A Love Song for Rebels (Rivals Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  “Yeah. I do.”

  I study him, trying to figure out where Tyler went and who this reckless man in his place is.

  But all I see is the same guy I’ve always known, with a flash of rebelliousness in his dark gaze that has a shimmer of hope starting low in my stomach.

  I throw my arms around his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and trying not to be distracted by the heat and hardness of his body. My eyes burn. “Thank you.”

  His arms wrap around me, too, and my heart feels lighter than it has in two days.

  “We can rehearse all day tomorrow. We can use the apartment. Beck will understand.”

  “I promise I’ll do you proud.”

  “I know you will.”

  Over his shoulder, I notice a pool table at the other end of the bar. “But since we’re not rehearsing until tomorrow... look what I found.”

  He turns to look, and his chuckle warms me. “You wanna play pool, Six?”

  “With you? Always. I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “I can’t believe you got that email today and didn’t tell me,” he chides, following me to the table.

  “I didn’t want to bring you down or distract you from your own rehearsing. I actually found out yesterday when I went to Finn’s show.”

  He takes two cues off the wall and passes me one. But when he responds, he’s guarded. “What part of that’s in the curriculum?”

  My jaw goes slack with incredulity as I twist the chalk over the end of my cue. “Come on, Tyler. It was a trip. Have you ever heard him? There’s a reason Finn Harvey has a gold album.”

  I brush past him to rack up the balls. I’m bent over, lining up my break when his hand settles between my shoulder blades. “We need stakes.”

  I shiver, turning to feel his lips brush my ear. “You sound like you’ve got something in mind.”

  “I win, you kiss me like you mean it.”

  I twist so his arms are around me. Tyler tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, sending a jolt of electricity humming through me while his gaze roams my face.

  The man who offered to share the spotlight with me. For me. No questions asked.

  I make a decision there’s no going back from.

  “Fine. But if I win… you kiss me like you would’ve if you hadn’t walked away that day outside the library in Dallas.”

  His hand stills, heat flaring behind his eyes.

  He gets what this means, that it’s an admission I want him, that I want to play out whatever’s between us—that I’m every bit as frustrated from the tension that’s been building all week, all year.

  “Deal.”

  At a glance, it could seem as if the stakes have vanished, but they’re higher than ever.

  He wins and I have to show him how much I want him. I’ll be the one who’s vulnerable, and every part of me that I’d believed had grown up will be tested.

  If I win… I get to see what kind of man Tyler Adams has become since he left me. Because somehow, I know the first touch of his hands, his mouth, will tell me more than the last month has about where he’s at.

  I want that. So badly.

  I take my first shot and sink two. Another three go down as I circle the table before I miss.

  “So, tell me about this kiss I’m about to win,” Tyler asks as he lines up his first shot.

  “It’ll have tongue.”

  Across the table, he lifts his gaze, mouth curving. “I assumed.”

  I soak in the sight of his powerful body, the simple grace in everything he does. He’s masculine and utterly captivating.

  “And an ass grab.”

  Tyler leans over the table. “I didn’t ask for an ass grab.”

  “It’s a BOGO kind of deal.”

  He sinks his target smoothly, and I bite my cheek as he goes on a run of his own.

  “You worried?” he muses after sinking the next three.

  “Nope.”

  “You should be.”

  But eventually, he misses one.

  I walk in front of him to find the best angle on the final ball. Once I have it, I toss a look over my shoulder to catch him staring at me.

  “I might need help,” I say.

  His eyes darken, and he closes the distance between us, setting his cue on the edge of the table.

  I wait for him to bend over me, his strong body wrapping around me.

  Yes.

  I press my ass against him. My teeth sink into my lip as his scent hits me. I arch my back. “How’s my angle?”

  His heavy exhale at my ear is pure turn-on. “Shoot already.”

  The cue slips through my hand…

  And I miss.

  Now that he has a shot to win it all, the stakes are sinking in.

  If he wins, it’s going to be more than a single kiss.

  Once he touches me again, he’ll know how I feel. I won’t be able to hold back, and he’ll realize I’m torn between wanting him and focusing on my future. I’ll be vulnerable in a way I haven’t let myself be, not even this past week.

  “Annie.” Tyler’s voice has me turning back to him. “Watch.”

  My hand squeezes the cue, my palms getting damp as he lines up his shot.

  It’s harder than the one I had.

  He could miss it.

  He draws back the cue, then slides it through his hand.

  Smooth. Sure. Practiced.

  My breath catches as I watch the ball roll across the felt, tap the two, and drop it right into the pocket.

  Tyler straightens, slow.

  My heart flutters in my chest. “I guess you want your kiss.”

  “No.” A hand on my waist has me turning back, catching myself against his chest. Too-knowing chocolate eyes bore into mine. “I want it on our date.”

  “Our date?” I echo, a step slow.

  “Yeah. See, the last time I tried to date you, I fucked it up. We were too young. And I lived in your house. And I don’t know if there’s a right way to do this, but I want to try.”

  I search his face, trying to understand the words coming from his lips. “But… dating is a thing people who have time and want to fall in love do. Not people on the edge of finally reaching their dreams after giving up so much to do it.”

  His gaze sharpens. “You don’t think we can have both?”

  Of all the things I wondered with Tyler, that he’d want to take me out never occurred to me. It’s a beautiful idea, but part of me says it’s impossible, that believing that is something the girl who got her heart broken last year would’ve done, something I’m too smart to do now.

  “Tell you what,” he says when I don’t answer. “We’ll have this conversation after our audition.”

  I nod, swallowing with relief. I take his cue and hang it up with mine. “We should get back to our friends.”

  “Wait.” He catches my wrist before I can pass him. “I changed my mind about that kiss.”

  His voice is low, a sensual promise as he tugs me against him.

  “You want it here?” I look around us.

  He backs me against the pool table until my ass rests on the edge.

  “I want it here,” he agrees.

  My dress rides up indecently high, and he’s pressed between my thighs. Every inch of me lives for the feeling of his body on mine.

  But it’s dangerous.

  I’ve survived this long, kept myself focused, because I haven’t let myself give in to the desire to touch him, to have him touch me.

  “Come on, Six. Don’t back out now.” His voice is a low murmur.

  I take a breath and thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. Our lips hover close enough to touch, and I’m aching for him, the need pulsing low in my stomach wanting to drop us out of this bar, out of this city, to a place where it’s him and me and everything we’ve never said.

  I can’t close the last millimeter between us.

  As if he knows, Tyler does it for me.

&nbs
p; Oh, God.

  I’d thought I remembered what it felt like to kiss him, but I was wrong.

  He’s warm and firm, heat and desire, and the second he parts my mouth with his tongue, I sigh against him.

  It’s supposed to be my kiss, but Tyler’s fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head as if he can’t stand to sit back. His other hand finds my hip, angling me against the pool table so he can press closer to my center, forcing my legs apart.

  He kisses me like he owns me, like he misses me, like he never wants to let me go.

  My fingertips trail through his hair, my thighs squeezing as if I can entice him into me.

  I want him in me. God, if he shifted me up onto this pool table right now, slid inside me and claimed me in front of this entire room, I wouldn’t say no.

  I don’t know how long our hungry lips hitch and slide, our greedy hands touch and tease, but I tear my mouth away first, leaning my forehead against him while I struggle to catch my breath.

  “Remember that guitar you bought me in high school?” he murmurs against my lips.

  I nod, my throat too swollen to answer.

  His hands skim up my sides, thumbs resting under the curve of my breasts as if they have every right to be there, as if I’m the instrument built for his hands.

  Tyler’s head turns a fraction of an inch so his lips brush the corner of my mouth. His next four words, whispered against my skin like a brand, stop my heart.

  “I want it back.”

  11

  The rest of the weekend, I’m a bundle of nervous energy—practicing with Tyler and alone.

  Because of the tight timeline, we’re all business. Every minute, from dawn until midnight, we write and rewrite, play and sing, go over every section of my vocals and his guitar until the result is real and powerful and moves me from the first chord.

  Monday morning, I can barely listen during Entertainment Management, my stomach flipping over as I stare off into space and go over the arrangement in my head.

  On my way out of class, I notice a missed call from Haley, plus a voicemail.

  Annie, we sent you flowers for midterms, but the florist couldn’t deliver them because there was no one with your name at the dorm address you gave us. I told them to try again, but here’s the number—

  I write down the number, then hang up on the voicemail.

  This is bad.

  I call the florist, who’s super confused and asks if there’s another address to deliver to.

  I don’t want to give her the Vanier one, so I go down to the shop and get them myself, calling my dad on the way back.

  “Hey,” I say when he answers, panting as I take the steps up from the subway, the big arrangement of purple orchids and roses heavy in my arms. “I got the flowers. Thank you, guys, that was very sweet.”

  “The florist said they couldn’t deliver them.” I can hear him frown over the phone.

  “It was a mix-up. Everything’s fine. There’s actually something else I wanted you to send me.” I tell him, and he pauses.

  “If we send it to the same address, it’ll arrive.”

  “For sure,” I tell him.

  After hanging up, I text Pen to remind her I gave her dorm as my address and that if someone happens to show up with a package, she should sign for me.

  “It’s a little early for congratulations flowers. You haven’t even auditioned,” Rae points out from her desk chair as I push open our door.

  “They’re from my dad and stepmom. The card says, ‘Good luck on midterms!’” I set the arrangement on my desk, still wrapped, and Heath swims to the glass to check it out.

  I drop onto the bed, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Fuck, I’m an asshole.”

  “Not the usual response to flowers.”

  I roll onto my side to look at her. “My dad doesn’t know about… the showcase.”

  “Parents don’t need to know everything,” Rae says, folding her arms. “Mine don’t.”

  “You never talk about your family. You’re not close?”

  Her dark brows lift. For a moment, I think she’s not going to answer, but she does. “My parents are both doctors. So’s my brother. They’re not thrilled I’m here. I told them it’s better here than Ibiza, where I spent last summer.”

  “You were never tempted to be what they wanted? Or to pretend?”

  Rae opens her notebook computer in front of her. “I’m not gonna tell someone else’s story. I’m going to be the biggest DJ in the world. And every person who thinks that’s not true gets to be wrong about me.”

  An expression of sheer determination crosses her face, and I can’t help being inspired by her resolve.

  “This sounds stupid and self-centered,” I start, “but did I do something to make you not like me? Because I really wish we could start over.”

  She shifts in her seat. “Just because I like my space and my resting bitch face is on point doesn’t mean I hate you. I mean… I fed your fish the other day.”

  “Really?”

  Rae shrugs. “He looked hungry.”

  That lightens my heart. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being you.”

  She shakes her head before turning back to her computer, but I swear there’s a trace of a smile on her lips too. “Whatever. What time’s your audition?”

  I check my phone. Shit. “In an hour. I need to go warm up.”

  I get off the bed, grab my things and start for the door.

  I’m halfway down the hall when I hear her call, “If you fuck it up, I’m sending the flowers back.”

  He’s not here.

  I’m in the grand auditorium twenty minutes before our scheduled time, and Tyler’s nowhere to be seen.

  I call him, text him, but nothing.

  I pace in the hall until the door cracks and an admin assistant sticks her head out. “Mr. Adams?”

  “That’s me.”

  “You’re on deck.” She looks at me dubiously but lets me inside.

  I head in the back door and into the wings as the current performer, a pianist, continues his audition.

  “Next. Tyler Adams.” The disembodied voice comes through a microphone.

  Wiping sweaty palms on my pants, I take the stage.

  A panel of adjudicators sits half a dozen rows back, representing each of the faculties. Their faces are familiar—Talbot, Finn, the dean, plus a man whose name I don’t know who’s a classical music teacher.

  “Miss Jamieson,” Talbot observes tightly. “You’re not on our list. What are you doing here?”

  “Tyler and I are auditioning together.”

  The judges exchange looks.

  “Where is Mr. Adams?” the dean asks.

  My stomach twists as silence falls over the auditorium.

  The thought that rises up is involuntary, and awful.

  He left. He left again.

  When I’m about to open my mouth, the doors of the auditorium burst open, and Tyler strides in, guitar on his back.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he says loudly enough the judges can hear too as he makes his way up the aisle. “One of our first-floor neighbors was broken into, and he cut himself on the glass. I called 9-1-1 and got him into an ambulance.”

  My jaw slackens. “Is he okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “We’ll give you a few minutes to warm up,” the dean decides, turning to the admin assistant. “Let’s get the next person, please.”

  I shut my eyes, heart still hammering as we head back to the wings together and a ballerina crosses our path for the stage.

  Tyler squeezes my shoulders. “I wouldn’t leave you,” he murmurs, reading my expression. “I won’t. Not again.”

  I study him, the nerves warring with gratitude in my body as he quietly tunes his guitar.

  “Mr. Adams,” a voice calls moments later when the dancer finishes. “Are you ready?”

  We take the stage, and the dean nods. “Miss Ja
mieson, you can accompany Mr. Adams, but if you make the showcase, you won’t be credited for the performance. It would be unfair to the freshman students who were not permitted to audition.”

  Before I can argue, Tyler’s on it. “She’s not my backup. She wrote the song. She’s in this every bit as much as I am, and if you won’t let her audition, I’m not auditioning either.”

  Could my heart expand any more?

  My gaze trains on the four adjudicators.

  “I say we let them do it. If it’s not good enough, we say no,” Finn weighs in.

  “All right,” the dean decides.

  I turn and close the distance between Tyler and me. He gives me a nod of encouragement.

  “Thank you,” I murmur so only we can hear before returning to take my place at the other mic.

  The song is magic.

  I don’t need to watch the faces in the audience, because in my heart, it’s not for them. It’s for us.

  Our performance is a blend of who we were, who we are, who we’re becoming—the imperfect synergy of Tyler and me and what we could create together.

  It’s poetry. Every lie, every struggle, every moment, makes sense in this instant.

  When we’re done, the stone-faced adjudicators tell us we’ll hear back as early as tonight.

  I trip off stage after Tyler, and as he sets down his guitar in front of him, I leap onto his back, throw my arms around his neck.

  “That was so good,” I pant in his ear, loving the feel of his warm, hard body under mine as he catches my legs.

  He chuckles. “You were great.”

  I drop off his back, and he turns to face me. “You were great,” I echo because I can’t find other words.

  Now, staring at him, the emotion slams into me. “What you did for me today,” I start, “what you risked…”

  “You’re worth it,” he murmurs.

  I’m thinking about that kiss Saturday night. From the way his eyes darken, so is he.

  “What are you doing now?” he asks.

  I groan. “I have a sociology assignment to finish for tomorrow, then Elle and I got free tickets to the symphony tonight.”

  “Keep your phone on.”

  I sigh out a breath of excitement. “Yeah.”

  He shoots me a look that’s pure wanting, and my entire body tingles as he strokes a thumb down my cheek before turning to lead the way out of the auditorium.