “Since you’re boringly busy with studying now, maybe we can get together later and actually have some fun?” Saylor asks Jameson, who’s checking something on his phone. He tucks it into his pocket at her words. “It’s been a while since we’ve…spent alone time together,” she says in a suggestive voice, her eyes on me as she does.