God, he was huge.
“How’s it going to fit? I mean, I, uh… haven’t seen it or anything. But I feel it. And it feels like a monster.”
The words spewed from my mouth without passing through my filter. Thank goodness my lips clamped shut before I asked if I could touch it. I really wanted to. My cheeks heated with embarrassment.
He chuckled. “Izzy, you’ve just made my whole damn night.” A cocky smirk lifted his lips, shattering my nerves.
His fingers cupped my cheek as he looked at me with eyes full of sincerity. “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s probably going to hurt. I wish like hell it wouldn’t. But from everything I’ve heard, it’s going to at least a little. But then it gets better.”
He chewed his lip nervously. His stare was so intense, it scorched my skin. Nerves had my eyes examining the planes of his body instead of returning his stare.
“I know you’d never hurt me on purpose. And I’ve heard it’s going to hurt before it eventually gets good.” I sucked in a breath and tried to still the shaking going on in every cell of my body. “Some of my friends said it takes several times before it gets good. So, I’m prepared for that.”
His hand gripped my chin, so my gaze had to meet his. “I’m going…” He paused and swallowed audibly before continuing, “…to do some stuff first to help prepare you. It’s supposed to help you feel really good. You can stop it at any time, and I won’t get mad. If you get scared or nervous or change your mind, we can stop. You’re in control. OK?”
I nodded. He stepped away from me and shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, toed off his shoes, and unfastened his pants. My mouth went dry as I watched him strip down to his boxers. I’d seen him in a swimsuit every summer since we were kids. I’d watched his body change from scrawny and undefined to this toned physique. Last summer, it had been a turn on every day of his visit to see his muscular torso. But this time, seeing him this way, was so much hotter.
Dawson stepped to the corner and grabbed pillows and blankets. He fashioned a nest out of them and my bean bag chair while I watched. My gaze stayed glued to the way the cotton fabric moved and shifted over his butt. Before he stepped back to me, he dug into his pants pocket and removed his wallet. Nimble, musician fingers plucked a silver square from inside.
“Courtesy of Dad, from, like, two years ago. I’d never put you at risk. I hope you know that,” he said earnestly.
“I know. I’m never worried when I’m with you.” I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the bulge in his boxers. I wished I’d asked my friends the thousand questions running through my mind. Then maybe I wouldn’t have been so nervous.
In milliseconds, he was back in front of me. I felt a lot less vulnerable with him half-naked already. We were like two atoms on a collision course. Our arms went around each other simultaneously. Mouths banged into each other. His tongue swiped my lips, which parted of their own volition. Our teeth crashed together as our desperate passion made us sloppy. His hands toyed with the button at the nape of my neck holding the halter top of my dress closed.
He pulled back and met my gaze. A conversation happened with our eyes. No spoken words were necessary. Finding permission in my gaze, his hands unfastened the button and hooks. Then they traced a torturous line down my spine to the top of the zipper. Another silent exchange passed between us before the quick sound of metal on metal filled the air. Metallic teeth parted in tiny clicks, exposing more of my skin to the night air. The emotions flashing in his eyes indicated he was at war with himself, wanting to make sure he wasn’t removing the choice from me. I took mercy on both of us and stepped back. The absence of pressure from his chest against mine allowed my dress to cascade down my body into a puddle at my feet.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “In all my fantasies, and there have been many, you never stole my breath, my mind, my heart like you are right now. You are the inspiration of every song I will ever create.”
His eyes roved slowly over me, taking in every line and curve of my body. Determination set his features, and he scooped me up. Gently, he settled me on the hot pink bean bag where we’d spent many nights of our childhood and adolescence cuddled up together. The dig of his elbow in my thigh only registered as a brief moment of discomfort. As he knelt between my knees, his touch made every articulate thought flee my mind. Fingers, lips and tongue memorized every inch of my body. Eventually, I gave in to a pleasure I’d only heard rumors of, and the best night of my life only continued to get better.
I hit pause on the CD player and pulled into the next place offering an asphalt respite. Throwing the car in park, I dug through the center console for a napkin and used it to mop the water from my face. My head dropped to rest against the steering wheel. There was a reason in the past two years I hadn’t allowed my head or heart to travel the path to that memory. It was one of my most treasured ones.
Our first time was nothing like I imagined it would be and everything I’d hoped it would be. It was perfect with all its tenderness and awkwardness. The sweet kisses we planted on each other. My shy mission exploring him. His embarrassing admission to having watched porn to know what to do so it’d be good for me. That first joining was only a handful of minutes, but he was right when he said the next time would feel better and be longer.
That night—while my mind took note of the elbow jab in the boob as he scrambled into place, the taste of blood when I accidentally bit his lip in my anxiousness to fuse our lips together at that perfect moment, the spot on my hip that bruised later where he held on too tightly, the scratch on his shoulder where I held on too tightly, and that sharp pain that hurt more than I imagined and lasted longer than I expected when two bodies melded together—my heart catalogued the smile on his face that was meant for only me, the awe in his eyes when I shattered around him on our second try, the rightness of waking up in his arms twice in the span of a few hours, and the three most magical words in the history of all languages whispered against my lips after we’d merged bodies, hearts and souls. We’d shared those words many times in the years after that night—sometimes as friends, sometimes as lovers, sometimes as more. But every single time we said them, the moment was seared on my heart.
♪ Love of a Lifetime by Firehouse
Chapter 18
Dawson
“Yo, Bas. How ya’ been?” I asked as I gave him a half-hug.
“Great, man. I hear you guys are taking the road we’ve been traveling,” he said as he led me to his office.
“Yeah. And I was hoping I could pick your brain. Now that we’ve taken the plunge, I kind of feel like we might sink instead of swim. I had no idea just how much crap there was to keep organized,” I admitted.
“I figured that was why you wanted to meet up. I actually put together some stuff for you, suggestions, checklists and more that I think will help.” He settled into one of the chairs in his office and grabbed the blue folder from on top of his desk.
He handed it over and launched into spending the next hour explaining the contents of the folder.
My meeting with Sebastian was very productive. He advised me on the things we needed to get in place first and what things could wait. When we were done, he gave me a tour of their space. As he was showing me around the recording booths, I stopped to listen to a guy in the end booth. He was someone I didn’t know. But his voice was unique.
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing inside.
He smiled like a proud parent. “That’s Tyler Rich. He’s been coming around for a little while now. He’s going to hit the country scene big really soon.”
“I can see that. His sound is upbeat and fun. Perfect for today’s country fans.” I listened to the lyrics of the song he was singing. And every one of them hit me in the heart. “Do you think I could meet him?” I needed to meet the man bringing to life the words that were now resonating in my heart.
“Sure. When he finishes this round, I’ll get him to take a break.”
If Izzy heard
this song, would the words touch her like they did me? Country music definitely wasn’t Izzy’s genre of choice, so she’d never encounter this song on her own. But she’d always examined lyrics growing up. Hell, she was the reason I learned to appreciate songs in the first place. How could I get her to hear those words?
While I mulled it over, Tyler finished recording. The door opened, and he strolled into the sound room. “Hey, Sebastian,” he said, shaking Bas’s hand.
“Hey, man. My friend here wanted me to introduce you.” Sebastian gestured towards me. “Tyler Rich, this is Dawson—”
“Anderson from Lyrical Odyssey,” Tyler finished, grinning at me and holding out his hand.
I shook it. “Hey, Tyler. You sounded amazing in there.”
“Thanks, man. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m a big fan.” He rocked back and forth on his boots.
“That song you were just recording, did you write it?” I asked.
“Yeah.” His lips spread into a wide grin.
“Those lyrics were spot on. Maybe I could cover it sometime. Or maybe we could perform it together,” I asked nervously.
“That’d be cool.”
“Here’s my number,” I said as I pulled a paper out of my pocket with my cell phone number.
“Let me give you mine.” He ripped a slip of paper off the notebook on the soundboard and jotted his down.
“Bas, I gotta get outta here. I’ll catch up with you later. And Tyler, it was great meeting you. I’ll be in touch.” I saluted them both.
“I look forward to it,” Tyler said before settling the headphones over his ears to listen to his playback.
When I arrived home an hour later, there was a package on my doorstep. Frowning, I picked it up and carried it inside. The return address was our old record label’s. Once I got it opened, I found a typed letter on top of a stack of colored envelopes.
Dear Lyrical Odyssey,
Enclosed you will find the fan mail that has been received at our office since we parted ways. We sorted the letters written to each of you individually. Then we divided up those that were addressed to the band as a whole. Please provide us with a new address to forward the next batch to until you can arrange for someone to handle your fans specifically.
Sincerely,
Pam Stone
I shuffled through the stack and discovered most of the colored squares were addressed to me. There were a few addressed to the entire band. It had been several years since I’d seen any of the fan mail that got sent to us. Being on the road for such a long tour made it hard for mail to catch up with us. I made a mental note to talk with the guys about getting someone in place to handle the letters from our fans.
Sinking into the corner of the couch, I started opening the letters. The first letter contained a photo of a cute teenaged girl and a note saying how our music inspired her. Reading it made me feel good and made all the exhausting hours worth it.
After an hour, I’d gone through about half the stack. There had been a few long, heartfelt letters that really tugged my heart. There were lots of envelopes containing naked or nearly naked girls posing with our CDs. There was a handful of marriage proposals. A purple envelope was next in the stack. Running my finger beneath the flap, I broke the seal. Inside was a sheet of white paper straight out of a horror movie. The body of the letter was formed from cut out letters of various colors and sizes. A cold sweat covered my skin. As my eyes scanned the note, my heart skipped a beat.
Dear Dawson
Heard the clip of your new song. It's so sweet you're writing it for me. I knew I mattered to you. I was beginning to wonder since you never answer my letters.
Love,
Me.
There was a handful of cut up pieces of paper loose in the envelope. I tried to piece them together, but they seemed to not go with each other.
I turned over the envelope and examined the postmark. The date was the day I posted the song clip. I shuffled through the rest of the stack and found one other envelope with the same handwriting. It was postmarked two weeks before the one I'd already opened. With a knot in my stomach, I opened it. I couldn't explain the sense of foreboding I felt. The note wasn't threatening. It was a bit creepy that the writer used magazine clippings to write it. But the message wasn't alarming. Neither was the one I just opened.
Exactly.
Dear Dawson,
A couple of months after your tour ends, I'm moving to LA. So, we can be together. Soon.
Love,
Me.
♪ Every Breath You Take by the Police
A shiver ran down my spine. Inside the envelope were another few scraps of paper. There still weren’t enough of them for me to decipher what was printed on the photo. Probably a picture of herself Photoshopped with me or something.
I went to the security panel and made sure everything was set to the highest settings.
Rifling through the remaining envelopes, I didn’t find any more with that handwriting. But the sender indicated there had been several letters. I wasted no time calling Lila. She’d know who I needed to talk to about old letters.
“Hey, Dawson. What’s up?” she said as soon as she picked up.
“Hey. I received a box from the record label containing some unopened fan mail they’d received since we left. Would you happen to know what happened to fan mail that was received before we left the label?” I paced my living room, checking the windows to make sure they were locked. I just had a strange feeling.
“Yes. Pam Stone oversees all the label’s clients, but she assigns each client someone directly. Barb and her team handled LO’s fan correspondence. Why are you asking?”
“I got some letters today that seem to indicate there were previous letters. I’d like to see them,” I said vaguely. I didn’t want to let on how creeped out I was by the two notes so far. I didn’t want to seem like a wimp.
“I doubt that’s possible,” she said.
“What? Why not?” My brows furrowed.
“Well, you guys receive a lot of mail. The team saves a few of the sweetest, most original letters. Sometimes they’re good for promo. But most of the rest get trashed after a few months,” she explained.
“Do the fans get a response to their letters?” I wondered out loud.
“If I’m not mistaken, a certain percentage get mailed a formal letter and some band swag to thank them for their support.”
That was something that needed to change. They all deserved an acknowledgement for having our backs.
“If they saved them for a few months, who should I call to get what they saved?” I asked, my mind racing at what the previous notes might reveal.
“I’ll text you Barb’s number. She’ll be able to help you. The letters you’re looking for… were you wanting to meet the person? Because I have to say, that wouldn’t be a good idea,” she cautioned.
“No. I can’t explain it. The letters were just… different. So, I wanted to investigate more.”
“OK. I’ll get you that number. Hope you find what you need. Let me know if I can help,” she offered.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hung up and went in the kitchen to get something to drink. Within a few seconds, my phone vibrated with the text from Lila. Without much thought, I dialed the number.
“Hello,” a professional, feminine voice answered.
“Hi, Barb. This is Dawson Anderson. It’s my understanding you were in charge of Lyrical Odyssey’s fan mail until we left the label.”
“Yes, sir. I was. Is there something I can help you with?” she asked pleasantly.
“Today, I received a batch of unopened letters that were forwarded to me from the label,” I began.
“Yes, I got them together for you guys.”
“Thanks for that. I don’t want our fans to get lost in the transition. Anyway, Lila said you keep a few months’ worth of old letters.” I spun my water bottle in a circle on the countert
op.
“We do. There are about ten boxes full in the closet in my office,” she confirmed.
“Wow. I had no idea.” It was humbling that so many people took the time to write us.
“You guys don’t really have time to deal with the mundane task of reading the mail. It’s a lot.”
“We are busy. I just wish I’d known so many people bothered to send something to us. Especially in this day and age, when written communication is becoming obsolete. Can I come by and get the boxes from you?” I gave my bottle a massive twist, sending it spiraling across the granite while I waited for her response.
“I don’t see why not. It’s your mail.” She laughed.
“I’ll be by there in about an hour.”
“See you then.” She disconnected.
Scooping up my keys, I made my way to my car. With traffic, it took me almost the full hour to drive to our old label’s office.
As I strode up to the receptionist’s desk, the cute girl’s face flushed, and she jumped to her feet. “Hi… uh… you’re Daw… Dawson from LO.”
“Yeah, I am. Can you point me in the direction of Barb?”
“Oh, sure. Fourth floor, second door on the right,” she stammered.
“Thanks.” As I headed to the elevator, I suppressed the urge to chuckle. People seemed to forget I was still just a human being. Just because I performed and made music, didn’t make me more.
♪ Just a Man by Somo
Moments after my ascent started, a ding signaled I’d reached my destination. The stammering fan downstairs must have called ahead, because a woman in a pant suit waited when the doors slid open.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 35