I take a seat in the armchair by the window and go live.
“What are you doing?” His eyes crinkle when he smiles at me as his fingers dance over the strings. The guy can play anything without ever making it seem hard.
“I’m live streaming the megastar Flynn Taylor from his bedroom.”
He sends me a lazy grin. “Yeah?”
“Mmm hmm. I think your fans would love to see you like this.”
He looks beautiful. Like a rock god–shirtless with an armband tattoo around his sculpted biceps. Hair mussed. Totally into his music.
He plucks a tune I don’t recognize.
“What’s that?”
“It’s how I feel with you.” His eyes crinkle again and flutters start up in my stomach.
The part that gets me–beyond just how incredibly sexy he looks right now in the lamplight–is that the song isn’t sad. The tune that he’s playing for me is light and easy. Full of possibilities.
“That’s how I feel with you,” I counter.
He flashes another grin and starts humming softly, swaying his shoulders a bit. I’m ready to come again just watching him. Knowing the music is about me.
His phone shows a DM come through from Cadence. I see you on Tiktok! Where are you tonight? Can I come over?
I don’t mean to–oh, who am I kidding? I totally mean to–open up their chat window. He’s received seven messages from her but hasn’t responded to a single one. No reason for me to feel threatened. I’m the one in his bedroom.
I go back to watching the Tiktok screen. We already have 106 viewers, and the comments are coming in.
Who is filming?
Who’s the girl?
I love you Flynn!
They scroll up the screen.
I’m not jealous. Not this time. Not when Flynn just gave me everything. Maybe later, I will be when I contemplate how easily unattached Flynn always seems. When I remember that I don’t get to keep him. That he could be with another girl tomorrow night. But right now, I feel honored to be the girl in his bedroom. Honored enough to want to share him with the world. Help him get famous.
Because Flynn definitely deserves to have it all. He has crazy talent and remains so humble. So friendly and go-lucky. Flynn doesn’t feel the need to perform, even though he knows I’m streaming him. He plays around–trying out different tunes, strumming chords, going back to the first melody.
Everyone watching is getting to see a musician’s real process, and it’s absolutely beautiful.
The number of viewers grows to 356. Then 482. Then 789.
Maybe they aren’t huge numbers compared to some Tiktok stars, but I bet if Flynn did this regularly, he’d get a huge following.
“Is this the way you write your songs?” I ask.
He flashes that pirate smile at me. “Yeah, I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve composed anything.”
“Is it hard?”
He gives a chuckle. “It’s really easy. Or else it’s super hard. Seems like the harder you try, the harder it is. If you don’t really care whether you write a song or not, that’s when music just pours out of you.”
“Mmm. You need to be in the zone,” I say.
“Yeah, I guess.” Another panty-melting smile.
I draw my feet up on the armchair and prop the phone on one knee.
Who is the Russian? someone asks, hearing my accent.
Is that your girlfriend? Jelly! another posts.
I hate her. Get out of Flynn’s room, slut.
I love the new song.
I ignore the nasty remarks from his fangirls. I expected them. I’ve already seen how competitive they get at his shows. Discouraging them would be wrong, even if their vitriol makes my stomach churn. It’s girls like this who will ultimately get the Storytellers noticed. Maybe signed to a major label.
Flynn plays a while longer then stops and sets the guitar beside him. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” I say. I’m still filming. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think every single thing Flynn does ought to be absorbed by his fans. Adored the way I adore him.
He walks toward me, a beautiful, glorious lion. Lanky and lean, but still muscled with a light dusting of golden hair on his chest. He leans down and kisses me.
I pan up from his abs to his face before I end the video. He had 10,472 views.
“Is this my new style? Pajama pants?” he teases.
“For this particular moment, yes. It’s a very good look for you.”
“You didn’t want me in my underwear?”
“That might get you banned. Also, I don’t want everyone–” I stop because I sound territorial. Like his middle school girlfriend. I don’t want to do that.
He grabs my wrist and tugs me to my feet. His smirk makes my nipples harden. Or maybe it’s just his nearness. “You don’t want everyone to see me in my underwear?”
My face grows warm. “No, it’s all right. I know we’re not–”
“Shut up, Nadia.” He grasps the back of my head and kisses me, hard. It’s more aggressive than usual, but I like it.