The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

“I gotta get that.”

Dean heaved a sigh and walked backward, hands up. “I’m not going to give up on you, V. Someday, I’m going to win you over and you’re going to say, why didn’t I order the Dean Special sooner?”

I rolled my eyes at him. He was so full of shit; most girls were not

immune to his considerable charm. He only wanted me because I hadn’t fallen into his bed immediately. He had no idea how impossible it was. How even the idea of it couldn’t find a hand hold in my thoughts.

My shift ended, and I went to the backroom to take off my apron and unpin the silly cloth cap from my head. Other guys in the back and servers starting their shifts greeted me warmly or said goodbye for the day. The crew at Mack’s had become like a second family to me, with grouchy Papa as head of household. It was one of the things I liked best about Texas—the southern mentality of warmth and familiarity that I’d have died of loneliness without.

I drove my Rav 4—which was getting old and needed some work—through Waco, Texas. Halfway between Dallas and Austin, the town was completely landlocked. Nothing but flat stretches of land as far as the eye could see. It had its own beauty, but I missed the ocean, forests, and mountains of Santa Cruz. The bonfires at the Shack were becoming a distant memory, replaced, instead, by scents of fried food at Mack’s and the recycled air in the Baylor University Library.

Growing fainter still were the scents of Miller’s skin and cologne. The way his shirt smelled when I wore it after he’d slept in it. The salt of his sweat in bed after he’d brought me from one delirious orgasm to another…

“Stop torturing yourself,” I muttered as I pulled the car into the covered parking of the Desert Dune Apartments.

It was a cute complex about a mile from Baylor. Despite my roommate, Veronica’s urging to make it my own, it had very little of me in it. Her tapestries and bizarre artistic knickknacks filled the cozy two-bedroom, one bath unit. My contribution had been to bring in a few houseplants for a bit of green, but I never quite felt settled there. Like wearing a sweater that was too tight.

Inside our apartment, I headed straight for the shower to wash the scent of bacon grease from my hair and skin. Afterward, I dressed in a tank top and sleep pants—my usual Friday night attire. Veronica’s bedroom door was open, but she wasn’t home. The apartment was thick with silence.

I had a report to write up for Physics Lab, but the couch called to me because suddenly, I was so tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of missing him. God, I missed Miller so much, my bones ached. Sometimes, in moments like that, I had the urge to throw it all away, quit school, and be with him on tour. But I knew it would wreck us. As hard as it was being apart, it would be harder still for me to do nothing and watch my own goals slip away, city by city, concert by concert. I would lose my sense of self. Miller and I were two halves of the same equation. If I faded away, we wouldn’t work anymore.

Still, tears filled my eyes to look at the wreckage of my old life. I missed Mom and Dad. I missed my house in Santa Cruz and the family we’d once been in it. I missed Shiloh and River…all of us blasted apart and flung to all corners of the country.

As if she’d heard my silent plea, my phone lit up with Shiloh’s number.

I swallowed my tears. “Hey, Shi.”

“What’s wrong?”

I sniffed a laugh. “Hello to you too.”

“It’s me, Vi,” she said. “I know you.”

“I’m so glad it’s you,” I said, curling up on the couch. “I miss your voice.”

“Me too, girl. How are things? Though I think I already know.”

“I’ve been better.” I hesitated, then asked anyway. “How’s Ronan?”

“Same.” She bit off the word.

“And you? How are you, Shi?”

She exhaled softly into the phone, but when she spoke, her voice was hard again. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I read that Miller is going to be on the next cover of Rolling Stone and something told me to call.”

“Is he?” I said, my heart soaring and cracking at the same time.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He never tells me stuff like that. He considers it bragging.”

“Lord, that boy. He’s the least-famous famous person I know. How are you holding up?”

“Okay. I had to take some time off from the diner to get a huge Biochem project completed. Now I have midterms coming up.”

“You should be proud,” Shiloh said. “You’re working your ass off over there.”

“Thank you. I’m sort of proud of me too.” Tears filled my eyes. “This is hard.”