Say Yes: Ian: Say Yes Series Book One

by Amelia Mae

  “Whoa, you were engaged?” he says, “What happened?”

  “You know how it is. School got harder. He started staying out late. I don’t know if he was cheating on me, but, honestly, I don’t think I cared. I’d come home from my internship and drink wine until I fell asleep. Then I’d just do it all again the next day.”

  “You weren’t happy,” he says.

  “Pretty miserable actually. I told Evan how depressed I felt and that I wanted to quit the program, thinking he’d be supportive, but he told me to suck it up and finish. That it was the adult thing to do.”

  “What an asshole.”

  “I see his point. I mean, I had a whole career ahead of me. I had my whole life mapped out. But I hated every minute of it,” I tell him. “So we ended things. I moved out. He’s living downtown and he’s on track to be a plastic surgeon. And I live in a studio in the valley and wear a slutty dress to serve cocktails.”

  “Don’t say it like that,” Ian says, “You’re fighting for something you love doing. It’s brave.”

  “Thanks. I know deep down that I made the right choice. Really,” I say, “But it’s always weird to run into people who knew you when you were the golden child. I feel like I disappoint them.”

  “Fuck them,” he says.

  “Like it’s that easy.”

  “It is that easy. Fuck them. Fuck expectations. If I’d listened to everybody who said the band never make it, I’d… I don’t know. Be a DJ at Bar Mitzvahs or something.”

  I laugh, picturing Ian playing cheesy line dances on turntables or whatever DJs do nowadays.

  “And I’d have a shit ton of regrets,” he says.

  I’m relieved. He gets it.

  “I know you’re struggling right now,” he continues, “But you won’t struggle forever. I have faith in you, Cora.”

  The corners of my mouth perk up. That’s sweet.

  “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you home.”

  The Lyft drops us off in front of my apartment and Ian climbs the two flights of stairs to walk me to my door like a gentleman. A gentleman with arms full of tattoos, but a gentleman no less. His hand grazes my lower back and it gives me goosebumps.

  We stop in front of my door.

  “This is me,” I say, silently wishing we had another few floors to climb together.

  I look at the ground, bashful, like a teenager on a first date who doesn’t know if she’s about to get kissed or not.

  He closes the distance between us.

  He looks like he’s going to kiss me. He leans down.

  Please, please kiss me.

  He pulls me into a hug. Damn.

  But, it’s a long hug.

  One where he rests his chin on top of my head and I feel his stubble through my hair. One where he gathers me close to his chest and I find out that he smells like leather and body wash and it makes me dizzy.

  “Good night, Cora,” he says, his voice something deep and seductive.

  “Good night,” I respond.

  He lets me go and I feel suddenly cold. Part of me thought that he’d try and invite himself in. And by thought, I mean hoped. But Ian’s too much of a gentleman for that.

  It’s nice. Frustrating, but nice.

  He heads for the stairs.

  I unlock the door.

  “Do you have a phone?” he asks, doubling back.

  “Most people do,” I say, snarky.

  He rolls his eyes. “I mean, do you have a phone number?”

  I nod and surrender my cell. He dials his own number and his phone rings.

  “Say Yes is having a show tomorrow night. At the Anonymous Bar,” he say, “It’s sold out, but I’ll put you on the list. It’ll be fun.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I reply.

  He drops his voice to a low whisper and takes a step closer. “I’d really like it if you came.”

  I swallow hard. It’s torture having him this close.

  My voice gets breathy. “I want to come,” I tell him.

  He laughs and I turn scarlet.

  He leans in for another hug and a light kiss on the cheek. Only I turn at the same time and he doesn’t get my cheek.

  I accidentally kiss his lips.

  “I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time.

  “It’s fine.” I try to hide my smile.

  We bid each other goodbye, for real this time, and I shut the door behind him.

  5

  Cora

  Ian’s gone and the door is closed.

  Thank God, I think. I can’t stand the thought of him seeing me standing here grinning like an idiot.

  But that kiss…. Ugh.

  I know that kiss was an accident, but I felt something. An electric shock that went straight to my core. I’d never felt anything like that before. Not even with Evan.

  And it was just a little kiss.

  An accidental half-kiss.

  I have to stop obsessing about it.

  And I will. After a little session with my vibrator.

  Giving myself a once-over in the mirror, I turn to show Aya the outfit I’ve chosen to wear to the show tonight, a loose-fitting flannel shirt over a tight black tank top, skinny jeans and boots. It’s a little grunge, but still feminine. Sounds like something one would wear to a rock concert, right?

  “No way, girl,” she says. “It’s cute for everyday stuff, but you have no idea how girls dress for these things. If you want get this boy’s attention, you need to let to let the girls come out and play.” She yanks my tank top down an inch or so to show off my handful of cleavage.

  “Try this,” she orders, shoving a strappy red dress and leather jacket in my arms. “Keep the boots, though. Those are hot.”

  I agree.

  “And skip the panties.”

  I slip into the dress. It’s a show-stopper, showing off a lot of leg and leaving my shoulders bare. I don’t generally dress for attention and this definitely screams look at me. It may not my style, but I trust Aya and I convince myself it’s time to try something new. And that this dress is about me and my self-esteem. Not because I want Ian looking at me like he wants to tear it off my body.

  But the idea of him looking at me like is absolutely not a bad thing.

  I don’t skip the panties. But I consider it.

  At the venue, Aya and I are ushered into the area where the band is hanging out. I spot Jack and Shawn right away. Time has been good to them. Both are around six feet tall, broad shouldered, currently in rock-star mode and well… really fucking hot.

  In high school, Shawn hung out with the popular kids, despite being baby-faced and chubby. I remember running into him at parties where he was usually consoling some recently single cheerleader. Now he’s built like an athlete, lean and muscular, with deep green eyes and wavy brown hair. He sits on the sofa, talking to a crew member.

  Jack I remember as being a really cocky player. He was the guy your mother warned you about. And that clearly hasn’t changed. The man is walking sex with tan skin, dark eyes, and hair falling over one eye. He stalks around the room like he owns it in tight jeans, motorcycle boots and a Led Zeppelin tee-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing off his big, tattooed arms.

  I look around for Ian, but he’s nowhere in sight.

  Shawn catches my eye and does a double take. I wave awkwardly. He walks over to me and Aya.

  “Hey Cora, glad you could make it,” he says.

  “Thanks. Um, Ian invited me,” I stammer.

  “Yeah, he told us,” he replies cooly, “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too.”

  I’m so preoccupied trying to find Ian that I almost fail to notice that Shawn is not-so-subtly eye-fucking the hell out of Aya.

  “Who’s this?” he asks.

  “My friend,” I squeak out.

  “I know that,” Shawn chuckles, “Does she have a name?”

  “You could ask me yourself, you know. I’m Aya Park,” she says, offering her hand.
<
br />   “Shawn Kinney.” He shakes her hand and she sizes him up. Her eyes widen and she bites her lip. I know that look from Aya. I should probably make my way elsewhere before this gets heated.

  Suddenly, Ian appears, looking hot as all hell in dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and a Johnny Cash tee-shirt. He’s talking to a couple of scantily clad women in short skirts and high heels, but as soon as we make eye contact he excuses himself from their company and makes his way towards me.

  Shawn and Aya leave us and head for the bar.

  “Nice dress,” he says, looking me up and down so slowly I can feel his eyes on my skin.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, “You look good too.”

  He chuckles. “You say that now, but wait till I come off stage at the end of the night all sweaty and gross.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Won’t be so pretty.”

  Picturing Ian hot, flushed and dripping with sweat, I beg to differ.

  The stage manager comes in to round up the guys. They’re about to go on.

  “Come on,” Ian says, taking my arm. “Billy will take you and Aya to your spot.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised, “I thought we could watch from back here.”

  Ian half-smiles. “Maybe next time. First time you see me play a real show, I want you front and center.”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  “You’ll see why,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  The anticipation is killing us. Fans are screaming. The lights go down and the screaming intensifies. The guys take their places on stage. The fans scream louder - the energy is contagious.

  They open with Her Name in Stars.

  The singer, Dylan Cotter, has a raspy voice and makes the sweet, dirty lyrics sound gritty and raw.

  Jack and Shawn play with this amazing confidence.

  But my eyes are on Ian, hammering out the complicated drum part. He’s completely in his element, blocking out everything else in the world that isn’t this song and this moment. Sticks fly. Sweat drips from his forehead. He plays like a damn animal. It’s intoxicating.

  He lifts his shirt to wipe his forehead, revealing hard abs and a tattoo that covers most of his side and I’m so totally in lust it makes my chest ache.

  I finally get why women go insane and flash their tits at rock stars.

  I finally get why said rock stars get to walk around like gods among men.

  And I definitely get why he put us here, front and center, in the crowd tonight. If his goal was to get me all wound up and hot for him and so horny I can’t fucking stand it, well… it worked.

  From the stage, he winks at me.

  Stupid panties are no match for Ian Brooks.

  After the show, Aya and I return backstage.

  “Oh my God,” she practically shrieks, “I totally saw that. You’re going home with Ian Brooks.”

  “I don’t know. He hasn't exactly invited me.”

  “Don’t you want to?” she asks.

  I think about it.

  “I know that look,” Aya says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “There’s no look…”

  She switches to a mocking, high-pitch voice, “I’m Cora and because my career isn’t perfect and I’m not married, I don’t deserve to have any fun.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Then go do it. Go home with him,” she dares me.

  “I will. I’m an adult. I’m twenty-eight fucking years old. I can have a one-night-stand with a smoking hot rock star if I want to.” I tell her defiantly. Of course, it’ll be my first one-night-stand ever, but I don’t bother mentioning that to Aya.

  “Good girl.”

  “But… I don’t even know if he wants me like that,” I admit, “Maybe he was just being nice to an old friend.

  “Cora, he was eye-fucking you from that stage for the last ninety minutes.”

  “He was not,” I say, rolling my eyes. He totally was.

  “He looks at you like he wants to handcuff you to a bed and lick you till you scream,” Aya says, her hands gripping my shoulders. “Go home with him. Have crazy, slammed-up-against-the-wall sex with a dripping hot boy. And tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Cora,” she slows down, “It’s been forever since Evan. You don’t owe the world anything. You deserve some fun. And a few dozen orgasms.”

  Ian, along with the rest of the band, finally joins us in the backstage bar area. His hair is still slick with sweat and I’m fighting this crazy urge to throw myself at him. Steer him behind that curtain. Wrestle him out of his clothes and trace the dark lines of his tattoos with my tongue.

  I wonder if he’s hard.

  I bet I could find out…

  Jesus Cora, when did you get to be such a fucking perv?

  But it looks like Ian has other plans.

  A couple of girls swarm him, plastering themselves to his sides. One is blonde and short, but has huge tits that can’t possible be real. She paws at his chest. I expect him to pry her hand away, but he doesn’t. He just lets her touch. The other girl is probably Latina, with an olive complexion and luscious dark hair. She whispers something in his ear and he smiles.

  I seethe.

  Stupid bitches, I think.

  That’s not fair, Cora, I tell myself, they’re not doing anything wrong.

  Ian says something and both women double over with laughter.

  These women are hot. Like hot, hot. Way hotter than me. And Ian could have either one. Fuck, he could have both.

  I feel stupid.

  I thought last night meant something to him. I mean, he asked me out. We talked. We reconnected. And then there was that long, lingering hug. And that sort-of kiss.

  I think I might be sick.

  Shawn makes his way over to us. Well, really to Aya, and invites her to an after party. He invites me too, but clearly doesn’t want me blocking his chances with my best friend. They head out together, but not before I demand that Aya text me to make sure she gets home safely.

  Ian is still entertaining his harem, so I figure I should probably head out. I debate whether or not saying goodbye is the polite thing to do and I decide it isn’t. Why make it more awkward?

  I pull my jacket back on and head for the door.

  Then I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Ian’s deep voice ask, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I was um… leaving you to your evening plans,” I tell Ian, gesturing to the girls that I presume are waiting for him, only to find that they’re gone. We’re basically alone with the exception of a few people breaking down equipment.

  “They’re just fans looking for a good Instagram story.”

  “Ian, they were ready to pounce on you,” I tell him.

  He just chuckles, his hands in his pockets.

  “Look, you know, if you wanted to go hook up with them, I’m not here to cramp your style,” I say, trying to keep the judgement out of my voice.

  “Cora, I didn’t invite you here to watch me hook up with another girl.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Of course not,” he says, “I would have at least asked you to join us.”

  I balk. I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.

  “I’m not into that.”

  “I figured,” he says, “Me neither.”

  I raise an eyebrow. I’m not that naive. I have a hard time believing he’s never had a threesome.

  “Okay, well, not anymore,” he clarifies, “Things are different now.”

  “No more three-ways?” I tease.

  “Not just that.” He scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably, like he’s trying not to admit something. “I’m different now.”

  I sense that he’s uneasy. I look him up and down, trying to lighten the mood. “Not sure I believe that.”

  “Oh, believe it. I used to have game.”

  “And now?”

  “You tell me,” he says. “How’m I doing?”

  “Well, you reall
y know how to charm a girl,” I say, half-sarcastic, half-genuine.

  Ian smirks. His voice drops and he looks me square in the eyes in that way that makes my knees weak.

  “I know how to do a lot of things to a girl.”

  I shiver.

  He slings his jacket over his shoulders, cocks an eyebrow and asks, “You coming?”

  I nod. Definitely. Definitely coming.

  He wraps his arm around me and we head out.

  6

  Ian

  I take Cora to my apartment in the super trendy part of Los Feliz. The neighborhood is hipster-ish, but it’s surrounded by hole-in-the-wall restaurants and craft shops that I’ve grown to enjoy.

  I help her out of her jacket and admire the sight of her in a beautiful red dress, leaning against my kitchen counter. It’s something out of a dirty dream.

  Cora Dwyer in my apartment.

  Leaning against my counter.

  Wanting to be here with me.

  I reach into the fridge for two beers, uncap them, and pass one to her, trying to remain confident-rock-star Ian as opposed to dork-tastic, bumbling-idiot Ian.

  “Cheers,” she says and we clink bottles. I nearly spill my drink watching her lips wrap around the neck.

  She downs hers rather quickly.

  “Thirsty?” I ask.

  She laughs. “I’m a little nervous.”

  “Hmm… I tend to have that effect on women.”

  She narrows her eyes, “That’s pretty cocky.”

  Yeah, it is. I can’t tell if she’s put-off by that or not. But, in my experience, women seem to like it when guys get a little cocky, so I lean into it.

  “So what’s it like?” she asks, “Being a rock star, I mean.”

  I run a hand through my hair the way I’ve seen Jack do a million times when he wants to get a girl panting. I lean against the wall, one booted foot bent, propping me up. I cross my arms over my chest.

  I have no idea what I’m doing. I feel like I’m posing.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, “You seem fidgety.”