Track 11: Love Struck
“Like lightning cracks through the sky.
Hot. Bright. Burning. Silent.
Love struck me and I fell.”
MY FINGERS RUBBED ABSENTMINDEDLY OVER my lips. Plump. Tingling. Slightly chapped. Many words that my lips could be registering except the only thing I felt was Zach.
I was grateful that Lin knew me well enough to hum quietly while she worked on my hair and make-up for tonight’s performance because I was too lost in thought to contribute meaningfully to any sort of conversation.
Zach’s kiss yesterday had been the best thing to happen to my mouth since chewing gum. And that’s why I hadn’t indulged my habit since. Odd for me to the point where even Tay made a comment.
Everything about yesterday had been perfect. No. More than that. As far as ideal Valentine’s dates go, yesterday had been a fairytale. The huge snowflakes falling around us, the carriage ride all bundled up against Zach as he held me… It was out of a dream that I’d had for a very long time.
Who was I kidding? It was still a dream.
What else do you call something that isn’t real?
Did I think the kiss was part of his plan? No. Did I know he’d say that it was—or worse, a mistake? Yes. And that’s why I didn’t ask.
I may be slow at it, but I was learning my lesson when it came to Zach Parker.
We left the park with a warm and easy familiarity between us, conversation and chemistry taken down a notch—at least on the outside. It was a step back from the admission of my biggest fears that had seem to come out of nowhere. And it was two steps back from that kiss—a kiss that was as beautiful and brief as a shooting star, leaving me wondering if what I’d just felt was something to wish on or a flicker of something destined to disintegrate.
Oh, that was a good one. I pulled out my phone and opened up the notes app, typing furiously, ‘Kisses like shooting stars, if only I could wish on ours. Brightly beautiful. Swiftly gone. Brilliantly burning into flashes of the dawn.’
The cameras were convenient reminders of the purpose it played.
My heart though was an annoying insistence that it also served a greater purpose.
We’d grabbed sandwiches from a random deli on our way down to his—also secret—afternoon activity: hours spent roaming through Bryant Park’s Winter Village. Tiny glass shops littered the walkways of the park, surrounding the giant Christmas tree and ice skating rink. Winter Wonderland was what came to mind.
Sure, I wore fancy brands because they sent me stuff or because I was paid to. Most of the time, I passed as much as I could off to Taylor because it was too fancy for me. I loved the soft wool scarves from the third pop-up shop on the right that didn’t have a tag, let alone a brand. Zach insisted on buying me one because it was the only outer accessory that I wasn’t wearing. I loved the hand-made sterling silver jewelry, set with brightly colored stones in designs that most ‘high-fashion’ would consider ‘highly reproachable.’ My stomach twisted when I saw a charm bracelet similar to the one I’d lost on that memorable prom night.
And in spite of the giant sandwich we’d shared, remembering back to the days when we’d split numerous Italian subs while working on the treehouse, we still managed to end up with a cup of Max Brenner’s hot chocolate in one hand and Nutella crepes in the other.
Somewhere between Zach’s stories about living in Alabama and the ones about all the trouble my brother got into while at college, the press gave up trying to weed through the crowd for any more photos, leaving us to wander in peace.
In a world where days were planned down to the minute to fit everything in, my heart raced with the relaxed spontaneity of what he’d chosen for us to do. It made the date feel more real than any of the other ‘real’ relationships I’d been in before which was a sad commentary considering that it was purely for show.
Part of me hated that he knew this—whether consciously or unconsciously—that he knew I wanted simple days like this and not the fancy cars or the fancy parties or five-star restaurants or a house in the Hamptons.
Cue Shaina Twain, ’That don’t impress me much…’
Lin’s hands in my hair froze. Crap. Guess I sang that one out loud.
Shrugging, I gave her a weak smile and she just laughed, shook her head, and went back to work trying to straighten my waves.
I just wanted hot chocolate and carriage rides with someone who wanted to look at the stars instead of using me to become one.
There was a war going on inside of me whether I should be sitting here reliving each and every moment like a love-struck teenager or if I should be focusing on that line that Taylor insists I’m so skilled at drawing.
Real.
Not real.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!” I yelled with a huge smile. I don’t know why but every time I went out on stage, I forgot for a second that I was mic’d and felt the need to yell to reach everyone in the crowd. Like I actually could.
Good thing my sound crew knew this about me and planned accordingly.
Goosebumps covered my legs underneath the dress I had on. Black tights, black boots, and an off-white dress that looked like a mirror had shattered over it. And that meant that I was cold now, but a few more minutes under these lights—and on stage with Zach—and I’d be warmed right up.
“Thank you—” I paused with a laugh at the classic ‘I love you, Blake’ that at least one fan always managed to belt out loud enough to reach the stage. “Thank you… everyone… for deciding to spend your Valentine’s Day here with me. Ladies,” I continued with a wry voice, “give your man a big kiss right now for bringing y’all here to see me.”
I loved these moments when I knew the camera flashes were mostly not for me.
‘What about your man?’ My head jerked to the left as someone yelled.
3… 2… 1… And my face was officially as red as my lips.
‘Bring him up there!’
‘We want Zach!’
My heart dropped into my stomach. They knew. I mean, of course they knew. The photos from yesterday were all over the internet well before we even got back from dinner. By the time I got out of the shower, Taylor already had a press release ready to go and a tweet ready for me to post.
At this point, I didn’t know what would be worse, listening to them—or not. I went with or not.
“Ok, ok,” I said, holding up my hands. “I don’t know that he was quite ready for this welcome, but if you could all join me in welcoming my… Zach Parker to the stage—”
The cheers erupted and I couldn’t even remember what else I was going to say.
Oh, God.
He looked hot. Hotter than usual hot. Maybe it was the whole Valentine’s Day aura. Or maybe it was because I was finally letting myself look at him like he was mine. Tonight, there’s no baseball cap. Just the unruly mahogany waves, mostly pushed back from his face (probably from the repetitive run-through with his hand) except for one lock that hung defiantly in front of his forehead. Typical Zach—mostly following every rule except in his own way. The dark, fitted jeans were new—and even though they looked amazing, hugging every muscle, I missed the ones that had me ripped and stained into them. The deep red shirt was unfamiliar, too, buttoned-down and straining over his chest before being tucked tightly into his pants. He looked like a magical blend of classy and country that was hot as hell.
I tried to swallow. Twice. I would have had an easier time getting a mouthful of sand down my throat for how dry it was.
His lips broke into a smile and I felt my panties begin to slip…
Correction: Hot as hell now turned into panty-melting. I couldn’t look away. My clothes, just like my body, were wholly unprepared for the assault. And this was only the first twenty seconds. They’d have to suck me up out of my puddle of desire by the time the show was done.
Those lips.
Mine tingled with wanting his kiss. His tongue. My breath faltered, oxygen weighed down with desire. And I prayed the crowd was focused on him as I tried to subtly cross my legs. It felt like my desire was literally dripping from me.
Whose freakin’ idea was it to have me in a dress tonight? They are fired. I don’t care if it was Taylor. F.I.R.E.D.
The ache between my legs was like a base melody playing through every other note of my life. Strumming with a low, soul-wracking hum, a constant reminder of how I wanted our song to end.
“Blake,” he rasped. It was a subtle sound—or it would have been if it wasn’t magnified through the entire stadium. Like being in a movie theater versus watching TV—the pure sex in his voice became a surround-sound to the cinematic destruction of my body. It literally vibrated through every cell of my body, awakening parts of me that definitely should not be awake on stage.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
I almost laughed. I never thought I’d hear those words coming from that mouth. It was like getting a phone call that you’d won the lottery—amusingly unbelievable.
“H-happy Valentine’s Day,” I returned with a strangled voice and a strained smile. I needed to get off this stage. And maybe get a new pair of underwear. Talk about wardrobe malfunction; Janet was about to have nothing on me. “Alright, I’ll let Zach get to it—”
Giving an awkward wave to the crowd, I was so prepared to dart off stage, but I was stopped by a firm grasp on my wrist, spinning me back and trapping me in his stare like a bee in honey.
“Not so fast there, Blay,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I have a present for you.”
“W-what?” I blubbered. Boy, this crowd was getting the real Blake Tyler tonight—all awkward and lovestruck.
I blinked twice and a red rose appeared in front of me.
Now was not the time to lose my voice.
‘Kiss her!’ someone yelled off in the distance.
My fans were not my friends right now. Nope. They were fired, too.
I should have said something to deflect, taken the rose, and walked off stage. Should’ve… could’ve, would’ve.
I stared, watching his lips descend on mine until the very last second. And even then, I didn’t trust my lips to not make up what they were dying to feel.
And then there was that kiss again. The one that put me back in outer space where all Earth-shattering and cosmic phenomena belonged.
His tongue licked along the seam of my lips, barely waiting for them to part before it darted inside for one more taste like he couldn’t help himself. And then he was gone.
Whistles and cheers were the soundtrack to his eyes.
He was enjoying this.
I was afraid I was enjoying it, too.
“So, I got you this rose, even though I think all these great people out here would say that you deserve much more.” Cue cheers of agreement. “And I would have to agree with them.”
This wasn’t happening.
It’s official. I’d gone crazy. Bat-shit crazy. Blake. Shit. Crazy.
This wasn’t even real in my wildest dreams.
“So,” he drawled, “I know we both kinda have a little thing… like a concert… that we gotta do right now,” I felt his grin like he’d smiled it right against the lips of my sex, “but, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a delicious take-out dinner tonight after the show? I’m told this city has some pretty decent pizza and cheesecake.”
His soft, Southern charm was the end of me. The anxiety and uncertainty disappeared and I broke out laughing.
It was too easy to fall for him. And that was when he didn’t want anything to do with me. This wasn’t a fall. A fall implies an element of unawareness.
I wasn’t falling.
I had jumped—willful, consenting awareness that the landing was going to break me.
He raised one of those perfect eyebrows and I realized that I’d left him hanging, the entire audience silent.
“Yes. I mean, I’d love to,” I gushed out and there was a good chance we could have cancelled the rest of the concert and my fans would have been satisfied. Especially when he then pulled me into his arms, picked me up, and spun me around like I’d seen him do to countless girls in high school, every time wishing it was me.
This time it was.
Crap. Crap. Double-crap.
“I have a request, though,” he said softly (which wasn’t all that soft when it echoed through the space.) The cheers died down until it felt like a library out there. Shimmering silence.
“I thought we could do something a little different—a little special for this crowd tonight.”
I held my breath at his suggestion. What else could we possibly do?
“I thought we could sing for them. Together.”
“A duet?” I squeaked. “W-what song?” My heart was pounding. “You think we should have maybe rehearsed something first?” I whispered, only remembering the audience when they laughed. My smile wavered. Hopefully, at least the mic made it sound like I was being cheeky instead of revealing the butterflies that were all trying to climb back into their cocoons in my stomach.
“You’ll know it when you hear it.” And then he winked at me like that was supposed to make everything ok. Like charm could make up for preparedness.
He stepped back, taking my hand and pulling me with him so that he could sit on the stool that they always had out for the opening acoustics.
I shivered when his fingers separated from mine, the direct line of heat to my body gone. I rubbed my clammy palms together and then against my nice dress as Zach pulled his guitar around and propped it up on his knee.
My heart screeched to a halt and I glanced at the audience thinking that they had to have heard it.
Singing together—how many more fantasies was I going to have survive?
And then the chords began.
It took all of the first seven in the intro for me to realize what he’d picked. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. There are certain songs that are timeless—and not in the sense that they’ll be covered for decades, but in the sense that no matter what point in life you hear them, the words always seem to be perfect for that moment in time.
These words were perfect for now. They were also perfect six years ago.
“Stars shining bright above you,” I began with a throaty voice that would have made Ella and Adele proud. I stared at his smile, afraid this would all crumble and disappear if I looked away. “Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you.’”
The look in his eyes faltered. He’d chosen the song though. He’d known I’d have to sing those words to him again.
While I tried to catch my breath—and my heart—from being stolen by him, he took the next line.
“Birds singing in the Sycamore tree, ‘Dream a little dream of me.’”
Line by line, note by note, he pulled my shiny broken pieces back to him.