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I don’t care what anyone says, but this song is about me and there is no doubting it. The words describe our night together and even the way she traced her tongue along the curve of my hip. It’s our song. Our night together, and holy shit, she sings the hell out of it. It’s one thing to experience something so special with someone, but to know you inspired them to write a song this beautiful and this meaningful is something else.
Something I can’t even put into words.
“So, I got a name for the song.” I don’t look over at him since I can’t take my eyes off her, but I know he is smiling, his voice full of humor.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, my night with Jace Fucking Sinclair.”
Seems about right.
But I have something better.
When she finishes, she sends one last grin that I swear it hits me straight in the gut. Why does one little smile feel like scoring the winning goal? Jeez, she is something. Biting into my lip, I hit comment and log in to YouTube before typing out what I think the name should be.
“Oooh, good one,” Markus comments.
“Right?”
Laughing beside me, he says, “And I get it. She’s sorta cool.”
I chuckle at his understatement as I go to her Facebook page. “She’s more than cool. She’s fucking amazing, and I have to know everything about her.
“Okay, stop all that girlie shit. I said, I get it.”
I knock my shoulder into his, and he laughs as I grin, going to her wall and leave her a post:
Jace Sinclair > Avery Rose.
Heya, Avery Rose. I checked out that video you posted and I got a name for you.
Beneath Him.
Yeah, I know it’s amazing.
Almost as amazing as you.
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Love, Jace.
Before I can post it, though, Markus says, “Dude, take the ‘love’ off. You seem like a stalker-ass loser.”
“Screw you!”
But I delete it.
Just in case.
I have turned into a Facebook-stalker.
Or creeper?
Or something along those lines.
Because I’m officially obsessed with Jace’s Facebook. I mean, there is so much to look at. He has billions of funny posts, and I’ve decided the dude is hilarious, but I kind of already knew that. I mean, he was throwing lame-ass lines at me left and right on the fly, but the stuff on his page is gold. Really. For a week, he did the adventures of his left sock. His left sock was found all over the place: on the ice, on a girl’s butt, in Markus’s hair, and I swear, it has been the highlight of my day.
Well, minus the time I spent with him this morning.
