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I thought the amp was the best gift, ever. And it was, a moment ago. But now, this is, by far, the most boner-inducing, heart palpitating, perfect, mind-blowing gift Laila could ever, ever, ever have given me. And to think she did it not only because she loves me. But because she knows me, so well. Because she’s figured me out, without anyone, not even Kendrick, telling her this would be the best gift I could receive. Honestly, I don’t think even Kendrick would come up with this idea, if tasked with finding the perfect gift for me. Only Laila could or would do something so magical for me. So amazing. And the effect on me is like she’s given my very soul the most amazing blowjob in the history of time.
I swoop her into my arms and kiss the hell out of her, thanking her profusely. I tell her I love her, over and over again, as I take off her clothes. And she tells me she loves me, too, over and over again, as she slides her naked body onto my cock and rides me like there’s no tomorrow. I devour her breasts and nipples. Massage her clit. We fuck and laugh and kiss, our euphoria palpable. I didn’t know love could feel like this. I thought love like this was a fairytale. And love songs about it were bullshit. But now I know this kind of love is not only real, it’s the only thing that matters.
When we’re done making love, we lie in bed for a bit, kissing and laughing. But soon, I can’t resist grabbing my laptop and inserting the flash drive, as Laila cuddles up to me and lays her cheek on my shoulder. As the files unfurl on my screen, I “ooh” and “aah” like I’m watching a fireworks display on the Fourth of July, and Laila giggles at my reaction.
“How did you get your hands on this?” I ask, clicking around through the files like a madman.
“Reed said he owed me a big favor for doing the music video for Alessandra. So, I called in the favor.”
“I could weep.”
She laughs, not realizing I’m not joking.
I pull her to me and silently hug her close for a very long moment, long enough to gather myself. Finally, I feel in control of myself enough to pepper her gorgeous face with kisses, before taking her face in my palms. “Laila Fitzgerald, if I’m ever so much as cranky toward you, if I’m ever even remotely close to being an asshole in your presence, ever, please, please, say ‘Buckley multi track stems’ and I promise on my life I’ll instantly stop whatever shitty or immature thing I’m saying or doing, drop to my knees, and kiss your feet.”
She makes an adorable sound of pure joy. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“And rightly so.”
We kiss again. But, suddenly, Laila says, “Oh! There’s one more gift you need to open.”
“No. Stop. No more.”
“This one is a small token. It cost me approximately twenty dollars.”
She grabs the book-sized wrapped gift from the corner of the bed, and hands it to me. “I had this made for you when we were in Chicago. But I decided to wait a little bit to give it to you.”
My heart thumping, I open the wrapping paper to find the inside of an old birthday card, given to me by Mimi on the first birthday I spent with her. My thirteenth. Laila’s gotten the card framed behind glass like it’s an exquisite work of art. Which it is, to me.
The handwritten note on the card from Mimi reads:
My dearest Adrian,
Happy 13th birthday, my love. I thank God everyday he brought you to me, so you could light up my life like a shooting star. Whenever you get frustrated or angry, if you’re feeling like the world is against you, take a deep breath and remember you’re never going to be alone again. You’ve got me now. And I’m not going anywhere. Even when I’m gone from this earth, my love for you will remain. You’re the light of my life, Adrian. I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Mimi
Thirty-One
Laila
One month later
It’s around nine in the morning on my twenty-fifth birthday. I’m sitting at the baby grand in the corner of the living room while Savage sleeps upstairs. For the past hour or so, I’ve been working on a song for my third album that came to me in a dream.
Ever since I got back from Mexico a month ago, and Savage and I shared that incredible, magical night, during which we must have said “I love you” to each other a thousand times, I’ve been flooded with musical inspiration. All of it, about love. Or if not that, directly, happiness and joy. And it’s no surprise, considering how great everything has been going in my life. Not only with Savage, but with the show, too. When it started airing, the ratings hit record numbers and never dipped. Which, thankfully, has insulated Savage and me from any more meddling from Nadine. In fact, she’s left Savage and me alone to be happy and authentic on-camera, exactly the way she said she’d do when she called me in Chicago. And now, I can’t write one of my usual “fuck you!” kind of songs to save my life.
