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She’s so beautiful like this. She’s always beautiful, but especially like this, singing her heart out, looking so happy.
It’s day five of not seeing Pippa, and I’m going out of my mind. We text constantly, but it’s not the same as having her right in front of me. Within arm’s reach is the best place Pippa can be.
After five days, it’s obvious. I have feelings for the pretty songbird, and I’m tired of telling myself no. Just thinking about her makes me happy. I reach for my old excuses, but something cuts throu...
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“Is that Pippa?” she asks before I can tuck my phone away. I nod. She gestures at my headphones. “Play it out loud.” When I press play after disconnecting the headphones, Pippa’s voice fills the room while we watch her on the screen. Daisy readjusts on the couch, resting her head on my arm, and she lets out a long sigh. My mom gives Daisy a scratch. “She misses Pippa.” Daisy and I look at each other. Me too, buddy.
An unwelcome image pops into my head of a guy leaning on the bar, talking to her. Smiling at her. His gaze dropping to her mouth, her tits. Maybe he reaches out and tucks her hair behind her ear, says something teasing. My nostrils flare. I hate that idea. I hate it so fucking much. My knee bounces as I stare at nothing.
This has been the longest week of my life.
I have absolutely no idea what to do about my crush on the guy from high school, which has expanded into full-blown swoony feelings. I like him. I might even feel more than that, but I’m not looking in that direction right now. I’m just trying to figure out what to do.
My phone lights up with a text. Hey. There’s a burst of excitement in my chest. I can’t help it. It’s just my body’s reaction when he texts me. We’ve been texting a lot over the break, and part of me hopes that he’s just as bored and miserable without me. Hi, I respond, eyes glued to my screen, watching as the typing dots appear. I’ve been thinking about taking a trip. Oh, yeah? Somewhere warm? Somewhere cold. Dumb, naive hope twirls and spins in my chest. The typing dots pop up, disappear, and pop up again. I’ve never been to Silver Falls, he texts. My heart leaps into my throat and I beam at
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I open the door, and he’s standing there with a barely perceptible smile, which means he’s just as excited as I am.
The tension runs between us, and his gaze drops to my lips. He looks like he wants to kiss me, and my stomach wobbles in the best way.
“Oh, this is the hockey player!” My mom claps her hands. “We’ve heard so much about you.” He smiles again at her, and my face burns. They haven’t heard that much about him. So I mention him once in a while. So what?
Who is this version of my grumpy goalie?
“Let’s make this at home,” Jamie says, and I melt. I love the way he says home like that. I love that he flew out to Silver Falls. I love hanging out with him, just sitting in the living room like this, even if I’m in sweatpants. He seems more content and relaxed than ever.
“This is exactly where I want to be.”
“Stop it,” I tell him before untying the bow. His knee bounces while I open it, and when I pull the lid off, I burst into a big grin. “You got me my own jersey?” He studies my face with a funny look. “You like it?” I pull the navy and white jersey out of the box, turning it to read the back. STREICHER is stitched in bold white lettering, and my body hums with something pleased, proud, and possessive. “You don’t have to wear my name on your back,” he says quietly, watching me carefully. “We can take that part off.” “Don’t you dare.” I hold his gaze as my insides melt into a puddle. “I want to
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“It’s too expensive.” My feelings for him grow by the second, expanding like a balloon. “Pippa.” His voice is firm, leaving no wiggle room. “I’d buy you every guitar in the city if I thought you’d let me.” Shit. This guy’s going to break my goddamned heart. When I finally look at him, his expression is so proud, and I know he’s telling the truth about buying every guitar he could. Shit.
“Saying thank you feels like not even close to enough. You’re spoiling me.” I run my fingers over his name on the jersey. He shrugs his big shoulders. “So let me spoil you.”
“You wrote an album,” he says softly.
“Fucking incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
In my room, I hold out the jersey and smile. I love it. I’m going to wear it to every game, and I can already imagine Jamie’s smile when he turns around and sees me behind the net, wearing it with pride.
Rory won’t take his eyes off Hazel, and I have a feeling he knew she’d be here.
“I don’t understand why you hang out with these guys so much,” Hazel is saying to Rory. She’s putting on an irritated front, but her eyes are bright and she’s having trouble meeting his gaze. He’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the room.
He looks down at me with a small smile, and a moment later, his fingers brush my hair as he plays with the ends.
By New Year’s Eve standards, sitting in a small-town bar and listening to the house band play while drinking cheap beer is mild. Sitting here, tucked into Jamie’s side, though? This is the best New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had.
“So,” Rory says across the table, “you two.” My smile is tense, and I shrug at him. “What?” His gaze is curious and teasing. “He likes you.” I laugh to myself, and my face feels hot. “It’s true,” he goes on, nodding. “He likes you more than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m just his assistant,” I lie. He makes a noise of disbelief. “You’re his something, that’s for sure.”
I glance around the bar, meeting familiar gazes as they watch and wait. Jamie always thinks I can do it, and every time, he’s been right. A funny feeling cuts through the panic and stage fright—determination. If I don’t do this, I’ll be proving that I’m not right for the music industry. That I’m just that girl who used to date the famous singer. I want to prove them wrong, and more than anything, I want to prove Jamie right. “Okay,” I whisper, nodding at Jamie. “Okay.” His grin stretches across his face, and my pulse stumbles. “Alright.” God, I love making him proud like that.
The bar roars with drunken appreciation for Pippa, and I watch as she gives the crowd a shy smile, hands the guitar off, and makes her way off the stage. Seeing her up there, it’s so obvious: I’m head over fucking heels for this girl, and I have been for a long time. A lot longer than I realized. Pippa Hartley has me wrapped around her little finger. I’ll do anything for her, and I’m not even mad about it. I want to do terrible things to her, make her come with my mouth and my hands and my cock, make her scream my name and show her how fucking incredible sex can be. I know sinking into her
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I’m always encouraging Pippa to be brave, and now it’s time I take a fucking page out of my own book.
“I have feelings for you, songbird.” My heart pounds, and the rest of the bar falls away. “I like you so fucking much. I don’t want to pretend I don’t anymore. I flew out here for you.” Something expands in my chest, filling every corner with an intense warmth. Our gazes are locked, and my arms are still around her, keeping her close. “I don’t want to fight this anymore.” Her eyes are bright and full of vulnerability. “Me neither.” “Really?” She nods, laughing lightly like she’s relieved. I don’t know what to do with this feeling ricocheting throughout me. It’s like there are firecrackers in
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My stomach flutters. Everyone saw us kiss at midnight. After, Rory gave me an I told you so look.
You’re wearing it to bed? Fuck, songbird. I’m trying not to get turned on in your parents’ house.
Telling Pippa how I feel was the best idea I ever had, and flying out to see her is a close second.
My Pippa. So fucking hot.
“You’re so perfect,” I tell her. “So fucking perfect.”
I love her. The words are right under my vocal cords, but I hold them back, because this is all so new. They beat through my blood, they weave through my heart, and I’m sure they’re written all over my face. “Good night, songbird,” I say instead.
“Missed you,” he murmurs against my lips between kisses. “I love coming home to you.” My heart soars like it did on New Year’s Eve, when I sang on stage. Like when we told each other we have feelings for each other. It can’t be healthy to experience heart palpitations like this so often, but I don’t care.
This man with a dog is almost too cute to be legal.
“Not that. Picture the career you want. Picture your dream, songbird.” His hand slips from my shoulder down to my gloved hand, and he gives it a squeeze. “You’ve been stuck in this loop for months. It’s time to picture something new.”
I picture myself on stage. It’s a small show, and I’m opening for a bigger artist. There are a couple hundred people in the crowd. No. I catch myself, opening my eyes, blinking up at Jamie, who’s still watching me with a small smile on his face. I want more than being the opener. My eyes close and I try again. I’m on stage in an arena. I’m the headliner, and my dream guitar is slung across my chest. I’m touring with my new album that I recorded with my dream producer, Ivy Matthews. She’s known in the music industry for being eccentric and picky as hell, but she’s supremely talented at creating
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Jamie looks at me right now the same way he looks at me every time I’m about to step up on a stage—like I can do anything.
Hesitation rears its ugly head again and again, but shoving it away gets a little easier each time. I hit send and blow out a long breath. Even if nothing will come of it—and I’m certain that’s the case—I tried. I took one step forward.
Even though I’m scared, even though I feel every ounce of pressure weighing on my shoulders, I want to prove her right. I want to prove I’m nothing like him. A feeling hits me square in the chest. This moment isn’t for him; it’s for me. I want to show her who I am, what I can do, and I’m going to do that by doing what I do best. I’m enough, and if she doesn’t see that, this isn’t the right moment. I’ll keep trying, though. I meant what I told Jamie the other day—I’m ready to try to make music my career. Terrified, but ready.
I keep my eyes closed the entire song and let myself feel all the feelings. Jamie wanders into my mind, and I smile to myself, because his encouragement is the reason I’m even here, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
He’s here, and I’m so stunned and pleased that all I can do is let the grin stretch across my face as my heart flips over in my chest. He’s here, and I fall a little deeper in love with Jamie Streicher.
“Songbird.” I feel Jamie’s gaze on my face like a brush of his fingers. His eyes are soft like velvet, and my heart squeezes as I smile at him. “You did it.” Emotion floods me, and I smile wider at him. “I think I did.” Something between us. All these feelings I’m experiencing for the guy who has become so much more than Jamie Streicher pulse in the air, demanding attention. His gaze drops to my lips, and it’s not just heat I see in his eyes, but more. His eyes lift to mine again, and he gives me that proud smile. “Let’s get you fed,” he says, and I nod. “And then home.”
We get home that night after dinner and then taking Daisy for a late walk, and I’ve never been more in love with my pretty assistant. She’s so brave. She sang her heart out in that sound booth, just opened up her chest and let everyone see the heart beating behind her ribs, even though she was afraid. She got back on the ice, like I told her to all those months ago.
“Thank you for coming today,” she says as she kicks her sneakers off. “Like I’d miss it.” I almost skipped practice to go, racing to the studio as soon as the whistle blew instead. “I’m so proud of you, songbird.” Her eyelashes flutter, her gaze still on my face. Her lips are so pretty, so lush, and my fingers itch with the urge to trace them. “I love it when you call me that.” My pulse jumps as something big expands in my chest. The nickname is my way of telling her I love her, I realize. I’ve been doing it for months, long before the reality sank in. The words are on the tip of my tongue,
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“I want to reach out to Erin.” Erin’s devastated expression appears in my head, and guilt weaves through me. “I want to make things right with her. I—” My words cut off as I look down at Pippa, so open and curious. Jesus, I love her. I’d do anything to prevent crushing her like I crushed Erin. “I want to fix things.” Pippa gives me a sad smile. “You always want to fix things.” I nod. “This is important. Is it okay with you?” “Of course.” I knew she’d be fine with it, but now that we’re whatever we are—together, in a relationship, dating, all these phrases that feel too mild and watered down
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“Pippa, that’s not how this works. Touching you is a goddamn dream. I’d only be disappointed in myself if you didn’t enjoy it. Not in you, baby. Never in you.”
