Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology

by Nikki Sloane, Elle Kennedy, KL Kreig, Leslie McAdam, Lynda Aicher, Mara White, Marni Mann, Rebecca Shea, Saffron Kent, Sierra Simone, Veronica Larsen, Xio Axelrod

  “You’re early,” he murmurs.

  I let his rumbly voice wash over me, seep through my clothes and into my skin. Winding my arms around his waist, I bury my face in his chest and nod. “I know.”

  He lowers his face and his lips seem so close to my forehead I’m disappointed when they don’t touch me as he says, “You’re never early.”

  Closing my eyes, I smile. “I know. But I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  His arms tighten around me in concern. “Why not?”

  I burrow my face even more, rubbing my nose against the tight arch of his chest. “Because of you. Because I was excited to see you. Be with you.”

  “You need to sleep, Fallon. Are you sleeping well otherwise? Eating?” he asks, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw over my hair, concern still evident in his voice.

  I sigh.

  God, why does he have to be so wonderful? So caring and protective? It just makes all of this so much more difficult. It makes not kissing him and declaring my love for him even more agonizing.

  Soon though. It’s gonna happen soon. I think. And hope.

  Moving away, I look up at him. At his high, sculpted cheekbones and his soft lips. I gauge the distance between our lips. I’m shorter than him and I will have to stretch my legs, going up on my tiptoes to reach the height where I can put my lips over his.

  I wonder over his reaction. What will he do if I kiss him out of nowhere? I wonder if he’ll kiss me back.

  I wonder if he’ll finally admit we’re more than friends.

  Biting my lip, I ask, “Aww. Are you worried about me, Dean?”

  “Was that not obvious?”

  “You’ve always been worried about me, haven’t you?”

  Studying me, he frowns. “Am I supposed to answer that?”

  I swallow and fist his t-shirt. “Answer me this. Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why have you always been worried about me?”

  His eyes rove over my face. My silver hair that I get from my mom and my gray eyes that I get from my dad. Dean takes me in like he was doing earlier but this time, his perusal feels intimate. So intimate my body breaks out in goosebumps.

  Then, his gaze drops to my lips. My lips.

  Is he studying my lips? Oh God, has he ever done that before?

  The tingles I feel along the seam of them makes me think that yes—yes, he has. Only, I’ve never caught him in the act. He’s never been this blatant, this intent. This close to me. So close all I can see is him. All I can smell is him.

  I can’t help but tilt my face up, leaning more into his body. But as soon as I do that, he moves away.

  Letting go of me, he says in a roughened voice, “Because you have a habit of not taking care of yourself and that worries me.”

  I’m a little dazed and a lot disappointed. The breeze wafting over my body feels cold without his heat warming me up. It’s not as if I’m unfamiliar with this disappointment. I’ve been feeling this ever since Dean moved away from New York, our home, to California two years ago.

  Sighing, I give him a look. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. As it was when you called me last Tuesday.”

  Dean calls me every Tuesday at 8:30 P.M. sharp. Not to chat—Dean doesn’t have time to chat anymore, apparently—but to check up on me. How my classes are. If I’m taking care of myself. If someone is bothering me.

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  “You do know I’m not a little girl, right? Not anymore.” My words sound frustrated but I don’t care right now.

  At this, something flashes across his face. A shadow that jumps out under the sunny sky. It goes away quickly and his lips twitch as he reaches forward to tuck a fly-away strand behind my ear. “Little hard to forget that when I was the one picking you up from playdates and kindergarten.”

  Is it sick that the tender look in his eyes makes my heart race? Actually, it makes my heart race and it makes me wanna shake him until he realizes how tremulous my heartbeats are.

  I fold my arms across my chest and cock my hip out. “Well, then I’m glad we’re doing this thing. It will give me a chance to show you that I don’t go to Kindergarten anymore and I don’t need playdates to amuse me. I know a few games of my own that keep me pretty happy.”

  Dean thrusts his hands into his pockets and arches his eyebrows. “Is that why you came up with the insane idea of driving three thousand miles back to New York, instead of taking a six-hour flight? Because you wanted to show me how grown-up you are.”

  Bingo.

  Yeah, that’s why. I mean, it wasn’t planned or anything. Last Tuesday when he called me and told me there was a chance he’d be going back to New York for Christmas, I suggested that we go together.

  There was a bit of a silence on his side but he agreed. He told me he’d get plane tickets and then, before I could stop it, I told him we should make a trip out of it. It took a little convincing but here we are, ready to start our three-thousand-mile, five-day journey back home.

  And hopefully, back to each other.

  Because I can’t take this distance anymore. I can’t hide my feelings for him anymore, either. So, I’ve got a plan.

  Keeping my eyes connected to his, I close the space between us. I feel the air turning static, thick and heated, saturated with all of these emotions inside me.

  “No. I came up with the insane idea of driving three thousand miles back because I wanted to spend time with you. Because you never seem to have time for me anymore,” I say in a soft, low voice, sanded over with craving for him.

  “That’s because I have this thing. It’s called a job,” he says, his voice full of amusement. Although, amusement is hardly the emotion reflected in his gaze or on his expression. It’s too intense, too penetrating for that.

  “Oh, I know. You’re this bigshot lawyer now, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Are you sure they’re gonna survive without you at the firm?”

  “I think they’ll manage. For once.”

  I nod once, trying to hide my smile at the arrogance in his voice. “My mom’s gonna be happy to see you.”

  Though not as happy as I am right now. I’m bursting with happiness. Such a strange thing for me.

  He smiles. “Yeah, it’ll be good to see her.”

  My mom and Dean have always been close. So have my dad and Dean. But I guess, my mom’s more eloquent and more open about it, than my dad. My dad is a closed book, very much like Dean.

  “She thinks you work too much.” I do too.

  “Does she?”

  “She thinks you have no life.”

  “No kidding.”

  “She thinks you need to slow down a little.”

  “She said that to you?”

  “Yup.”

  No.

  I mean, my mom and Dean’s sister, Mia, they both do think Dean is working himself into the ground. But this is all me.

  “She also said you need to loosen up a little,” I continue, making stuff up; though to be fair, he does need that.

  “Loosen up, huh?”

  “So, I told her she should leave it to me.”

  “Leave it to you?”

  “Uh-huh.” I grin, and then, looking him in the eye, I declare, “I’m going to loosen you up, Dean.”

  With a slamming heart and buzzing skin, I wait for his reaction. Dean seems frozen for a few seconds. As if all he can do right now is stare at me.

  But the moment breaks when he ducks his head and runs his fingers through his thick hair. “Thanks for the offer but you should tell your mom I’m doing just fine.” Then, looking over my shoulders, he tips his chin. “That your luggage?”

  He’s probably referring to the giant magenta suitcase along with the floral handbag bulging at the seams with all the stuff I’ve packed for the coming days. I don’t care enough to confirm. I’m more interested in him and his restrained reactions.

  “Yup.”<
br />
  He takes a step toward it, but I stop him. I clutch the sleeve of his t-shirt and sort of barge into his space.

  Dean’s eyes are full of suspicion when I raise myself up on my tiptoes and lean in to place a soft kiss on his jaw. It ticks under my mouth and he goes completely still once again. But that doesn’t deter me. I won’t let it deter me.

  “I missed you, Dean. I missed you so much,” I whisper the words to the slant of his sculpted jaw, making him feel the words rather than hear them.

  The said jaw ticks again and I step away.

  Throwing me a glance that kinda looks frustrated—though, I can’t be sure—he leaves to grab my luggage.

  Even though his reaction was less than enthusiastic, I beam.

  Nothing can dampen my excitement. He’s here. We’re going on a road trip and I have a plan.

  Before this week is over, I’m going to tell Dean how I feel. And I’m going to convince him we belong together.

  It doesn’t matter that he’s older—much older, and we’ve always been just friends. We have something special and I’m gonna make him realize it, too.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Fallon

  When I suggested a road trip, I didn’t know we’d be driving for ten hours on the first day.

  I didn’t know that Dean wouldn’t let me drive his precious car. Some sleek convertible I hardly know the name of.

  “You’re a fucking control freak, you know that?” I tell him at his refusal.

  “Hey, watch it, Tiny. Language,” he growls from beside me.

  He’s sprawled in the seat, his strong thighs taking up the whole space with their largeness and masculinity. As I said, he’s lucky I’m in a good mood or I’d take major offense at his high-handed tone.

  As it is, I roll my eyes. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because you’re driving.”

  “And because you like me.”

  God, why does he have to be so confident? And why do those sunglasses look so sexy on him?

  “On second thought, maybe I should kill you. That way I’ll get to drive your stupid car.”

  “No abuse on the car, either.”

  Again, I roll my eyes and hand him a peeled orange, his favorite. I decided since Dean’s mapping out the whole route and figuring out where we’ll stay overnight, where we’ll eat and whatnot, the least I can do is be in charge of the snacks. Somehow, he let me do that and so, I got his favorites.

  “Well, if you’re not going to let me drive, I’m gonna put on some music.”

  I lean forward and fiddle with the music system, and Lana Del Ray blasts from the speaker.

  Right on cue, Dean groans. “Ah, fuck.”

  I tsk at him. “Language.” Then, “She’s awesome, Dean. She’s the bomb.”

  He shoots me a glance and turns off the music. “Let’s keep all kinds of explosives away, all right?”

  I throw a piece of popcorn at him that collides with his chest and rolls down to settle on those sexy thighs. Smirking, he picks it up and pops it in his mouth.

  Gah.

  I can’t even be mad at him. His smiles, his relaxed posture, they kill me every time. Mostly because they are all so rare.

  Now, we’re in Utah, Salt Lake City to be specific, and we’ve stopped for the night at a motel Dean had already picked out. I’m in my room, which is sadly separate from Dean’s, when my phone rings. It’s Mom.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say, lying on the bed.

  “Hey, baby. How are you? Are you tired?”

  Apart from Dean, my mom’s always been my best friend. She understands me in a way that’s rare and sometimes, spooky. When I was little, I used to think my mom could read minds. Turns out the only mind she can read is mine.

  “No, I’m fine,” I assure her.

  “Did you take your meds?”

  “When have I ever forgotten, Mom? I take it on time, every day.”

  And the reason she can read my mind is because she’s me. Or I’m her.

  We both suffer from clinical depression. I was medically diagnosed at thirteen. But I guess, my mom always knew about it. I feel like she blames herself sometimes. Although, my dad and me, we both tell her it’s not her fault.

  In fact, it’s because of her that I’m so well-adjusted about my condition. Well, as well-adjusted as I can be. You know, when my brain isn’t telling me I’m worthless and there’s no hope for me.

  “I’m just saying,” Mom continues. “Mostly because I think you’re a little too happy today.”

  “Is there anything wrong with being happy?”

  “Nope. Not at all,” she says in a grave voice because she knows how hard it is for people like us to be happy. “Just don’t forget to take the pill, kiddo.”

  I chuckle. “He reminded me already, you know. Not that I would’ve forgotten but still.”

  Dean knows my schedule by heart. Even though we don’t talk to each other every day, he still manages to remind me via text or email. Initially, I thought those texts meant a segue to chatting, but no. They were simple reminders about my medication. Sometimes he won’t even look at my reply for hours. I know; I have checked.

  I can hear my mom’s smile. “He did, did he?”

  I nod, smiling as well, as warmth pools in my chest. “Yup. He thinks I’m still a kid. Like you guys.”

  “Well, you’re always gonna be my kid. And to be fair, compared to him you actually are a kid.”

  “I’m not,” I snap, pursing my lips. “Stop saying that.”

  Mom laughs. “Ooh! A little bit touchy there. Should I know something?”

  I bite my lip and dart my eyes around the room like I’m not alone. Like, Dean can hear me. “No.”

  “Really?”

  Her tone suggests she already knows, and I get both nervous and relieved. We’ve never talked about how I feel about Dean. I mean, I only realized it two years ago myself.

  Am I slow or what?

  I’ve known the guy all my life, but I only realized I loved him when out of nowhere, he declared he was taking a job in Los Angeles.

  I’ll never forget his kiss at the airport. I was crying—sobbing really—and he hugged me so tightly I was surprised when the hug was broken, and we came apart as two different bodies, instead of one.

  “Mom,” I say, sitting up on the bed, fisting the sheet.

  “What?”

  “Don’t try to play innocent.”

  “Oh, unlike you, you mean?”

  “Mom,” I whine like a kid. She reduces me to that sometimes, and I hate my voice like this.

  She laughs harder. “All right, I know. I’ve always known.”

  “I’m not sure if we’re talking about the same thing,” I return cautiously, even as my eyes are scrunching shut and I’m crossing my fingers.

  If I wanted someone to know before Dean, it would be my mom. She’s the coolest.

  “Okay. So, we’re not talking about Dean and how you picked a college in L.A., so you can be close to him. And how you’re driving to New York just so you can spend some time together. Because apparently, he’s just always working,” Mom says with a smile in her voice. “So, that’s not what we’re talking about, right?”

  See, mind reader.

  I fold my legs, crisscrossing them and chew on my nail. “How long have you known?”

  “I’ll tell you if you stop chewing on your nails.”

  I whip my finger out of my mouth. “God, you’re spooky. Anyway, tell me. How long?”

  She sighs. “Always.”

  “How? Even I didn’t know.”

  “I’ve always known, Fallon. I guess, I have the sense for these things. And if it were someone else, then I probably would have a problem with it because, well, you’re young and he’s older—much older. But it’s Dean, you know. He’s like my other son and I know him. I’ve watched him grow up.”

  It’s true. When Dean was twelve, he met my dad accidentally and sinc
e then, my dad has always tried to be there for Dean and his sister. Because Dean’s own father has hardly been a part of their lives. From what I hear, his dad completely checked out when Dean’s mom died, and he threw himself into his work.

  My heart hurts for Dean and his sister. When I think of how lonely they must have felt, how the responsibility of bringing Mia up must have fallen on Dean’s shoulders. Thank God for my mom and dad, stepping up and helping.

  “Do you . . .” I bring my knees up and sit back against the headboard. “Do you think he loves me too?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I feel that he does but . . . I don’t know, Mom. What if he doesn’t?”

  “You’re never going to know if you don’t ask, honey. Besides, that’s why you came up with this insane idea anyway, right?”

  “Okay, why does everyone keep calling it an insane idea? People take road trips all the time, okay? It’s not that insane.”

  “Yeah, tell that to your dad. He’s losing his mind over here.”

  I gasp. “Mom, please don’t tell Dad. Please don’t tell him I love Dean. Please? He’ll lose his shit.”

  “Language,” she chastises. “And no. I’m not saying anything to your dad. Believe it or not, I’m kind of scared of him too.”

  “Oh please. Dad worships you. He can never be mad at you, like, ever.”

  “Well, yeah. Your dad does worship me.”

  She giggles at that. Apparently, Dad’s the only person who can make her giggle.

  They met in the unlikeliest of places: a psychiatric ward. When my mom was eighteen, she went through a major depressive episode that led to her attempting suicide. So, she was sent to Heartstone Psychiatric Hospital, where my dad worked as a lead psychiatrist.

  I, for one, love their love story. I love how my silent, seemingly unemotional dad fell in love with my quirky, cute mom. I love how my dad, who hardly ever smiles, laughs when my mom is around. I can see it in his eyes, how much he loves her, how much he admires her.

  Sometimes I feel like Dean looks at me that way but maybe it could be the imaginings of a lovesick girl.

  “Mom? Everything’s gonna be okay, right?”