A Love Song for Dreamers - Piper Lawson Page 0,22
who’s leaning into the hedge that runs along the iron fence separating the pool.
My gaze fixes on Jax’s patio, and I take in what he’s staring at—a woman swimming.
Naked.
The visual hits me like a knockout punch—not because it’s any woman, but because it’s one in particular.
“Keep walking.” I bite out the words, and he jumps, eyes widening as if he’s listening for the first time today.
“Chill, man. She’s swimming naked. Clearly she wants someone to look.”
“Let me guess. You don’t have a girlfriend.”
He shrugs. “Like to keep my options open.”
He heads for his car, where I should be going too, but I reverse directions and go back into the studio, using my swipe key to go out the side door.
Because I should tell her she might be spotted. Not for any other reason.
I let myself in the gate and cross to the cabana. I grab a towel.
When Annie rises up out of the water, shoving her long hair out of her wet face in a way that makes my throat dry, I’m there. “Run out of clean suits already?”
Annie takes me in, hands gripping the edge of the pool as her eyes widen in surprise. “It’s late. Needed to clear my head, and I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“Just my shit-for-brains kid in the studio. You made his day.”
She smiles, a flash of white in the dark.
Earlier when she told me she was sticking around, I was glad and frustrated at once.
Because even though there’s nothing between us, sharing the same space with her felt right. As if part of me that’d been missing suddenly clicked back into place.
No matter what Jax said, I can coexist with the woman who ripped my heart out.
I can even do it without staring at her ass as she bends under the desk. Or peering over the edge of the pool to see how much of her body is lit by the soft blue lights.
“You coming out?” I ask lightly.
“You turning around?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen.”
“Maybe it’s changed.”
Those three words have me dying to know if she’s right, if she’s different since the last time I touched her, held her, made her pant my name.
I shut my eyes and hold out the towel.
I hear the sound of water dripping as she shifts out, then her voice, inches away. “Thanks.”
She steps closer, and I wrap her in the towel. “You’re not wrong, though. I only packed for a weekend. I’m going to have to raid my old closet, assuming anything in there still fits.”
Her breasts are nearly pressed against my chest through the towel, and I imagine using the terry fabric to drag her body against mine.
“I’ll give you ten bucks to wear your Oakwood uniform for a day.”
She laughs. “Make it twenty and I’ll think about it.”
I open my eyes to find her studying me. Water drips over her shoulders, and there’s a drop on the middle of her lower lip I want to brush off.
It’s hard to remember why I can’t, especially with the visual of her in a pleated skirt and tight shirt firmly in my head.
“So, how’s it going in the studio with my dad’s protégé?” she prompts, and I force myself to focus as she takes the towel from me and knots it around her breasts.
“Brutal. Kid’s a pain in the ass. So why’d you need to clear your head? Your dad? Or the boyfriend?” I ask.
The boyfriend was not part of the updates Beck gave me, something he’s going to eat shit for the next time we talk.
Though now I’m wondering why he didn’t tell me. If he thought I’d be jealous, I’m not. Not even close.
I’m over us, but that doesn’t mean I want her with some guy who doesn’t deserve her. And if she’s avoiding him, it means something’s wrong.
I will always want the best for her, because I loved her once. For a time that feels boundless, until I remind myself it’s over.
Annie pulls her hair over one shoulder and wrings it out, sending drops of water splattering on the patio.
“Both,” she answers at last.
It sounds like what she really needs is to get out of her head. I know that look, not because it’s classic Annie, but because it’s classic me.
I can be around her without rehashing the reasons we broke up, without obsessing over the messy perfection of the times we were together.
I’ll prove it.
“Shay told me about a local concert. Go with me.”
“Like a date?” Her brows shoot up.
“No, music police,” I chastise. “Like