Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) by Rachel Dunning

she’d be able to play to a crowd
of spiked-collar
metal-heads if she had to. She can read the crowd, and play to
them.
    And make them happy.
    Don’t we deserve the same happiness? Or are we so far
past Alanna Shrewsbury’s frizzy hair and braces, so far beyond that
level of innocence, to deserve the same kind of joy?
    I fucking hope not. Because that shit
would just be too damned depressing.

 
TWENTY- TWO
GIRLFRIENDS
-1-
    Blaze Ryleigh
    In Declan’s truck, we joke like a pair of lovebirds driving
across Route
66 with the top down,
desert sun blazing, hair in our ears and Thelma and Louise shades on our eyes. It doesn’t matter that
there’s trash on the streets and that it’s two in the morning—when
I’m with Declan, the sun’s always shining.
    “ Hunter Hayes? Blaze, tell me again, who
the fuck is Hunter
Hayes!?”
    “ C&W singer. Looks not even old enough
to have sex, never mind drink. But he’s legally allowed to do both.
In any state.”
    “And you know about him, how?”
    “It’s my job.”
    “ Those kids went freaking wild when you put his shit
on.”
    “ I knew they would. He sings some pretty
romantic stuff, and it appeals to that crowd.”
    “ And how would you define ‘that crowd’?”
    “ Dunno, care-free. Still believing in
Happily Ever Afters.”
    “You don’t believe in Happily Ever
Afters?”
    I look out the window. “I’d rather not
comment on that.”
    He puts his hand on my jeans, rubs up and
down. “You’re incredible, Blaze.”
    I put my hand over his, and say nothing.
    We arrive at his apartment block at the
corner of Bushwick and Bed-Stuy. A nondescript brick building
with stairs leading up
to the entrance that conjure up images for me of people sitting
outside and reading a newspaper with a mug of coffee in the
morning.
    He opens the door to his apartment, flicks on a light.
All I see is a blue football jersey with a huge 56 on it, on the wall, before his lips are on mine. And then I don’t
see shit. My fingers loosen around the grip of the my rucksack and
it falls next to my feet.
    Now I’m thinking about a whole new type of music. One that
doesn’t come with any instruments, and where Deck and I are the
only band members; playing in a crowded house without any air
conditioning.
    ’ Cause I’m sweating now...
-2-
    In between tasty kisses, I say, “No tour of
your place?”
    “Later.”
    He starts taking off my top. I fight with
his own. I feel the heat in my chest like a shot of tequila. I have
him to the back of his two-seater couch— 56 jersey behind me now. I open my eyes briefly and
see a TV so huge I actually laugh.
    “What?”
    “ TV.” We’re not sharing many words, because
our lips are both occupied. “Movie fan?”
    “ Football fan.”
    “Figured.”
    I allow myself a moment to appreciate his
body. The sinewy feel of it, the hardness , his eight-pack. It makes me smile widely, and I
feel the flush on my cheeks like an embarrassed
schoolgirl.
    He doesn’t notice. His hands are all over my
A-cup bra, trying to take it off.
    “Wait.” I smile coyly, push him back. “I
wanna look at you.”
    “ And I wanna put my lips all over you, all
over your breasts, between your legs...”
    It takes me a moment to realize I haven’t just been hit by a train,
because it feels like I have. And dunked in water. Warm water. Down
below...
    “This is the first time...” I bite my lip,
savoring his beauty slowly with my eyes. “...It’s the first time
I’m not so ‘overwhelmed’ by...us. And I wanna enjoy it.”
    Not willing to wait anymore, he pulls me
toward him.
    He’s h ard and ready. My crotch presses against his. It takes all
the will I have to not fall on him and have him take me.
    “You’ve been ‘overwhelmed’?”
    “ A little. I’ve never been with a guy like
I’ve been with you. And I’m not talking about sex only. Because
I’ve done plenty stuff that was like sex. All the times
we’ve made
love ”—I clear my
throat—“it’s been