Page 48 of Give You Up

“Why would I, Pixie Dust?”

She shrugs. “Dare doesn’t like my voice drowning out the vibrations he feels in his fingertips.”

Dare is a head case.

“I’m not Dare.”

“I see that.”

“Want to feel too?” I dance my fingers up and down her bare thigh.

She is wearing short shorts and a heather-gray tank top that brings out the, you guessed it, slate blue in her eyes.

“Taron.”

“Well, baby, yes or no?” I reach around and cup her hip, squeezing lightly.

Her answer is a breathless, “Yes.”

I edge closer. My thigh rubs against hers. My hip presses along hers. She closes her eyes. Moves her fingers on the keys. Sings. Her voice is perfection. The heavens open. I am also in my personal hell. The words coming from her speaks to me. Something to the effect of healing the pain, of being good to yourself.

Regret, hurt, and hope swell and crash over me. She fades out of the song, hums, and then stops playing, eyeing me for my reaction.

I angle my body to hers, grasp her chin, and bring her close. Her gaze dips to my mouth before coming back to my eyes. I cup her face. Strum my thumb over the arch of her cheek. The need to slam my mouth on hers is strong, but my honor wins out for a change. I rein in my desire and give it to her straight.

“I want us to get reacquainted again, Syn. I want to know the new you. Get you adjusted to the somewhat new me too. Does that work for you?”

I let my hand fall from her face.

Syn isn’t with me for an easy meal ticket. She is not after my money or looking to associate her name with mine, upping her social status from that of an unknown to that of the girlfriend of a future pro athlete.

Dumas has everything she would want. There are her friends. They make her happy. Her job at Shades also brings a shine to her blue-gray eyes. What more could she want in life other than to settle down with her right guy and have them lots and lots of babies?

Jesus, that thought eats at me. But I am not good at committing. Have a high chance of trekking down the same path as my dad. He can’t keep his junk in his pants. Doesn’t stick with his promise of changing his ways and staying faithful.

The final straw came when my mom walked in on my dad banging his secretary. What a cliché.

After that, my mom had enough. She is tying up loose ends in the Bay Area, where my parents moved to as soon as I was accepted into Stanford. In a few weeks, she plans on visiting Dumas.

“I’d like that.”

Syn’s blue-gray eyes are bright. Her smile is big. I smile back, hoping I don’t fuck this up. Not every girl is tail to chase, and I am done chasing tail anyway. Syn is who I want. She likes me for me rather than what I can offer her—my body, wealth, and status.

“Hey, can I still put in a request? By the way, what was that song? Loved it.”

“‘Heal the Pain’ by George Michael and Wham. What’s your request?”

“Do you play up-and-coming music or just the older songs?”

“Hmm, try me and I’ll let you know if I can play it.”

“‘Silence’ by Khalid.”

“And Marshmello, right?”

I nod.

She nudges my feet with hers. We are in our socks, deciding our two-hour trip to the big city of Alexandria can wait. Check in isn’t until four, and the club we’re going to won’t be getting much action until well after ten.

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