by Lauren Rowe
My heart physically hurts at the beautiful expression on Dax’s face. Holy hell. What is this creature in this bathtub with me? It was one thing for him to light up like a beacon when talking about his mother, but about his brother, too?
Dax grabs my leg underneath the water. “What about you? Have you ever done the equivalent of breaking your mother’s prized crystal vase and secretly Supergluing it back together?”
“Not really. I mean, I’ve been sneaky, of course. In high school, I used to sneak out my bedroom window to meet up with my boyfriend. But that’s pretty much it. Nothing as scandalous as Supergluing a prized vase back together.”
Dax chuckles. “Yeah, a high school girl sneaking out at night is definitely a misdemeanor in my book. A kid methodically Supergluing a vase back together? Now, that’s a first-class felony.”
We both giggle.
“You got another question for me, disco momma?” he asks, his blue eyes blazing. “I’m digging this game.”
“Heck yeah, sexy boy. I’ve got endless questions for you.” I twist my mouth for a moment. “Tell me about your hair.”
“My hair?”
“Yeah.” I stroke his calf muscle underneath the water. “Something tells me it’s a window into your soul. Did you consciously decide to grow it long—or did it just sort of happen by default because you forgot to go to the barber for a few years? Is it a message to the universe that you’re not willing to play by The Rules? Basically, I’m wondering if your hair is somehow tied to your sense of self-identity, or if it’s just... hair?”
“Wow, fantastic questions. Really insightful.” He pauses for a long moment, considering his answer. “I think my hair is an easy shorthand for me. Without me needing to open my mouth, it tells people I’m not willing to drown in a sea of conformity and sameness. Being the fifth of five kids, I’ve always felt the need to distinguish myself. To not blend into the pack. When I was really little, my mom let me grow my hair out pretty long, because, she said, I was a little shit about haircuts. But then, for kindergarten, she took me to get my first professional haircut. As the story goes, I saw myself in the mirror with really short hair for the first time and bawled my eyes out. According to my mom, I turned to her and said, ‘Now how will you know which boy is me?’” Dax laughs, sending a flock of butterflies whooshing into my stomach for the tenth time since we crawled into this bathtub together.
“I love your laugh,” I say. “It gives me butterflies, every time.”
Dax shoots me a look that hardens my nipples. “I don’t get butterflies when you laugh.” He touches my thigh. “I get fireflies. I feel lit up from deep inside.”
His words have sent an electric current straight into my heart. But since I have no desire to fall in insta-love with a one-night stand, I tell myself this sexy boy has probably said those exact words to countless girls before me. Maybe even some of them while sitting naked in a bathtub, just like this. I smile flirtatiously. “Aw, I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Dax suddenly looks earnest. Not playful at all. “I’ve never said that to anyone in my life. Because these fireflies I’m feeling are a first.”
I open and close my mouth, searching for a witty retort, but I can’t speak. My heart is thumping. My chest feels tight.
Dax’s blue eyes are smoldering. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Violet.”
My heart is beating out of my chest. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve got fireflies, too. And they’re most definitely a first for me.”
I’m telling the truth. I’ve been in love. Once. But I’ve never felt this kind of instant connection. I’ve never felt so completely seen. Not like this.
Dax trails his fingertips up and down my inner thigh. “Did you know those guys who hit on you at the party?”
“No.”
“Why’d you turn them down? They had swagger.”
I run my toe across the ridges of his abs. “Because there was a beautiful boy with long blonde hair across the room I kept hoping would come say hello to me.”
Dax bites his lower lip. “It was sexy as hell the way you scolded me from across the room, when I didn’t come over fast enough to your liking.”
I giggle. “I was just being silly.”
“You were just being sexy.”
Heat passes between us.
“Ready for another question?” I ask.
“Go for it,” he says, still running his fingers up and down my inner thigh.
“Have you ever had your heart broken?”
“Oh, boy. The hitwoman is getting down to business now, folks.” He flashes me a smile that melts my ovaries. “Yes, I’ve had my heart broken. Once. At fourteen, I went to a month-long, sleep-away music camp. I know it sounds dorky, but it was really cool. And she was there. Julia Fortunato. She’d just turned sixteen and she was ‘experienced,’ unlike me. Not only that, she had the voice of an angel and curves that made me pop a boner every time I looked at her. She had her pick of guys at camp. But she made it clear she wanted me.”
“An older woman,” I say. “Impressive.”
“We did a whole lot of making out throughout the summer. And then, the night before camp ended, Julia said she wanted to give me a lifelong memory. She wanted to be my first. So we went to this shed where they stored kayaks and stuff and we lay down on a blanket and she rocked my world.” He shakes his head and chuckles. “I told her I loved her that very night. And I honestly believed it.”
“And you said you’ve never felt fireflies before me.”
“I haven’t. I didn’t say I’ve never fallen in love. I have. More than once. But, honestly, before tonight, I’ve never met someone who’s made me feel the way you do. Especially not this fast. One thing you need to understand about me, Violet, is I’m not a bullshitter. I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I figured out a while ago that being honest—with myself and others—is the only way I can write songs. Well, good songs, anyway. Not to mention not have a constant stomach ache. So I made a pact with myself not to say shit just to say it. If I say something, I’m saying it because I mean it.”
Holy hell, sex appeal wafts off this boy like a physical thing. My clit is throbbing like crazy. “I’m a people pleaser by nature,” I admit. “I sometimes say things to avoid confrontation or make someone else happy. With you, though, I feel like there’s no choice but to tell the truth.”
“Good.”
“I feel like I’ve known you for months. With you, it’s crazy just how...” I pause, searching for the right word.
“Right this feels?” he supplies.
I nod. “Exactly.”
“Yeah, I know.”
My heart flutters. “So this Julia girl from camp wound up breaking your heart?”
“She smashed it. Camp was over the morning after Julia rocked my world in that shed. We said our goodbyes and promised to keep in touch across the miles. I went back to Seattle. She went back to wherever she was from. Somewhere with cornfields. And then I proceeded to text her, just like I promised I would... waaaaaay too often.” He grimaces. “Did I mention I was fourteen? Oh, God, I handed that girl my entire heart with both hands. Poems, songs. Little texts to say hi. Memes to make her laugh.” He rolls his eyes. “That first taste of pussy, man. It was powerful stuff.” He shakes his head. “Julia answered me for about a week, and then... poof. She was a ghost.”
“She ghosted you?”
“She did. No goodbye. No ‘this isn’t working for me.’ She just disappeared and never said another word to me.”
“Maybe something happened to her?”
“Nope. A friend from camp stalked her for me and found out she’d just gotten herself an older boyfriend back home—a college guy who could do a whole lot more for her than write sappy love songs from a thousand miles away.”
“Aw, poor Dax.”
“It’s okay. Thanks to Julia Fortunato, I learned a much-needed lesson in texting etiquette.” He chuckles. “Plus, I found out I love writing love s
ongs. Sex songs. I’m-gonna-die-if-I-don’t-get-inside-you songs. Even if what I’m feeling is one-sided or a figment of my imagination, I learned getting my heart smashed into bits is good for my creativity. To be honest, ever since Julia Fortunato, a twisted, fucked-up part of me kind of craves getting my heart shattered again, just to see what kinds of epic songs might come of it.”
“Sick bastard.”
He grins.
“What would you say to Julia if you ran into her now?”
“Say to her? No, sweetheart. This fantasy doesn’t involve me saying a word. It involves me fucking the living hell out of her, rocking her world like it’s never been rocked before, telling her we should keep in touch, and then ghosting the fuck out of her.”
We both burst out laughing. And, once again, a flock of butterflies—no, fireflies—whooshes into my belly.
“Okay, your turn, disco momma,” he says. “Ever had your heart broken?”
“Just once. Same as you. When I was seventeen. He was my first boyfriend and I loved him with all my heart and soul. Oh, God, how I loved him, Dax. He was a bit older than me, and he had to move away for a job, and everything turned to shit. Just like you with Julia Fortunato, I learned long-distance romances are a pipe dream.”
“Yeah, no doubt about that.”
“If only I was a songwriter, right? I could have used the heartbreak to make art. As it was, I didn’t have much use for the pain.”
“Aw, Violet. Beautiful girl.” He pulls me to him, making me bend my knees on either side of his hips and smash my center into his penis under the warm water. He kisses me and runs his hands down my wet back and, soon, I feel his erection hardening against me.
“I’m sorry you got your heart smashed,” he whispers into my lips.
“It was for the best,” I say. “Soon after that, I went off to college and started a new life. But for a little while, I was positive my poor, broken heart would never mend.”
“Aw, baby.” He nuzzles his nose into mine. “It was his loss.”
My nipples are hard. My clit is throbbing against his hard tip. I whisper, “I wouldn’t change a thing. Especially right this very minute.”
He kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck. He cradles my back. And I’m instantly lost in him again.
“‘People Like Us,’” he whispers. “You said that at the party.”
I look at him quizzically.
“That’s the title of my favorite song I’ve ever written. Now that you’re here, I feel like I wrote it about you.”
“Who’d you actually write it about?”
“You.”
“For real, though.”
“Nobody. The woman in the song didn’t exist when I wrote it. She was a wish.” He smiles. “And now, here you are. My wish fulfilled.”
That’s it. I’m a goner. Aching with lust and yearning. “Do condoms work underwater?” I whisper.
“No, unfortunately. Come on. If I don’t get inside you right now, I’m gonna die.”
He pulls me up, and we barrel, dripping wet, into the bedroom. And that’s where Dax grabs a condom from the stash he bought in the hotel lobby, gets himself covered in record time, plunges himself inside me... and fucks me to heaven, once again.
Chapter 7
Violet
“Okay, your turn,” Dax says.
We’re playing another round of Ask Me Anything. This time, while sitting at a little table in the corner of our hotel room, eating breakfast from room service. I’m wearing one of the fluffy white robes that came with the room. Dax is wearing nothing but white briefs and a smile. The sun rising through a window behind Dax is creating a glowing, halo effect around his blonde head. And I feel physically drunk on this beautiful boy.
I purse my lips for a moment. “Have you ever cheated?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “Regretfully. But only once. And it was for a good reason.”
I press my lips together disdainfully. There’s never a good reason for cheating, as far as I’m concerned. Ever. But I keep my mouth shut and wait for his explanation.
Dax says, “My niece, Izzy, was taking for-fucking-ever in a game of checkers, and I just wanted it to be over. So, regretfully, I cheated to let her win.”
I throw my napkin at him. “You know what I meant. Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?”
“Oh.” He grins adorably. “No. I’m a Morgan. If I’ve promised fidelity to a girl, then I’m true blue. By the same token, if I’m not feeling it anymore, I tell her the truth and move on. Better for everyone that way, even if the truth hurts at first.”
I make a face like, I sure would have appreciated that kind of honesty.
“You’ve been cheated on?” Dax says.
“I have. And it’s not fun.”
“By that long-distance boyfriend?”
“That’s the one. Thanks to him, I’ll take the pain of brutal honesty over the pain of dishonesty any day.”
Dax pulls a face. “Shit. In light of that, I feel like I should come clean about something.” He pauses, clearly about to drop a huge bomb. “I haven’t cheated, per se. But I have been in a polyamorous relationship.”
My jaw drops. “With how many women?”
“Three.” He winks. “Your lucky number.”
My jaw drops even farther. “And all three women were on board with that arrangement?”
He nods. “I was up front about it from the beginning. In fact, I gathered them all together and sat them down to clearly explain the deal.”
My stomach hurts. “Wow...”
“Now, granted,” Dax says, “I was in kindergarten. But, still. I think it’s only fair you should know.”
I throw a packet of sugar at him. “You dork.”
Dax laughs with glee. “You should have seen your face. Priceless.”
I throw a strawberry at him and he laughs even harder.
“Hey, don’t initiate a food fight unless you’re willing to fight to the death,” he warns. “I’m the youngest of five, remember? I’m a scrappy motherfucker.”
Laughing, I pick up my coffee cup. “Tell me how this harem of yours came about.”
“There were three little girls who wanted to sit next to me at story time, play with me on the playground, play house and doctor with me at playtime. It was exhausting. And then, fuck my five-year-old life, Valentine’s Day came around and all three wanted to be my only valentine. They demanded I choose.”
“How stressful.”
“It was! So I thought about it and quickly realized there was only one logical solution. They needed to do what my parents and teacher had always taught me to do with the best toys: share.”
I burst out laughing and Dax does, too.
“So, I sat the girls down and laid down the law and they agreed. And then I went home, proud of myself for brokering world peace, and told my mom how brilliantly I’d handled the tricky situation. And, to my shock, my mother wasn’t nearly as impressed by my problem-solving skills as I was.”
“You mean your mom didn’t encourage you to maintain a harem?”
“Nope. Weird, huh? She did laugh her ass off when I first told her the story. It’s one of my earliest memories of my mom, actually—watching her cry with laughter that day, and not understanding why. But then she sat me down and explained that sharing a person is different than sharing a toy.”
“So, what you’re actually telling me is girls have been throwing themselves at you your entire life.”
He blushes. “Women have historically been pretty assertive with me,” he admits. “Which is fine with me. But what I hate is women assuming I’m all about getting laid. Maybe I’m supposed to be, but I’ve always wanted more. A soul connection. And that’s hard to find. Nearly impossible, I’d even say.”
My heart is thumping almost painfully. Did he just tell me he feels a soul connection with me? I think he did! Which is good, because I feel one with him, too.
Excitement passes between us. A bit of shyness,
too, about the soul connection we’ve both nonverbally admitted we’re feeling.
Dax’s cheeks turn bright red, and he looks down and busies himself with his breakfast for a long moment. When he looks up, he’s still blushing. “My turn to ask a question?”
“Go for it.”
His sweet smile from a moment ago turns wicked in a heartbeat. “Have you ever faked an orgasm?”
“Here we go, folks. The sexy boy goes in for the kill.” I shrug. “Yeah, lots of times. But not with you.”
“Why do girls feel the need to do that?”
“Because boys watch porn and girls want to fulfill their fantasies. Because when young, inexperienced girls have sex with young, inexperienced boys, not a whole lot of whiz bang boom is typically going to happen. And if girls don’t get off the way a boy does, the way porn stars do, then girls assume there’s something wrong with them. And, God forbid, they don’t want to seem like anything but a freak in the sheets, so they play the part. But like I said, I didn’t fake it with you.”
“Yeah, no shit, you didn’t fake it with me. I could feel your muscles rippling, multiple times.”
“You’re amazingly talented at getting the job done. I’m deeply impressed.”
“I’ve got older brothers, remember? My Master Yodas. Right out of the gate—well, right after Julia Fortunato, unfortunately for her—they schooled me about what to do to get the job done.”
“Thank them for me. I’m grateful for their tutelage.”
He chuckles. “Your turn.”
I gesture to a small tattoo on the inside of Dax’s right forearm. “What’s the story behind those three smiling... what are those things? Dogs? Cows? Haystacks with legs?”
Dax grins. “They’re goats. That’s my band. The three goats of 22 Goats.”
I can’t stop laughing. “When you told me your band is called 22 Goats, I pictured ‘goats’ in all caps, as in ‘Greatest of All Time.’”