Play it by Ear

by K. M. Neuhold

  Dawson

  I step into my dark rental house as the tail lights of the Uber fade into the distance. My heart is still going wild in my chest. All his songs are about me, and it doesn’t make any sense.

  It’s one thing to forget a weekend fling, hell that happens to people who don’t have memory loss issues. But this is clearly something much more than a sweaty weekend between the sheets.

  I grab my laptop and settle onto the couch, quickly pulling up my favorite song lyric website I have bookmarked. I don’t bother to look up “Sweat Like Candy”, I already have that one memorized, and it makes sense to write that one for a hook-up. I’m more concerned with the others—“Tears of a Muse”, “Cerulean Blue”, “Plane Crazy for You”, “Dimples” and a half dozen others. My hands are unsteady as I scroll through page after page. Just like at the restaurant the other day, I get the distinct impression that Lando thinks he’s talking about me, but I don’t know this man he’s describing. Song after song, he waxes poetic about someone who’s only fear was missing out on living, who would try anything once, who was never without a filthy comment or playful tease. Hell, I’m in love with whoever this man is…. but it’s not me.

  I’m not sure how late I stay up, pouring over lyrics and trying to find a way to connect the man in the songs with the person I am. I don’t bother to look at the clock before I finally climb into bed, feeling raw and exposed and wishing like hell I’d stayed at Lando’s instead of coming home to have an existential crisis.

  Did Lando create this perfect man from all the imperfect memories he has of me? Did he put me on a pedestal I’ll never reach? Or was I really that person at one point?

  My eyelids are heavy when the sun rouses me from sleep. I’m not even fully awake before the unsettled feelings from last night creep in. Shouldn’t I remember it if that really was the person I used to be? Sure, I have a brain injury and memories like swiss cheese. But I shouldn’t have forgotten me, right?

  There’s only one person who would know for sure.

  Dawson: Am I different since my accident?

  Parker: Aside from the obvious, I assume?

  Dawson: Yeah, like…did I used to be braver? Was I more spontaneous and outgoing? Was I happier?

  It takes ages for Parker to answer. I stare at the read tag and the little bouncing dots that show she’s typing for what feels like an eternity.

  Parker: Something like that would change anyone.

  My breath whooshes out of my lungs. I knew I forgot things that have happened to me, but how could I forget me? A few hot tears streak down my cheeks, and I don’t bother to wipe them away. Is that person still somewhere inside me or did he die in the accident? Is it possible I could be carefree and happy and brave like Lando remembers, like Parker says I used to be?

  Before I can think better of it, I text Lando.

  Dawson: Sorry I freaked last night, but that was…a lot to process.

  Lando: Yeah…sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you.

  Dawson: I appreciate that.

  I chew my bottom lip as I consider my next message.

  Dawson: I was up late going through all your songs.

  Lando: What did you think? Seeing them with fresh eyes and all.

  Dawson: I think you’re in love with a man who died.

  The little dots that show Lando typing start and stop several times as I hold my breath waiting for his response.

  Lando: You may be right. Let’s forget about that guy. I was telling the truth when I said I want to get to know you. Forget whoever that was.

  Dawson: Can you really do that? When you look at me, don’t you see who I used to be?

  Lando: When I look at you, I see someone who’s sexy as hell, brilliant, and brave. All those things are true regardless of anything else.

  I read his words at least a dozen times, trying to form any sort of response. This is crazy. A vacation fling was one thing, but this is getting serious fast. He’s wanted me for so long. How can I ever live up to whatever he built me up to be in his mind? I’ll only disappoint him. Hell, I’d disappoint anyone let alone some guy who’s been building me up in his mind for nearly a decade.

  Lando: Please don’t let this ruin things. We’re having fun, right?

  I smile as I think back over the past few days and how sweet and amazing Lando has been. And the sex…my cock perks up before I can even let my mind fully wander down that path. That was otherworldly between us last night.

  Dawson: Yeah, we’re having fun.

  Lando: Okay, let’s keep it at that for now. We’re on vacation, let’s do something fun today again.

  Dawson: K. I need to shower and everything first.

  Lando: No problem. I’ll swing by in an hour?

  Dawson: See you then.

  Lando

  I breathe a sigh of relief when Dawson agrees to hang out again today. I don’t know how I can show him that I understand he doesn’t feel like he’s the guy I’ve been thinking about for years. I know that guy is in there, but I like this version of Dawson too. I want every side and every version of him.

  Before I can drag myself out of bed, my phone pings with another text. I open it to find a new audio file from Lincoln. Is it possible he wrote something? Not just wrote something, but shared it rather than throwing it out or hiding it away?

  I click the little arrow to play the song, and I sink down onto the couch to listen to the hauntingly beautiful words that are somehow the perfect combination of despair and hope. It’s a song about the relationship a person might have with the darkness they have inside. By the time it ends, I’m wiping tears away and texting Archer.

  Lando: Did you hear Linc’s new song?

  Archer: I did, and I don’t even have words…it’s everything that made me take a chance on you guys from the beginning.

  I listen to the song one more time, feeling a heavy weight lift from my chest. This may be just another one-off Lincoln writes before going another five or so years without putting pen to paper again, but I’m going to choose to see this as a fresh start. Things can be different after this break. Things can be the way they were always supposed to be. And part of how they were supposed to be includes convincing Dawson to come back to New York with me at the end of this vacation.

  Track 18: Side A

  Sandcastles

  Dawson

  A long, hot shower calms my nerves a fraction. Lando was right; we’re having fun and there’s no reason for me to ruin things by freaking out. How many chances in life will I get to fuck around with someone like Lando freaking Meyers? I’ll have to kick my own ass if I fuck this up before the fun is through. He really is sweet…and sexy as hell.

  I let my mind wander back over our date yesterday and the sex last night. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better day if I’d tried. I wonder what he’ll have in store for us today.

  After I climb out of the shower and towel myself off, I decide to text Parker since I’m sure she’s worrying herself into a tizzy after the message I sent earlier.

  I’m not surprised to see a text from my sister already waiting for me.

  Parker: How’s your vacation??

  Dawson: Good.

  I chuckle as I send a one-word response that’s bound to irritate the hell out of her.

  Parker: Don’t fuck with me. I bought you this vacation; the least you can do is give me the juicy details.

  Dawson: Oh, it’s juicy all right ;)

  Parker: I’m happy for you, but gross.

  Dawson: lol

  Parker: Seriously though, are you having a nice time? You had me worried after that text earlier.

  Dawson: Yeah, I’m great. I’ve been hanging out with this guy, and I’m having a lot of fun.

  Parker: Now THAT’S what I was hoping to hear.

  Dawson: I love you, but you are way too invested in my sex life.

  Parker: I love you too, and I just want to see you happy.

  Dawson: Thanks, P. I’ve gotta get ready, he’ll be here soon
to pick me up.

  Parker: Have fun, be safe. See you in a few days.

  A few days…my heart sinks. Obviously, I knew I was going home at the end of the week, but I hadn’t thought much about it. We had a weekend once that I can’t even remember, and now we’ll have just one week? Is that all Lando and I are ever meant to have—a few stolen days every nine years?

  My phone vibrates again, and I look down to see a text from Lando.

  Lando: Knock, knock

  I smile and then realize I’m still naked. While I’m not against the idea of being naked around Lando, I’d like to see what he has planned to woo me today before we get to the naked part again.

  Dawson: Hold on, I’m naked. I’ll be out in a few minutes.

  Lando: I’m not opposed to naked.

  I chuckle at his reply, almost exactly the thoughts that went through my mind a few seconds before. Just to tease, I wrap a towel around my waist nice and low and snap a pic to send him.

  Lando: Tease

  Dawson: ;)

  I toss my phone on the bed and get dressed in a hurry before heading out to greet Lando.

  As soon as I pull open the door, Lando yanks me into his arms and claims my mouth with a bruising kiss.

  “I thought we could just hang out for a while and then grab something to eat?” he suggests when he lets me go, and I nod in agreement. “You want to stay here or go back to my rental?” I point at him and then pat my pocket to make sure I have my phone and key, and then follow him out the door.

  Lando

  Back at my beach house, we sit on the swing on the back porch and look out over the water, enjoying the breeze and sunshine, and each other’s company.

  “Growing up in Florida must’ve been cool. I bet you spent every weekend at the beach.”

  Pretty much. Parker and I used to have sandcastle competitions.

  “I’ve never built a sandcastle,” I confess.

  What?!?! That’s a tragedy of epic proportions. We’re correcting that right this second.

  I chuckle at his outrage, but he’s already getting to his feet, so I follow him. He heads for the little shed beside the beach house and emerges with a little red pail and a triumphant smile.

  “We’re really going to build sandcastles?” I ask hopefully.

  Dawson nods his head emphatically and grabs my hand. I let him drag me the short way down to the water. There’s a lightness in my chest I can’t remember feeling since the last time I was with Dawson. I don’t know what it is, but he has a way of making life feel a lot more carefree.

  He bends down and fills the bucket with water and then waves me to a dry spot for us to work on our masterpiece. Dawson pours the water over dry sand and then plops down beside the wet spot. I kneel beside him, and he demonstrates how to build up a solid base and shape pillars to make our castle look epic.

  He’s a lot better at carefully shaping the sand than I am. Dawson laughs as I accidentally crush one of the towers as I’m trying to smooth it out.

  “You think that’s funny?” I accuse playfully, and Dawson nods, not bothering to hide his rusty laughter. He’s beautiful, throwing his head back and laughing deeply without a care in the world.

  I take a handful of wet sand and lob it at him like a snowball. It hits him square in the chest, and he stops laughing to glare at me. A return sandball hits me right in the face, and I jump up to get even, not bothering to avoid stepping right on our castle. Dawson squeals and laughs as I chase him down and throw him over my shoulder. He beats his fists against my back while I jog toward the ocean and wade in far enough to safely toss him into the water with a mighty splash.

  Dawson sputters to the surface and splashes me. I grab him around the waste and drag him close for a kiss, both our lips salty and warm from the ocean and the sun. I fist the drenched fabric of his t-shirt as I pull him closer, my tongue dipping into his mouth, re-memorizing the topography of every inch of him. He wraps his legs around my middle, and I eventually walk us out of the ocean and back onto the beach.

  I lay Dawson down and cover his body with mine, kissing and touching him lazily like a man who has all the time in the world. I don’t know if I truly do, but I have to believe I’ll be able to keep him this time.

  “Are you happy?” I ask, pulling back to study his face, dirty with sand and wet with droplets of water beading on his skin. He nods and smiles up at me, clutching at the front of my own sopping shirt. “I don’t mean right now, although I’m glad to hear that. I meant, are you happy in general?”

  Dawson’s brow furrows at my question, and I realize it was probably unfair to ask him such a question when our phones are back on the porch, so communication is limited. I suppose he could answer verbally, but he doesn’t seem to like to. He manages to answer anyway, holding up his hand and making a so-so gesture and then shrugs.

  I kiss him one more time, sucking his bottom lip between my teeth and enjoying the moan that rumbles from deep in his chest. Then, I get up and pull him with me.

  Dawson grabs the little red pail from where we’d abandoned it next to our destroyed sandcastle, and then we trudge through the sand back to the house, collecting half the beach on our feet along the way.

  I spot a little shower around the side of the house and point it out to Dawson who nods and follows me toward it, stripping his shirt over his head as he walks. I follow suit, peeling my soggy clothes off along the way and dropping them with a plop on the sidewalk beside the shower.

  I watch with interest as Dawson bends over and tugs his boxers off and kicks out of them. I can’t resist a quick grope of his pretty, round ass, which earns me an unconvincingly admonishing look.

  He reaches for the shower knob and turns it on, and then tugs us both under the spray. I yelp at the cold water cascading over me, and Dawson’s laugh rumbles against my chest as he pulls my head down for another kiss.

  Our lips slide together and even the cold water can’t keep our cocks from getting hard, pressed between our bodies. I let my fingers skate over Dawson’s wet skin, feeling the goosebumps as they erupt under my touch.

  He grinds his hips against mine, and I groan into his mouth. His throbbing hot cock ruts against mine, leaking pre-cum as his hard length thrusts against me. I dig my fingers into Dawson’s ass to pull him closer, force him to fuck his cock against mine harder. Our grunts and groans echo off the flimsy shower walls.

  It’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to taste Dawson, and waiting any longer suddenly sounds like torture. I need to have his cock stretching my lips, his cum spilling over my tongue. I need it like I need oxygen.

  With great effort, I yank my lips from his and drop to my knees. He whimpers softly and cards his fingers through my hair, thrusting his hips unconsciously toward me as I bury my nose in the juncture of his thigh. His rough hair tickles, and I genuinely hope my beard will smell like his ball sweat after I’m finished with him.

  I wrap my fist around the base of his cock and feel blood pulsing through his hard as steel erection. A dribble of clear pre-cum oozes from his slit, and I dart my tongue out to catch it. The tangy, salty flavor bursts on my tongue. I lick around his crown, slowly pumping my fist to draw more pre-cum from him. Dawson sways and clutches at my hair for balance.

  I wrap my lips around his thick head and take him to the back of my throat. The weight of his cock against my tongue makes my balls ache as my own arousal flares. I reach between my legs and tug my cock as I bob my head, taking Dawson deep over and over, saliva dripping down my chin into my beard and my scalp stinging from the way he’s tugging at my hair.

  I relax my throat and take him deeper, rumbling my pleasure as Dawson fucks my throat.

  “Yes, yes, oh god,” Dawson rambles in a low growl as his cock thickens between my lips, cutting off my air as he buries himself to the root, grinding against my face and chasing his orgasm. My hand moves furiously over my erection, driving me close to the edge.

  He thrusts faster into my mouth and then explodes
with a loud shout of pleasure, pulsing against my tongue and spilling down the back of my throat. It only takes one more tug at my cock before I’m splashing cum all over Dawson’s legs and feet.

  With the water still flowing over us from the shower, my release is washed off his skin almost immediately as I lean my forehead against his hip and try to catch my breath. His fingers gently pull through my hair, soothing my burning scalp.

  I look up at Dawson, and he gives me a sated, goofy smile, and then he uses both hands to brush upward over his chest.

  “Happy?” I guess, knowing I saw that one yesterday when I was studying. He nods and then sags against the unsteady wall of the shower. “Come on, let’s go find towels and maybe lunch?”

  He nods in agreement, turning off the shower and leading me dripping wet to the house.

  Track 19: Side A

  Blurt it Out

  Dawson

  After we get dried off from our shower fun, Lando lends me some clothes to put on while mine go into the washing machine to get the salt water off. He suggests ordering a pizza, and I nod in agreement. I’m more than happy to spend the afternoon tangled up in Lando rather than going out and sharing him with the world.

  “What do you like on your pizza?”

  Don’t judge me, but pineapple is my favorite, I text and brace for the “pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza” argument.

  “Marry me?” he asks, his face so serious I could almost believe for a second that it’s not a joke, but then he laughs and the knot in my stomach eases. My chest aches with longing. What does his laugh sound like? What does his voice sound like? When he wakes up in the morning, is it raspy from sleep? What about when he’s half insane with pleasure, begging to come, what does he sound like then?