Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE J. GEILS BAND, “LOVE STINKS”
Isaac
I loved Matty, but I saw the world through a different lens.
Not everything that was right was fair. And not everything that was fair was right.
Sarah Jacobson belonged to no one. No finders keepers—no dibs. I never asked her to love me, and she never asked me to love her.
Matty lived a charmed life, and I lived with the truth. I was good with the truth as long as no one judged me. I gave up my dreams so that Matty could have his—he just didn’t know that.
“Are you sure it’s not weird that I’m wearing the same dress?” Sarah finished buttoning her dress, hair wet from our shower together .
“Different night. Different crowd,” I said. “I’m wearing the same jeans,” I zipped them.
She rolled her eyes. “I feel like you’re going to let me sing one song with you tonight.”
I chuckled, sitting on the end of the bed to pull on my socks and boots. “You do, huh?”
She couldn’t hide her grin, not that I would have wanted her to because that girl brought me to my knees with one look—wrapped around her finger or tucked in her back pocket.
It was that simple. She had me whether she wanted me or not. I never imagined my dream being as simplistic as watching someone else live theirs. Until her.
“Well, I did the thing. Not that I did it so you’d let me sing.” She glanced up at me, balancing on one foot to pull on her boots while her cheeks turned pink. “I wanted to do it.”
To be perfectly clear, I never would have asked her to put my dick in her mouth for any reason. But who was I to say no when she removed the towel from my waist after our shower and seemed eager to try something new?
“Lenny makes the rules, not me,” I said.
“Oh,” she twisted her lips and nodded several times. “I see. So, I sucked the wrong guy’s ...”
I loved how her innocence tripped her up.
“The wrong guy’s dick ?”
She huffed and deflated.
“Sunday Morning, I’ll never tell you what you have to do, but I’m sure as hell going to tell you what you’re not going to do. And sucking another man’s dick is at the top of the list.”
“Same difference.” She frowned.
“Not the same.” I stood and adjusted my belt before hooking my fingers into the pockets of her dress and pulling her to me.
She slid her hands around my waist and peered up at me with her mesmerizing blue eyes. “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”
“What time do you have to be back?” I asked.
“By dinner. Heather said they were planning on returning around six. So just drop me off where you usually do, and we should be good.”
“Well, that’s not until tomorrow. Let’s grab dinner. Hit the show. Fireworks. Bed.”
She beamed. “I don’t know what I’m looking forward to the most.”
“Bed, baby. You’re looking forward to getting in this bed with me and not sleeping for the whole night.”
She giggled. “But I love fireworks.”
“Get your ass in the truck.”
I played for forty-five minutes, watching Sarah at a table right next to the stage the whole time. It thrilled me to pretend that she was my favorite groupie, but I knew better. She was itching to wrap her hands around the microphone and sing her beautiful heart out.
Watching her jaw drop during my last song was almost too much. I sang “Love Stinks” and the crowd sang the chorus. By the end, Sarah lifted her hands in the air and sang along too.
“We have time for one more song,” I announced, watching Sarah’s shoulders fold inward, resigned to the idea that I wasn’t going to give her a bigger glimpse at her dreams. “ If you’ll indulge me, I’d like to bring a special guest on stage with me.”
That look—the one she gave me—was bigger and better than anything in the whole fucking galaxy. With one single look, she simplified my existence and the meaning of my life to a singular purpose: spend every day working to earn that look from her.
And if I could do that, I’d die a happy man.
“When you hear her on the radio, and see her selling out venues, remember you got to see her first here tonight. Please welcome Sunday Morning.”
She hesitated for a second and narrowed her eyes, but when the crowd broke into applause, she found her smile and joined me on stage.
I handed her the mic and leaned in to whisper, “Breathe, baby. You’ve got this.”
She nervously smiled as I sat on the stool. The mic shook in her hands.
“Look at me,” I mouthed.
She returned a tiny nod as I started playing, and then it was just the two of us in the barn loft, sharing the same passion.
When she sang the first line to “Bette Davis Eyes,” the crowd went wild, and Sarah lit up the whole stage with her smile.
Matty gave her his letter jacket, her first kiss, his virginity, and he might even have given her his last name one day, but if he couldn’t give her a chance at her dreams, he might as well have given her nothing.
The enthusiastic Fourth of July crowd gave her a standing ovation and deafening applause. And the second I lifted the guitar strap over my head, she threw her arms around my neck.
She rode that high for the rest of the night while we watched fireworks and made love until the sun rose the next morning.
Matty could have the fame and fortune. World titles and fancy cars. He could have six days and nights. I only wanted Sunday Morning.
I just wanted the girl.