Smitten

“Oh, yeah.”

“How about we sing for each other during our next date?”

Alessandra’s expression turns decidedly flirtatious. “Ooooh, we’re gonna have another date?”

“Duh.”

She’s beaming. “When?”

“I gotta figure out my schedule. The Goats and I are gonna be working hard this week in long writing sessions. That’s how we do it. Marathon sessions. It’s the only way we ever get anything accomplished.”

She nods. “Creativity doesn’t happen during ‘normal business hours.’”

“Exactly. You’ve got to make hay while the sun shines. So, let’s text each other our schedules in the next few days.”

“We’ve also got to deal with the pesky problem that Boston is three hours ahead,” she says. “Plus, I’ll be starting that class and working extra shifts.” She looks worried.

“Aw, don’t stress, Little Lioness,” I say. “We’ll make it work.”

“I can’t wait to . . .” She yawns and rubs her eyes. “I can’t wait to hang out with you again.”

I chuckle. “Time to close your eyes, cutie.”

“Okay.” She blows me a kiss. “Good night, Matthew.”

“Good night, Alessandra. Travel safe. Sweet dreams.”

“They will be, if I dream of you.” With a cute little wink, she ends the call.

And that’s it. The coolest, prettiest girl I’ve ever met is heading back to Boston in mere hours. And I’m not going to see her again for weeks, if not months.

“Fuck it, shit happens,” I whisper into the silence of my bedroom.

For a long moment, I lie on my bed, listening to the waves crashing on the beach outside my bedroom window. Man, I’m aching in all the best and worst ways. How is it possible I’ve finally met a girl who makes me feel like this, and she lives three thousand miles away?

With a deep sigh, I close my laptop, reach underneath my blanket, and jerk off, imagining myself licking Alessandra’s pussy the whole time. After I get off, I take a long, hot shower, come back to bed, and send a quick text to Kat—asking her to get Alessandra’s address in Boston from Georgina—and, finally, close my eyes, focus on the nearby sounds of the waves, and drift off to sleep.

Thirteen

Fish

Alessandra: I GOT THE GIG AT THE COFFEEHOUSE!!! CALL ME WHEN YOU CAN!

When my phone buzzes on the small stool next to me, I abruptly stop playing my bass and jerk to standing. “I’ll be back in fifteen!” I shout to Colin and Dax.

Without waiting for their reply, I put my bass down and bound out of Dax’s home studio, gripping my phone with white knuckles. I pass Violet in her kitchen. She’s sitting at a table with her and Dax’s towheaded toddler, Jackson. And then make my way into a nearby game room. Once in the large room, I close the door behind me, settle into an armchair, and place a call to Alessandra.

“Can you believe it?” she shrieks in greeting. “I did it, Fish!”

“I’m not surprised at all.”

“They hired me on the spot! I’m just leaving the coffeehouse now, and I feel like I’m floating six inches off the ground!”

“Congrats!”

“I wish you could have seen me! I nailed that audition! Your Little Lioness made that audition her bitch! Her prey!”

Your Little Lioness. The words make my very atoms vibrate. Laughing, I shout, “Gimme a little roar, Little Lioness!” And to my surprise, Alessandra complies, gifting me with a roar at full volume that sends my heart jolting and my dick tingling.

Alessandra squeals with laughter. “I’ll have you know I just roared at the top of my lungs while walking along the sidewalk back to my apartment. An old lady across the street just looked at me like I’m crazy . . . Which. I. Am. Because I got the gig, sucker!”

I laugh and laugh. “Did you play your new song? Tell me everything, woman.”

Alessandra tells me the whole amazing story, from beginning to end. How she walked into the coffeehouse and initially felt like she was “going to barf.” She says several ballers from her school were already there when she arrived, set to audition before her—all of them renowned performers who intimidate the hell out of her. “I almost turned around and walked out, right then!” she says. “But then, I heard your sweet voice, telling me I’m talented. I heard Reed’s voice, telling me I’ve been hiding behind my music, rather than revealing myself through it. I heard Reed saying I’m a ‘Laila knockoff.’”

“Prick.”

“And I thought, ‘Fuck you, Reed. You want to see me reveal myself, motherfucker? Well, watch this!’” She laughs gleefully. “And I did it! I got up there and sang ‘Blindsided’ like I’ve never sung anything before! I didn’t even recognize my own voice! And they said they were blown away!”

“I could cry, I’m so happy for you right now. I could literally weep with joy, Ally.”

“Aw, Fish. Matthew. You’re the sweetest.”

“It’s the truth.” And it is. Before this call, I knew this girl made my heart beat in a new way. I knew she makes me laugh and smile so big, my cheeks hurt. But now, hearing this elation in her voice, I’m feeling physically overwhelmed with affection and attraction, like nothing I’ve felt before. I say, “Honestly, I couldn’t be happier if my own band had just won a Grammy.”