Layla

I’ve been sitting in the dark

Are you?

That night I learned happiness is a fairy tale

A thousand pages read aloud

By you

That night I stopped believing in God

You were ours, he didn’t care, he

Took you

So that night I stopped . . .

I stopped . . .

I just

Stopped.

That night I stopped.

I stopped.

I just stopped.

That night I stopped.

I . . .

When I’m finished playing the song, I fold my hands in my lap. I’m a little hesitant to turn around and look at her. The whole room got quiet after I played the last note. So quiet—it feels like all the sound was sucked out of the house. I can’t even hear her breathing.

I close the cover to the piano and then slowly spin around on the bench. She’s wiping her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “Wow,” she whispers. “I wasn’t expecting that. I feel like you just stomped on my chest.”

That’s how I’ve felt since I first laid eyes on her tonight.

“I like how it ends,” she says. She sits up on the couch and tucks her legs beneath her. “You just stop in the middle of the sentence. It’s so perfect. So powerful.”

I wasn’t sure if she’d realize the intentional ending, but the fact that she does makes me all the more enamored of her.

“Where can I find the song? Is it on Spotify?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never released any of my own stuff.”

She looks at me in mock horror, slapping the arm of the couch. “What? Why the hell not?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.” I honestly don’t know. “Maybe because everyone in Nashville thinks they’re a somebody. I don’t want to be someone who thinks I’m a somebody.”

She stands up and walks over to where I’m sitting on the piano bench. She pushes my shoulders until my back is leaning against the piano, and then she straddles me, both of her knees resting on the piano bench. I’m looking up at her now, and she’s holding my face in her hands, her eyes narrowed as she speaks. “You’re being selfish by keeping your songs to yourself. It’s better to be a selfless somebody than to be a selfish nobody.”

I think maybe I’m glad I met this girl.

Like really glad.

I grip the back of her head and bring her mouth to mine. I don’t know what’s happening here. It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve liked a girl enough to wonder where she’s going to be the next day.

But . . . where will Layla be tomorrow?

Where was she yesterday?

Where does she call home?

Where did she grow up?

Who is her favorite person right now?

I want to know all the things. Everything.

Layla breaks our kiss. “Aspen warned me earlier tonight when she saw me staring at you. She said, ‘Promise me you’ll stay away from the musicians. They probably have chlamydia.’”

I laugh. “Did you promise her you’d stay away from me?”

“No. I said, ‘It’s fine if he has chlamydia. He probably has condoms too.’”

“I don’t have chlamydia. But I also don’t have a condom.”

She separates herself from me and stands up. “It’s okay. I have one in my room.” She turns and walks toward the door.

I grab our wet clothes and follow her out of the room and up the stairs. She doesn’t exactly invite me to her room, but I can tell she’s expecting me to follow her because she’s talking as she walks up the steps.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” she says over her shoulder. “I only have condoms because they were party favors for the bachelorette party.” She spins around, pausing on one of the steps. “I didn’t realize how much harder it would be to get laid in the real world. You don’t even have to make an effort in college, but after college . . . ugh.” She turns and begins walking up the stairs again. She opens the door to her room, and I follow her inside. “The problem with sex after college is that I hate dating. It takes too much time. You dedicate an entire evening to a person you can tell in the first five minutes is a waste of your time.”

I agree with her. I much prefer the idea of going all in. I’ve always wanted someone I could instantly click with and then just fucking drown in.

I don’t know if Layla could be that person, but it sure felt like it when we reached the bottom of the pool. That was the most intense kiss I’ve ever experienced.

Layla takes our wet clothes out of my hands and walks them to her bathroom. She tosses them into the shower, and then on her way back into her bedroom, she says, “You should quit the band.”

She has to be the most unpredictable person I’ve ever met. Even the simplest sentences catch me off guard. “Why?”