Say Yes_Ian

by Amelia Mae

  Am I boring him?

  Surely he has entertaining women around him all the time. He could replace me with someone more amusing with the snap of his fingers.

  Well, wait… he hasn’t said anything either. Shouldn’t he be concerned with boring me?

  God, this inner monologue is killing me.

  “How do you know Cora?” he finally asks. His voice is even. Clearly, he isn’t having the struggle that I am.

  “We work together at the Caspiar Club,” I reply.

  “Were you working there the other night?” he asks. “We were out for Nikki’s birthday party.”

  “Yeah,” I answer, “I was working that night. But my section is on the other end of the room.”

  “Cool,” he says.

  This isn’t going well. I’m not wowing him with my conversational skills. I’m really interesting. I swear. And I’m never this tongue-tied. God, he must really regret asking me to go out with him. I’m boring him half to death.

  “I’m sorry,” he tells me, “I’m usually more talkative than this.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “You make me a little nervous,” he says.

  My eyebrows hit the roof in surprise.

  “I make you nervous?” I ask.

  He grins sheepishly. “Kind of,” he says.

  That makes me smile. I mean… here he is, a fucking beautiful, ripped, specimen of a man. And a rock star, no less. And I’m just little old me…

  And I’m not kidding. I’ve barely five-two. I’m twenty-six and I get carded everywhere.

  “Get a couple drinks in me,” I tell him, “I’ll loosen up.”

  “Good,” he says, “Me too. What do you drink?”

  “Whiskey.”

  “Woman after my own heart,” he tells me as we arrive at a palatial apartment in Hollywood.

  “You live here?” I ask.

  Shawn nods. “Me and Jack. He’s actually my step brother.”

  “Oh. Interesting.”

  “Yeah…”

  This is the part where you add something to the conversation, Aya.

  But… I got nothing.

  When we enter, all eyes are on Shawn. A small party is underway. Nothing too out of hand. I recognize Jack, who has appointed himself DJ for the evening, fiddling with a laptop and ignoring a girl who’s clinging to his arm. Then there’s Dylan, holding court in the back of the room.

  Shawn leads me to the makeshift bar, pours two shots of whiskey and hands me one.

  “Cheers,” he says.

  “Cheers,” I repeat.

  We drink quickly.

  “Another?”

  I nod. He pours.

  We drink.

  Now, I’m starting to feel something. I like the way that whiskey burns, but I’m actually kind of a lightweight. Also, I’ve had a few beers at the show and I haven’t eaten much today.

  But, still…

  “One more,” I demand.

  He raises an eyebrow, but pours me the shot anyway. I slam it back. Shawn abstains this round.

  “Party pooper,” I tease.

  He chuckles. “One of us has to be the responsible one.”

  “Hey, I’m plenty responsible,” I say as I stumble. I reach out for something to stabilize myself. Shawn’s arm. “That doesn’t count.”

  He helps me back to my feet.

  “Thanks,” I tell him.

  He smirks.

  I still haven’t let go of his arm.

  You have nice arms, I think to myself.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “Oh, fuck, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  I have a tendency to do that. It doesn’t even matter if I’ve been drinking.

  “You did,” he tells me, “But don’t hold back. Tell me everything. I have a feeling that Aya unfiltered is going to be pretty damn interesting.”

  “Oh, she is,” I tell him, liquid-confidence hitting me full-force, “I’m hella interesting.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I teach pole dancing. Did you know that?”

  He shakes his head no. “See? That’s interesting.”

  “I know, right? Also, I have a dragon tattoo on my left tit.”

  Shawn blushes.

  “Why are you blushing?” I tease him, now completely at the mercy of my drunken self. “You wanna see?”

  He blushes even harder. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I want to lick it off of him. I’ve made it my mission in life to get Shawn Kinney to blush more.

  I look around.

  “You should give me tour,” I tell him. I head towards a closed door and go to throw it open. Shawn stops me.

  “That’s Jack’s room. Chances are we’ll walk in on something we can’t un-see in there,” he says, steering me towards an open door. “This is our practice room. It’s safer in here.”

  Shawn

  I lead Aya into the practice room where a couple of Jack’s guitars and my bass are scattered around the room on stands. There’s not a whole lot to see in terms of decorating. Just some do-it-yourself soundproofing. But Jack’s guitar collection could rival some museums.

  I’d start explaining some of the more interesting pieces, but I’m not sure how interesting that’d be to a non-musician.

  Plus, I also don’t think she’d really remember much anyway.

  God, she’s too cute, all wobbly and talkative.

  Her eyes go wide when she sees the room.

  “How long have you been playing bass?” she asks.

  “Since I was about seventeen.”

  “Why bass?”

  “Why not bass?” I counter.

  “It’s not…” she trails off, searching for the second half of her comment.

  “It’s not as cool as guitar,” I finish for her.

  “That’s not what I was going to say,” she says with mock outrage. “I was going to say that it’s not as common. But I like the bass. It makes the floor vibrate. I think it’s where the power comes from.”

  I smile. I like that. Where the power comes from.

  “Well, when my dad married Jack’s mom, Jack was already playing guitar and wanted to start a band. He found Ian and they started playing with a different vocalist. We didn’t meet Dylan till a few years later. But they needed a bassist.

  “Anyway, I was kinda nerdy looking and desperate to impress my new step-brother. I learned to play bass so I could hang out with him and play in the band.”

  “Hmm,” she says, a dreamy expression on her face, “I bet you look hot in glasses.”

  I bet you don’t realize that you said that out loud, I think.

  “I never told you I wore glasses,” I tell her.

  She blushes. I was right. She has no idea she’s thinking out loud. It’s fucking adorable. I want to see what else I can get her to admit. Especially now that she’s looking at me like she wants to devour me whole.

  And, I mean, she’s right. I did wear glasses.

  “You want to see the dragon tattoo on my tit, don’t you?” she teases.

  Fuck yes I do.

  I want to get my mouth on it.

  However, I keep that to myself. At least, I try to.

  “I bet you want to kiss me, too,” she says, feigning innocence.

  Okay, that I’ll admit.

  “I do want to kiss you, Aya,” I tell her, “But you’re drunk.”

  She protests, “I’m not that drunk. You should kiss me.”

  I won’t do it. I don’t mess around with drunk girls.

  She leans in, her pretty pink mouth aiming for my lips.

  I want to kiss her. More than I want my next breath. But I won’t.

  I shift so she kisses my cheek.

  She stumbles and I catch her. Her eyes close. She feels good in my arms, her tiny body pressed against me. Her silver-blue hair swirling around her. She has a smattering of freckles on her nose. Fuck if that isn’t the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “You hate me,” she says.


  “I don’t hate you,” I tell her.

  She makes no effort to pull away from me. The liquor hits her all at once. She’s about to drop.

  “You’re sleepy,” I say as I scoop her up into my arms, carrying her like a damsel in distress.

  “I’m kind of a lightweight. I’m sorry,” she says.

  “Do you want me to drive you home?” I ask.

  “You were drinking too.”

  She’s right, but I have easily sixty or so pounds on her. Plus I can handle my liquor and it’s been awhile since my last drink. I’d be okay to drive.

  “Just call me a rideshare,” she says, “My phone is in my jacket.”

  There’s no way I’m letting her get into a car with a stranger when she’s this drunk.

  “Stay the night,” I tell her, “I’ll take you home tomorrow morning.”

  She’s too tired to argue.

  I carry her into my bedroom and lay her on the bed. I help her out of her shoes and jacket and tuck her in.

  I lean over her to turn the light off. She sneaks a kiss on the cheek.

  This girl is too much.

  Now what?

  I don’t want to leave her alone, in case she gets sick or someone tries to mess with her, but obviously getting in bed with her is totally inappropriate, so I get a spare blanket from the closet and settle in for a night in the reclining armchair.

  Sleeping in the armchair isn’t so bad, but I hate sleeping in clothes. I kick off my sneakers and socks and strip off my tee shirt. There. Better.

  I close my eyes.

  Aya stirs.

  “Do you hate me, Shawn?” she asks, worry in her voice.

  “Of course not, sweetheart. Actually, I like you a lot.”

  “Thank you for taking care of me,” she says.

  I smile. “It’s what you do for people you care about. Even if you only started caring about them a few hours ago.”

  She doesn’t reply. She’s fast asleep.

  And when I wake up, she’s long gone.

  Say Yes: Shawn

  Book Two

  Coming Fall 2018

  Want More?

  Not ready to say goodbye to Ian and Cora yet? Me neither.

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