A Love Song for Dreamers - Piper Lawson Page 0,31

rippling further, echoing more faintly, as my cheek sticks to the polished wood.

The tremors leave me smooth and fresh, like sand after the tide goes out.

This was what I needed.

I almost believe it until Tyler leans over me, brushing back my hair to graze his lips across my cheek.

Sweet. Chaste.

Except that if I turned to catch that mouth with mine, I’d taste exactly what he did to me.

I don’t remember my name.

But I remember his.

10

“Do you have questions about recovery time? The procedure? Anaesthetic?” The surgeon spreads his hands on his desk.

He’s for sure taking for granted the range of motion in those fingers, those palms. The sixty-something man might be a doctor, but he’s pure California. In living here the past year and a half, I’ve learned Angelenos can take for granted almost anything.

I shake my head. “I’ve done it before, at some of the best clinics in the country.”

“Well, I like to think we have the best team here at UCLA. You’re on the schedule for three weeks from now. I sincerely hope we can get you the results you’re looking for in terms of both mobility and pain management.”

“Me too.”

I leave the clinic and head outside into the sun and get into the waiting car.

It’s not my first surgery, but I’m hoping it’ll be my last. Beck calls it my obsession, but I think of it as relentless focus.

Since the night a single blade destroyed what I’d worked twenty years to build, I’ve been aching for the day when I can say I’m back to myself.

I have a few hours before I need to be at the venue for sound check for the benefit concert tonight. I scan the set list, which I’ll go over again with my band once I get there.

For the most part, I do vocals and some light chords. The lead guitarist who plays with me is probably good enough to play harder assignments than what I give him, but it makes me envious to hear him do it.

To deal with the monotony of traffic, I go through my email, firing off responses to anything urgent and leaving most of it where it is. After, I open the list of demos Shay sent through from local bands.

I listen to the first, then skip to the next.

Another skip.

I let the third one ride a moment. It’s sultry and raw.

I glance at my phone to see what it is.

It’s Shay. Not another band, but her.

It’s simple, but catchy, and the vocals feel fresh and real.

I file that away as the car reaches my destination, a toy store in La Brea.

Inside, I tell the clerk, “I need a present for a friend’s kid. She’s four and a half.”

“Get her a book on manipulating guys,” comes a familiar voice from behind me before the clerk can respond. “It must be some secret coming-of-age thing, because all chicks seem to know it by the time they’re twelve.”

I turn toward Beck and grin, clapping him on the back. He looks every part the actor in jeans, boots, and a white T-shirt. His aviators are shoved back on his head.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I say. “Tell me you haven’t burned down the apartment yet.”

“Nah, but you might want to stay in it sometime.”

I shake my head. The two-bedroom place we share is way bigger than the New York apartment we had until I left on tour and that Beck kept until graduation.

“I’m heading out again in a couple of days. I made a deal to help Jax out with his new studio.” I huff out a breath as I scan the shelves for a gift for Sophie.

“You’re supposed to be in your studio. Recording at your label,” he reminds me. “The one who pays your income, which covers half of our rent.”

“Thank you for that lesson in pronouns. I have three weeks until my surgery so I’m taking a vacation.”

I pick up a puzzle. Maybe Sophie’s into these. Something with fish or birds, exotic ones she wouldn’t see in Dallas.

“A vacation with Annie Jamieson. I saw your post the other night. You might not’ve tagged her, but you’re so busted.”

“Nothing to bust. We hung out.”

But my abs clench under my shirt at the sound of her name.

The purple dump truck on the shelf triggers my memory that Sophie’s into things with wheels. I lift it off the shelf as Beck grins. “I bet you did.”

I cut him a look, but my retort dies on my lips. My roommate’s the one