Page 110 of Lost Boy
When the last chord echoes from his guitar, before the crowd even has a chance to register that this masterpiece of a performance is over, Gracie hops up the steps in a bright blue mini dress and matching eyeshadow. Her auburn hair is curled into a complicated updo, and she sits on a small stool that Fallon set next to him.
When did this happen?
She smiles at Fallon and winks. Her pale, shimmery lips nearly match his.
What the hell?
Fallon starts strumming his guitar, and Gracie starts singing “Stitches” by Shawn Mendes. Only it’s a remixed cover, unique to their styles. Her soft, airy voice matches Fallon’s, who comes in next, picking up the pace and the volume. It’s different from his first song but no less amazing.
They slow it down again toward the end, adding the soulfulness I’m recognizing as his brand. He whispers the next bit, Gracie harmonizing with him, patting her leg and bobbing her head. They go back and forth, switching off for the last chorus, then coming in strongly, harmonizing again beautifully.
When the fuck did they practice this?
Are they in Advanced Music Study together?
That’s the only thing it can be.
Fallon finishes the song, his words escaping in a hopeful whisper.
His stage presence is captivating. He’s coming out of his shell yet still being himself—the same slightly lost boy I met all those weeks ago but with confidence and strength. He’s not there completely, but I hope this trip to Philadelphia will help. If he agrees. I still need to ask.
Every single person in the record store stands, cheering, clapping, and whistling.
I have a weird moment of clairvoyance, wondering if this is only the beginning. The very start of his career as a fuckingrockstar.
Because that’s the only place this is headed.
Paul scurries onto the stage, taking the mic as Fallon and Gracie rush back to the lounge. “Alright, alright, calm down, folks. That was something special, wasn’t it? Wow, just wow! The judges and I still need to deliberate, so in the meantime, enjoy coffee, soda, and an assortment of finger foods catered by the lovely Ms. D from Mary D’s Bakery. Right down the street!”
As soon as Paul’s done talking, I sneak away to congratulate my boyfriend. I already know he won. Everyone knows he won.
I find him in the employee bathroom, washing his hands and fixing his eyeliner. He spots me in the mirror and spins around, bracing his hands on the sink behind him. His pale skin peeks through the black mesh, inviting me.
I click the lock shut and stalk toward him, crowding him into the sink.
“You were fucking hypnotizing up there, Blue. You had the whole place spellbound. I was fucking entranced. Nearly drooling. I need to fuck you. Say I can fuck you tonight, baby?” I nip at his shimmery lips, tracing his piercing with my tongue.
“Yes. Please,” he rasps out, closing his eyes as I trail my lips and tongue up his neck, making him shiver.
“Okay.” I squeeze him through his jeans. “Let’s go collect your prize first ’cause there’s no other winner but you, Fal.”
He chews on that lip again, and I tug him after me, slipping out of the bathroom and pulling him to our table. Gracie is perched on Cole’s lap, smiling and laughing. I think they could make it. If they both actuallytry.
I sit down and pull Fallon onto my own lap before he can take the seat next to me. There’s no reason we can’t. Fuck everyone else.
He settles his smaller frame into me, his back to my chest, and I squeeze his hips, ready to get home and get inside his tight little body. He’s so fucking tempting in this little mesh top, tight jeans, and all these chains. My dick starts to fill, and I press him down on me, letting him feel it.
“Ry!” he hisses, grasping my hands that are squeezing his hip possessively and unreasonably.
“Fallon Rivers!” Paul yells with genuine excitement.
Shit! I wasn’t even paying attention.
I was distracted by the hot little ass on top of my crotch.
Fallon slips off my lap, and I immediately tuck myself under the tablecloth, hiding my half-chub. I glance up and make eye contact with Jamison. His dark eyes sparkle with amusement, and I roll my own, not really caring if he caught all that. It’s his own fault he’s so goddamn perceptive.
My broody little rockstar hustles up the stage, accepting his oversized check. I slip my phone out and snap a few photos of Fallon on stage holding his massive, five-thousand-dollar-winner’s check.
