His voice softens. “I’ll pass on the message.” Silence descends for a couple seconds, until he clears his throat. “So, do you want to tell me about this midnight dancer?”
I’ve recorded a very rough, acoustic version of the song I wrote for Dakota and sent it to Luke. “Not especially.” He chuckles. “She’s … special. Captivating and talented and just so damned real.”
“You can’t tell her who you are.”
I sigh. “I know. Doesn’t make it suck any less. What if she hates me when she finds out who I really am?”
“If she’s as special as you say, she’ll come around. Keep the faith.”
I bark out a laugh. “Aren’t you supposed to be telling me to stay away from her?”
I can hear the amusement in his tone when he replies. “Are you forgetting how well I know you? I know when you want something, and you want her. Besides, if she’s the inspiration behind this song, then you need to keep her.”
“You liked it?”
“Liked it? I fucking loved it.”
“I need to talk to you about this cursing shit. It’s becoming worrisome.”
“Punk.”
“Square.”
He laughs. “Seriously, I’m loving this new vibe. It’s raw, emotive, passionate, and although it’s a departure from your other stuff, I can’t imagine the label having issues with this new direction if you continue producing quality like this. And your fans love you unconditionally. They’ll support you with this.”
“Thanks, man.” He has no idea how much I needed to hear that. I’ve wanted to take more of an active role with the choices being made for my next album, but the label is adamant that the formula works, and there’s no need to fix something that isn’t broken.
Apparently, my broken soul doesn’t really count.
I have a massive following who are into my stereotypical pop music, and they lap up every release, even if it’s shit. Bit by bit, it’s chipped away at my soul, until I’ve reached a stage where I’m forcing myself into the studio and giving lackluster performances on stage.
I can’t continue like that.
Which is why coming here was a blessing. It’s enabling me to reconnect with my musical roots. To remember how enjoyable making music is. Reminding me how much I love performing and composing. If I can walk away from here with an album of the type of songs I want to sing, and get the label on board, then I’ll be a hell of a lot happier returning to L.A.
Luke clears his voice. “So, there was another reason for my call.”
An ominous silence stretches between us, and my insides coil into knots. Instantly, I know I’m not going to like this. “Just tell me.” My tone reeks of resignation.
“Someone broke into our offices last night. Trashed the place and caused thousands of dollars’ worth of damage.” He sighs. “They left their signature message on one of the walls.”
“Shit.” I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Shawn. You didn’t ask for this.”
“I fucking hate this, Luke. When is it going to end?”
“I know, Shawn, I know. But try to relax. Devin is on his way, and he’s going to coordinate with the local cops. I’m guessing your stalker isn’t happy you’ve gone into hiding, and they presumed we’d have the details of your location someplace here. I’m so glad we kept no physical or digital records and that everything was arranged verbally or via Devin’s office. Knowing you are safe is a huge worry off my mind. And Devin will catch this guy. I have the utmost confidence in him.”
“I do too, but I won’t sleep easy at night until I know the asshole is behind bars.” Luke spends another couple of minutes reassuring me, and then I end the call and head back inside just as Dakota is waking. The sight of her erases the tension from my face and my taut muscles.
Stretching her arms out over her head, she smiles when she sees me, and I want to freeze frame the moment. I also want to kiss the shit out of her, but I know I’d find it hard to stop at just that. Blood rushes south, and I’m amazed at how quickly she turns me on. But it’s not just her outer beauty that attracts me. She’s equally as beautiful on the inside. Her talent, intelligence, and her bravery have sucked me in as much as her gorgeous face and her alluring body.
“Hey, sleepyhead, how are you feeling?”
“Good. Surprisingly good.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask as she stands.
“Starving.” She rubs her flat tummy to emphasize the point.
Removing my cell from the back pocket of my jeans, I pull up the menu for my favorite takeout place. I hand it to her. “Pick what you like, and then I’ll call in our order.”
Shaking her head, she hands the phone back to me and skips into the kitchen. “I’ll cook. It’s the least I can do after today.” Opening the refrigerator, she bends over to inspect the scant contents inside, waving her delectable ass at me. I smother a groan as my dick turns rock-hard in my jeans. Now, all I’m imagining is thrusting into her from behind, fucking her hard and fast as we both quickly lose control.
“Or not,” she deadpans, straightening up. I quickly adjust myself and stand behind the island unit, hoping to hide the evidence of my obvious arousal. “Do you have any food in here?”
I shake my head. “Not much. I tend to eat out or order in.”
She rolls her eyes, mumbling under her breath.
I tilt my head to the side. “What?”
“How the fuck do you look like that”—she gestures at my body—“when you don’t eat properly?”
“Good genes, and I like to work out.” I haven’t shown her my personal gym yet, or my studio, because I’m afraid of inviting more questions I can’t answer.
“How about this?” she suggests, planting her hands on her slim hips. “We walk to the store and pick up some supplies and then come back here and I’ll cook.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” I say, rounding the island now my boner has tamed. “You’ve had a difficult day. We can order takeout and just chill in front of the TV.”
“Cooking relaxes me, and I don’t mind. I’d like to cook you a meal to thank you for coming with me today.”
“Well, if you insist.” I give in because the prospect of a home-cooked meal is too good to turn down.
Even though it’s early evening, and dusk is settling over the sky, I grab my shades and ball cap before we head out. Her eyes sparkle mischievously as we walk side by side to the local grocery store.
I really want to hold her hand, but I’m afraid to.
I have to cough over my snort of hilarity. Who’d have thought it? Shawn Lucas wants to hold a girl’s hand, but he’s too frightened to make the first move. It’s fucking hilarious and so normal it’s exhilarating.
“Either you’re photosensitive, shy all of a sudden, or you’re trying to hide,” she quips. “Which is it?”
“I don’t like drawing attention to myself,” I murmur. She busts out laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“If that’s your attempt at not drawing attention to yourself, then you’re failing. Miserably.”
Huh. Valid point.
While I was self-conscious around campus when I first arrived, I’ve relaxed as the weeks have passed, confident that people can’t tell it’s me. But since a renowned celebrity blogger offered a fifty-K reward to whomever discovered where I was hiding out, I’ve been more paranoid than usual.
I take the shades off and pocket them but leave the ball cap on. “Better?”
“Much.” She loops her arm through mine, peering up at me. “Hhm. Your eyes just look green again. Did you know your eye color changes in the light?”
Shit. I totally froze earlier when she noticed my natural eye color behind the contacts I’m wearing. I didn’t realize it’d be semi-transparent in the light. Unlike earli
er, I act casual this time. “Nope. Guess you learn something new about yourself every day.” I smirk, and she laughs, the sound doing funny things to my insides.
“Would you eat a chicken and veg stir fry?” she asks me as we roam the aisles in the store.
“I’m not a fussy eater. I’ll happily eat whatever you want to make.” That earns me another earth-shattering smile, and I almost melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. I’m turning into a pussy, and it’s somewhat concerning.
Dakota throws a load of stuff into my cart, way more food than we need just for dinner, but I don’t protest. I plan to have her around a lot, and I want to be able to feed her more than just takeout. She tries to pay for it, and we have an argument at the register, much to the amusement of the cashier. I’d love to tell her I have more money than I know what to do with, but I can’t.
“Stop pouting,” I tell her as we walk back to my apartment building, laden down with bags. “You’re cooking, and it’s my place. It’s only right I should pay for it.”
“You wouldn’t take gas money either today, and it doesn’t sit right with me. I like to pay my way.”
I could kiss her right now. Drop everything and sweep her into my arms. Most every person I’ve come into contact with in L.A. has expected me to pay for everything just because I’m rich and famous. I get a lot of stuff for free—which is ridiculous when you consider how easily I can afford to pay for it—so I didn’t mind paying for stuff when I was out. But, since I cleared the trash from my life, I’ve realized just how much those people were using me, and that stuck in my throat.
The fact this girl wants to split everything down the middle, even when her financial position is hanging in the balance, speaks volumes. Which reminds me. I need to have a word with Devin to find out if there’s a way to create some kind of fake grant of which Dakota Gray is the sole recipient. If her dad cuts her off, I want to be able to cover her fees and put cash into her bank account. I know if I offered straight out, she’d turn me down and most likely be furious, so I’ll have to get creative. If it comes down to it.
Dakota shoos me out of the kitchen while she cooks, and I grab my guitar and retreat to my window seat, strumming a few errant chords while I surreptitiously watch her buzzing around my kitchen. She’s humming under her breath as she dances around my space, and my heart swells with some unnamed sentiment.
“This is really fucking good,” I tell her after I’ve tasted the first mouthful.
She smiles. “It’s my favorite dish. I’m glad you like it.”
“Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“Mom taught me. She’s an amazing cook. She had her own little bakery business. Not a store or anything,” she adds, waving her fork in the air. “She did everything from home. Mainly cakes she’d bake to order, and she also did buffets for special celebrations.” Her eyes turn sad. “All that fell by the wayside when she got sick.”
I put my fork down and reach across the table for her hand. “You’ve done the right thing. She’s going to get the help she needs, and she’ll be able to pick up where she left off.”
“I hope so.” She resumes eating, looking lost in thought.
I make her sit down while I clean up the kitchen. After, I pour her a glass of white wine and grab a can of soda for myself.
“You don’t drink?” she inquires, taking a small sip of her wine.
“You noticed?”
“You were only drinking soda at the frat house, and I was curious, although it’s totally cool if you don’t drink by choice.”
I want to be upfront with her. To tell her what I can about my past without delving into the specifics, even if opening up about this makes me want to flay the flesh from my bones. I’m also afraid of what she’ll say and terrified I’ll send her running. Drawing a long breath, I push through my fear and put it out there. “Alcohol and drugs are rampant in the music business, and I have a naturally addictive personality. Things got very messy, and I was totally out of control at one point. Spent some time in rehab, and I’ve tried to say clean and sober since then.”
She eyeballs me with a serious expression. “Thank you for telling me that, and you should be proud of yourself. I’m sure it can’t be easy.”
I relax into the couch. “It’s not. It’s a daily struggle. But I’m determined to be strong.”
“Will you play for me?” she asks, gesturing over my head at my guitar. “I heard you messing around while I was cooking, and it sounded great.”
I don’t think she’s quite ready to hear I’ve written a song about her yet, so I decide to play it without singing the words. She listens attentively, and our eyes are locked together the entire time. I want her to hear the words without them being sung. To listen to what she does to me.
“Wow,” she admits, when the song ends, pinning me with awestruck eyes. “That was beautiful, and it conveyed so much emotion. Like it was sad and haunting and then heartwarming and uplifting at the same time. And definitely romantic. I can imagine couples dancing to that under the moonlight. Is that one of your compositions?”
I nod, suddenly tongue-tied.
“You are hugely talented. Too talented to be a support musician.”
We’re getting a bit too close to the bone, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. “I’ve got some other stuff I’ve composed. Would you like me to play another one?”
Her eyes glow. “Please. I could listen to you playing all night long.”
I play another song I’ve written since coming here. This one is also inspired by her, but less obvious and less intimate. Closing my eyes, I belt out the words as I strum the guitar.
Resounding silence greets me when I finish, and I’m reluctant to open my eyes. When I do, I’m shocked to find Dakota staring at me in wonder with tears glistening in her eyes.
“My God, Levi. That was incredible. Your voice … it sent shivers down my spine.”
I want to tell her who I am. So, so badly.
But I can’t.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” Especially since you inspired it, I add in my head.
“I did. I really did.” She stands, extending her hand to me. “And now I definitely need to dance. Besides, it’s almost midnight.”
“What’s the significance of midnight?” I tentatively inquire, having previously speculated if there was some special reason why my midnight dancer arrived at the same time every night.
“It was three minutes past midnight when I got the call from my dad about Layla,” she quietly confirms. “And every night, at that time, I’m thinking of her. Dancing is the only thing that liberates my soul, and I need to be dancing when the pain strikes. It’s the only way I survive.” I nod, completely getting it. “Will you come with me? Play while I dance?”
“I would love to.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dakota
For the next two weeks, Levi comes to the roof with me every night, writing and playing music while I dance. Our joint creative spirts are feeding off one another, and my soul soars in a way it hasn’t for a long time.
Which is a miracle considering my home life has reached an all-time low.
Levi came with me the first day Mom arrived at the psychiatric facility. He stayed in the car while I helped get Mom settled. He was also there that night to hold me as I sobbed into his chest. He was there again when Dad showed up the following night, screaming and roaring abuse at me. Three days later, when I got the letter from my father’s attorney telling me he’s cut my funding and won’t be paying any more of my college fees, Levi consoled me again.
Honestly, I don’t understand what he’s getting out of this friendship, apart from a basket case who regularly breaks down in his arms. But I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. He’s the only reason I’m not rocking in a corner by now. Why I feel in control, even when every part of my life
is crumbling.
I’ve stayed at his place every night since that first night, only stopping at my dorm to pick up books and clean clothes, which is why I’m on my way to my dorm now to spend some time with Daisy. I’ve been neglecting my roomie, and that doesn’t sit right with me.
As I round the corner to my building, I groan when I notice the familiar figure waiting by the entrance.
“Why are you here?” I hiss, glaring at Cole.
“I need to speak to you,” my ex explains.
“There is nothing you have to say I want to hear. You need to leave me alone.”
“Where have you been, Kotabear? I’ve been coming here every night this week, and you haven’t been home.”
I jab my finger into his chest. “Firstly, I already told you you lost the right to call me that, and secondly, it’s none of your freaking business. Go back to your girlfriend and leave me alone.”
“Are you sleeping with him? That douche from the party?”
“Screw off, Cole.” I enter the building quickly, trying to slam the door in his face, but Cole always had razor-sharp reflexes. He’s behind me in a flash.
“I know his type. He’s a player and he’s using you for sex. You’ll only get hurt.”
I crank out a laugh, stomping ahead, ignoring the fawning looks and curious expressions leveled Cole’s way. He’s starting to make a name for himself this year with the football team. Last year, as a freshman, he was on the bench, but this year they’re letting him start. I’m betting Mikayla loves all the new female attention.
Not.
I hope he cheats on her. It would serve her right to get a taste of her own medicine.
“That is priceless coming from you,” I spit at him over my shoulder as I take the stairs two at a time. “Do you even hear how hypocritical you sound?” I stride down the corridor leading to my room.
Grabbing my elbow, he steers me over to the wall. “I never used you for sex, and I’ve never been a player.”
“You cheated on me with my best friend!” I yell, not giving a shit who hears me. “While I was mourning the death of my sister!” My breathing turns erratic, and I take a brief respite to compose myself. “My sister was murdered, and I needed you, but you were too busy fucking that disloyal bitch behind my back to care.” Anger is transparent in my tone, and he hears it too.
Incognito Page 13