Page 44 of Sounds Like Love

Behind me, Sebastian Fell rose to his feet again. Hesitantly, I turned around to face him. His gaze searched mine, as if he was trying to find something familiar in me, too. His eyes were navy in the darkness, deep pools that reminded me of the Atlantic just before a thunderstorm.

“I think,” he said slowly, and then without him moving his mouth, his voice echoed in my thoughts,“you’re in my head, bird.”

Chapter18(I’ll Never Be Your) Beast of Burden

SEBASTIAN FELL WASsilent and still.

So was I.

The chaos below us grew louder as the cheers from the audience became desperate, calling for an encore. Their cheers echoed up into the rafters, rebounding around like supersonic pinballs. I was glad for the noise—if it was any quieter, I was sure the world would’ve heard my heart slamming against my rib cage. God knows that was the only thingIheard.

Sebastian Fell wasSasha.

And he was in my head.

This man—thisman, in sleek dark clothes that made him look thin and pale in the sort of aesthetic that screamedtortured artist, was the man who stayed up with me last night, who pulled me down from my spiral, who was thoughtful and bittersweet? How couldthisman, who had belittled me and joked about my career—

How couldhebe Sasha?

They were nothing alike, and yet …

And yet here he stood.

“Not quite who you expected, then,” he said finally.

He’d heard my thoughts. I felt my ears redden with embarrassment. “No,” I admitted, because there was no use denying them. They were true. “The opposite, actually.”

“Ah.” He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Maybe I should go?—I should go—”

“Am I?” I interrupted, studying him.

He gave me a questioning look.

“Am I who you expected?” I clarified. I felt my heart racing in my chest, and I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know the answer. If he’d been so glaringly opposite in my head, then who had I been in his? How short had I fallen?

Sebastian Fell stepped closer. So close that there was impossibly little space between us, and in another step there would be none at all. “Yes,” he replied truthfully, catching my gaze and holding it. “You are exactly who I expected.”

On the surface it was flattering, but I could hear the thoughts in his head. It wasn’t a compliment; he knew it was me before he’d ever walked into the Revelry. In all my effort to keep him anonymous, I’d somehow shown my full hand without even knowing it. I reeled at the idea—all the small things I’d told him, when I revealed my phone number and area code, my hometown, the Rev. “So you knew the entire time? That’s not fair.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, apprehensive. “Not the whole time. I didn’t know exactly until I saw you tonight, but I had a good idea. I made such a bad impression. During the concert. When I realized it was you in my head, I just … I couldn’t believe it. I thought in our heads maybe …”

“I could make a better one,”he thought, his voice soft and sincere in my head.

“By betraying my confidence,” I surmised. “You hid who you were and used your knowledge of whoIam to help you.”

His eyebrows furrowed, because apparently, he hadn’t thought that it’d been a betrayal at all. “I—I didn’t …” He frowned. “You asked for a nickname. Not my real name, so I thought … I thought you wouldn’t have wanted it.”

My shoulders slumped a little, because I did distinctly remember saying just that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’m sorry,”he thought, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, and I could hear the shame there.“I really am.”

When he glanced over at me again, I held his gaze. I was searching for something, but I didn’t know what at the time. Sincerity? Or more half-truths?

He added, hearing my thoughts,“I can’t lie with you in my head.”

But omission made me feel just as foolish.

As I searched his face, I came to the conclusion, at least, thatVoguewas incorrect—his eyes weren’t cerulean, but a shade of blue so distinct there wasn’t a word for it. They were the color of bluebird wings flashing in the sunlight, of the vivid shade of acrylic paint smeared across Monet’s water lilies, of smooth azurite rocks found at those beach stores perpetually going out of business, of an endless end-of-summer sky.

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