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Once the drinks were made and the book was paid for, we left the store without another fall on the sidewalk. When outside, I took a sip from the hot paper cup, and Lennon pulled off the sunglasses as she watched with scrutiny.
“If that’s not the best thing you’ve ever tasted, I’m not sure I can see you again,” she said before opening the passenger door and climbing in.
Now, here was the thing.
The drink was pretty damn good. But would I say it was the best thing I’d ever tasted? Maybe not. However, when I got into the car, I was completely okay with lying and saying it was. Because if that was what my chance of seeing her again hinged upon, I was willing to say—or do—just about anything.
***
Night had fallen heavily over our small town, and the moon was hidden behind the trees above. The car was only lit from the glow of a lamppost farther up the street. I could barely make out her features in this light, but she stared at me like she could see every one of mine.
“Why did you really find me?” she asked quietly, running her finger over the brim of her empty cup.
“Because I wanted to see you again,” I answered simply as the Foo Fighters’ “Walking After You” played through the speakers.
“But why?”
“I told you,” I replied, stretching my arm across the back of her seat. “I wrote four songs after over four years of not writing a fucking thing, ran into a wall, and needed to find my muse again.”
Lennon was silent for a moment, giving Dave Grohl the proverbial stage, before saying, “So, you tracked me down …” She paused, shaking her head with a touch of disbelief. “Because you needed to … what? Have sex with me again?”
God, when she put it that way, it made me sound like a pervert, an asshole, a piece of fucking shit. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? I mean, sure, I was curious about her and had intentions of getting to know her a little more, but wasn’t sex ultimately the goal here? To pull the inspiration once again from whatever magical place I’d touched inside of her over a month ago?
“I guess that’s one way to put it,” I replied, hoping she didn’t think I was as depraved as it seemed.
She audibly swallowed from beside me as her head turned to face the windshield. I wished I were a mind reader. I wished I knew what she was thinking and if she thought I was a lunatic for going to such great lengths for another go at her.
But then she shrugged and unbuckled her seat belt before saying, “Well, I hope it was worth the effort.”
Lennon leaned across the center console and grasped my face with both palms. She kissed me, hard and furious and urgent. Teeth clashed, and tongues intertwined as the song changed, and “Everlong” began to play. The frantic tapping of the hi-hat played a perfect soundtrack to the frenzied removal of her sweatpants and unzipping of my fly.
I’d admit, as she climbed over and straddled my lap for the second time, there was a part of me that hoped it would be anticlimactic. That I’d find the inspiration was no longer there, that it had been a fluke and I could be done with this … withher.
And here I am, back home again…
But as I slid inside her heat and nestled into place, with the scent of orchids wafting from her hair, I sighed with relief, tipping my head back against the car seat. Then, as she rode me toward a conjoined climax and the song continued to play and the birth of new lyrics swam through my brain, I began to wonder …
Where you don’t begin and I don’t end…
What if nothing would be this good ever, ever again? What if my ability to write was forever shackled to this one woman, who I knew next to nothing about, and what if I was starting to think that wouldn’t be so bad?
If that was the case, I just had to convince her of that.
CHAPTER TEN
Lennon
He gave me his number, I agreed to see him again, and for about a week, I was giddy.
Because I was, as far as I could tell, dating Dylan Pierce.
TheDylanfreakin’Pierce.
It didn’t matter that my parents weren’t sure of his intentions. It didn’t matter that they didn’t like his piercings or tattoos or his habit of not saying much.
None of what they thought mattered because just a few months ago, I hadn’t mattered to Dylan at all. He didn’t even know my name. He was a voice through my speakers, the man of my fantasies, and my god on the stage, but I hadn’tknownhim, not like I knew him now. I was living a dream I’d never thought I could live, and the high I received from that fact was otherworldly.
So, for an entire week, I lived my mundane life on a cloud of delirious daydreaming, imagining the next time I would see him and the things we would do together—the things he would do to me. Mom would catch me smiling to myself, and she’d shake her head or roll her eyes before teasing me with a poke at my ribs about my rock-star boyfriend.
