She smirked at me. “What?” she asked.
“Why are you wearing your pajamas to perform?”
She laughed so hard it took her a few minutes before she could say, “It’s called a romper, and it’s clothes, not sleepwear.”
As her sound fills the open space, the crowd cheers her on. It’s a midday show and the sun beats down on the stage, causing everyone to squint. But even though she’s only five seven, her voice is a powerhouse. She begins to sing a simple ballad. She pats her chest with her palm while singing, “With the beating of your tiny heart.”
Today I notice the band has really come together as a group—from Ivy’s adorable, awkward banter with the audience to Garrett making shadow puppets on the wall while Nix tunes his guitar. Leif seems introverted at times, turning his face and his guitar away from the audience at the deep emotional parts of certain songs, as if getting lost in the music, but it works. They’ve mastered the union of a band in such a short period of time—it’s incredible to watch.
My gaze automatically slides back to Ivy and my body starts to tremble when I think about how everything has changed between us in the last twenty-four hours. The only thing assuring me that it’s all real is her sideways glance at me and that smile she gifts me with before saying to the audience, “I want to come back next year. I love it here. Upstate New York, you rock!” The crowd yells louder and louder, and once again she’s a hit.
We got to New York’s Mountain Jam early enough that we could enjoy the other shows, but we can’t stick around. She exits the stage with Nix, Leif, and Garrett following her. The minute her foot crosses the threshold behind the curtain, she smiles at me and I can’t help myself. I pick her up and swing her around in a circle. Once I’ve set her down, she grasps my cheeks and pulls my face toward hers. My hands drift down her back while I press my lips to hers.
Garrett clears his throat. “Ummm . . . Xander, would you like to tell us what the hell is going on?”
Ivy laughs and we break free of each other. The guys are standing around us with their eyes wide open and their jaws hanging.
“Yeah, Xander, would you like to tell them?” Ivy mocks.
We played it cool on the bus ride over, since we hadn’t discussed telling the guys. And once we got here we went in different directions—I had to take care of a few things and she and Leif had some bands they wanted to watch. Ivy and I discussed Leif last night, and she assured me they’re only friends, so her hanging out with him doesn’t concern me anymore. Garrett and Nix know we used to date in high school, but that’s about all. I was going to tell them we were back together before the show, but there was no time. And when I saw her exiting the stage in all her glory, it made me feel like that eighteen-year-old boy . . . and all I wanted was to have my arms around her.
Now all I can do is smirk. I clutch her waist and pull her away from the guys. Leaning over, I whisper in her ear, “I think they can figure it out for themselves.”
She doesn’t know it, but I rented a car and have a short sightseeing trip planned for us. Ever since my father killed himself, I’ve kept such a tight grip on things. I control my emotions—containing things when I’m angry, pissed, or frustrated. I control my life—I decide where I go, who I go with, and what I do. Everything is planned. I never waver. There’s been such a driving force within me for so long, I hardly acknowledge it. But with her I can let my guard down; I don’t have to control every little thing. I feel free—free to have fun and explore the emotions I’ve locked away for so long.
Once we’re alone in the car, I pull out a blindfold.
She stares at it. “What is that? Part of Garrett’s sex swing?”
I smirk. “I’ll never tell. Now come on, I want where we’re going to be a surprise. So turn around.”
She laughs and does as I ask. I tie it around her.
“I hope it’s a short ride,” she says.
“It is.” I put the car in DRIVE and we carry on with our conversation like she’s not wearing a blindfold. I can’t help but steal glances at her the whole way.
When we come to a stop she asks, “Where are we?”
I put the rental car in PARK and open my door. “Stay there.”
“Where am I supposed to go? I can’t see anything.”
One thing I know is that I have a lot to make up for, and I’m not letting any more time pass. Striding around the car, I can’t help but admire how gorgeous she looks with that blindfold on. Her blond hair is sticking out everywhere with the small piece of fabric strapped around her eyes. It’s a perfect match to her ruby red lips. The material actually is a small piece of Garrett’s yoga swing that I snipped off the top. I considered bringing the whole thing and trying it as a sex swing, but I didn’t have time to figure that contraption out.
Slowly I open the door and take her hand. She pushes herself against me, snaking her arms around my neck. All the air leaves my lungs. “You have a habit of doing that. Not that I want you to stop.” I don’t tell her I have to work on controlling the hard-ons she keeps giving me the minute her body touches mine.
She giggles and it’s so f**king sweet I want to remember this moment forever. I feel more alive than I’ve felt for years. My body hums with an energy she’s instilled in me. She’s biting her lip and I take a moment to mimic her gesture.
Staring at her lips, I trace them with my finger. “You ready?” I ask.
She brings her hands up to her covered eyes and I clear my throat. “Not yet.” I slip my hand in hers, my heart thumping at the boundary between happy and happier. Caressing her soft skin, I tug her forward in anticipation. The closer we get, the louder the roar becomes. Cold water plops on us from everywhere and drops glisten against her skin. One falls right on the corner of her lips and when I bend to lick it off, she catches my tongue with her mouth. The heat that arises between us is enough to ward off any chill from the icy water. Panting and out of breath, I slide my fingers up her cheeks and under the stretchy fabric, removing the blindfold and turning her around to see the crystal cascades of the roaring falls. We lean over the railing, both of us silent and staring at Niagara Falls. The air is warm and full of moisture, but the sky is darkening and the slight breeze seems to make her shiver.
“What do you think?” I ask.
When she doesn’t answer, I place my hands on the curve of her h*ps and turn her back around to face me. We’re chest to chest, and as my gaze meets hers I see tears streaming down her face. “Why are you crying? What is it?”
She shakes her head and manages to say, “They’re happy tears, not sad ones.”
I’m not the kind of guy who cries. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever cried, not even at my dad’s funeral. I may have shed a tear or two for my grandparents, but I swear I have to rely on all the self-control I can muster not to let one slip past me now. The joy I see in her eyes is enough to bring me to my knees. I take her face in my hands and kiss away each and every tear.
“I don’t want you to cry, gorgeous. I brought you here so we could experience something we both enjoyed together once.” Leaning back, I lift her chin so I can look in her eyes. “Talk to me, Ivy.”
She gets up on her toes and touches her lips to my ear. “This is the single best surprise I’ve ever received in my life.”
“I’m glad,” I tell her, and then I kiss her hard and hold her tight. We stand like that for a long time.
The smell of food wafts over to us from the nearby restaurants, and after the intimate silence I clear my throat and ask, “You hungry?”
“Very.”
“Me too. Come on, let’s find someplace to eat.”
Walking down the busy sidewalk, we reach the crossing. The light is red, so we wait with a bunch of other people. Cars screech to a halt behind the white lines that etch the road, and out of nowhere a driver slams on his brakes, obviously thinking twice about running the light. He comes to a standstill in the middle of the crosswalk, and I instinctively step in front of Ivy, who was closer to the car. I pause for a minute to look over at her, and it hits me. After all this time it’s not that I couldn’t love someone, that I wasn’t capable—it’s that the one I needed wasn’t there for me to love.
As we start walking again, I lean over and whisper in her ear, “I can’t wait to get you alone. To get your clothes off and do everything I didn’t get to finish last night.”
She looks up at me and a rosy blush covers her cheeks. Then out of nowhere someone screams, “You’re Ivy Taylor. Oh my God,” and snaps a picture before either of us can turn away. I move to go after the woman, but Ivy pulls me back. “Ignore it. It’s fine,” she says. So we keep walking and I reach for her hand as we look in the windows of all the tourist-trap shops that line the street. When we walk past a cheesy diner with a pink flashing sign that says ROSIE’S, we smile at each other. Diners were always our thing. In high school we searched them out for the best breakfasts, milk shakes, and burgers. Just as we walk into the restaurant, her phone rings and she retrieves it from her purse and holds it in her palm.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” I ask.
“No,” she says quietly.
My eyes narrow on her. “Who’s calling that you don’t want to talk to?”
“Xander, it’s nothing.” But she’s still stopped on the sidewalk, gazing down at her phone.
I take it from her. Ten missed calls from Damon Wolf. “Why is he calling you nonstop?”
“He wants to discuss our contract termination. My attorney says to let him take care of it.”
“I’ll take care of it when we get back.” I can feel that I’m glowering, but I can’t help it.
She shakes her head. “No. It’s best to let my attorney do it.”
I nod. Like hell I will. “Sure, gorgeous. Come on, let’s eat.” I lace my hand with hers and lead her to the diner I spotted.
We walk in and it’s like a scene out of Happy Days. The front counter is lined with classic candies—Sugar Daddys, Bit-O-Honeys, Sixlets, Oh Henry! bars, candy necklaces, Sky Bars, and Cherry Mashes. Betty Boop memorabilia is everywhere. The waiter waves us to take our own seat, and we find a booth in the very back. The restaurant looks like it hasn’t been remodeled since it opened in the 1950s. The booths are ripped and the table is sticky, but I could care less because we both look up at each other and grin. There’s a shiny chrome Seeburg Wall-O-Matic jukebox sitting at the end of our table. Jackpot!
I ask the waitress for some change and when she brings it to the table, I push it all over to Ivy. “Your choice, baby.”
We both order pancakes with bacon and then she selects a number of songs. We listen to the singles spinning round and round somewhere we can’t see, while we wait for our food. Once we’ve eaten, she uses the restroom and I snag a candy necklace for her, pay the bill, and stuff the little sugar beads in my pocket before she comes back.
We spend an hour or so walking around Niagara Falls and really talking. Telling each other the things we have done in our lives—what we feel we’ve accomplished, what we haven’t, and what we want out of life. As strange as it is, I think we both want the same things. It’s too early to talk about a future, but I see mine with her in it.
Back at the small private cottage I rented on the lake, she pushes me flat on my back on the bed as soon as we walk in. I give her a knowing look as she peels off her top and then removes her bra. The tears are long since gone and an entirely different emotion has taken over. I raise my head to suck on one of her ni**les, but she pushes me back down. I try not to laugh and decide just to roll with it. She runs her hands down my arms and I try to grab her fingers, but instead she lifts my shirt up slightly. Again I let her. She traces the letters inked along my side. Another moment passes and she drops her lips to my skin to kiss each and every letter of my tattoo. A raw ache from her touch emanates from every nerve in my body. When she sits up, her hair rests on her shoulders and she takes it and swirls it around as if knotting it.
