Smitten

He laughs. “That’s literally my favorite song lyric in the history of time.”

I lay my guitar down. “I told you I had nothing.”

“No, that was damned good.” He moves his guitar and motions to his sweatpants, where a prominent bulge is now poking from behind the fabric. “The proof is in the sweatpants.”

There’s a knock at the door and a voice announces our room service has arrived.

“Saved by the bell,” Fish says, hopping up and winking at me.

“Not saved,” I say coyly. “Interrupted.”

He shoots finger guns at me. “Baby, I like your style.”

Fish answers the door and gets our food and we sit at a table and start our meal.

“You know, in all seriousness,” I say, eating a french fry, “I think we should write a duet for my album.”

“A duet about your clitoris?” he says.

I laugh. “No. A duet about being smitten. I love that word. Don’t you?”

“I do. It’s the perfect word for how I feel about you.”

“Same.”

“Of course, I love you. With all my heart. But ‘smitten’ captures that giddy feeling I always have when I’m with you or think of you.”

I beam a huge smile at him. “When I think of how I feel for you, I picture myself twirling through a field of poppies.”

He laughs. “You’re so cute.”

“Seriously, though, if we write a duet, would you be willing to record it for my album?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“Then, yes.”

I squeal happily, making him laugh. But when my phone buzzes on the table, I glance down and discover Maddy’s name is finally gracing my screen!

With a gasp, I quickly connect the call. “Hi, Maddy! Fish is here and you’re on speaker.”

“Hey, guys! Reed just gave me the green light to send you the final cut of your music video! I’m sending the link as we speak!”

I shriek with excitement.

“After you and Fish watch it,” Maddy continues, “let me know if you have any changes, and I’ll relay them to Reed for approval. He said he wants this finalized ASAP, so he can release the single in about three weeks.”

“Oh my gosh!”

We quickly say our goodbyes, grab my laptop, and hurl ourselves onto our bed. And a moment later, we’re watching the video in stunned silence.

“It’s incredible,” Fish says, midway through. And I couldn’t agree more. It’s perfect. Funny. Heartwarming. Touching. Dazzling. Campy, at times. All of it beyond anything I could have hoped.

When the video ends, we watch it again, to see if there’s a single frame we’d change. But there’s nothing. We call Maddy and gush. And then call Georgina’s phone. Not surprisingly, though, given that she and Reed are still traveling internationally, her voicemail picks up.

I leave Georgina a message, asking her to call me back, and then lose it the minute I hang up.

“Happy tears?” Fish asks.

I nod. “Mostly.”

He looks concerned. “What’s up, cutie?”

I pause to gather my thoughts. “What if this song is a huge hit like Reed says it will be?”

“It will be. You don’t want it to be?”

“No, I do. With all my heart. But what happens then . . . to us?”

“What do you mean? I’ll be cheering you on, louder than anyone.”

I probably shouldn’t say it. But I can’t help myself. “But would I go on tour if the song is a hit? Or would I wait to tour until after the full album has come out?”

“Reed would make that call.”

“And if I go on a tour, would my schedule overlap with yours? Would we be on opposite ends of the globe? Is that the future that awaits us, Fish? Constantly being on different ends of the globe and in a relationship that’s mostly on video chat?”

Fish flushes. He opens and closes his mouth. And that’s how I know my question isn’t a stupid one.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I don’t know why this is hitting me, all of a sudden, when I should be nothing but happy. Maybe it’s because you’re going back to LA tomorrow and I’m freaking out at the thought of being away from you again. I survived being away from you before because I didn’t know any better. But now that I know . . .”

Fish’s face softens. “Sweetheart, you’re getting ahead of yourself. These next few weeks will be hard on us. But after that, everything is going to work out.” He sighs at whatever he’s seeing on my face. “Come here, love.” Fish pats the bed in front of him and I crawl to him. “We’ll make it work.”

“We will?”

He nods. “We will. We’re meant to be, Ally. We’re fate. Destiny. And that means everything’s going to work out fine.”

I decide to believe him. I surrender to his kiss, his touch, his certainty. And, in short order, we’ve got our clothes off and we’re making out, passionately, in the bed.

After he makes me come with his fingers, as he’s done many times before, I grip his hard penis and beg him to make love to me—which is also something that’s happened before. That’s the way it goes with us. I have an orgasm, and then we make love.