Page 75 of Sounds Like Love

“Special today is the lemana marg,” Uncle Rick informed him.

I wrinkled my nose at the idea of lemons and bananas, but Sasha perked. “Oh, heck yeah. Gimmethat.”

“And what’ll you have?” Uncle Rick asked me, quirking an eyebrow. “The usual?” Which was ice water with slices of lemons and oranges. If it wasn’t broke, why fix it? Then again, I did wonder what the lemana marg tasted like …

“You know, I’ll have what he’s having,” I said, nodding toward Sasha, not really caring if I’d regret it. I didn’t regret it right now, and that was all that mattered. Uncle Rick made margaritas, and Sasha watched with giddy attention as Rick cranked up the blender and thrust his fists into the air like a frat boy at a homecoming football game.

“Did you see that?” Sasha asked. “Did you see? That’s amazing.”

With all his world tours and reality television shows,thiswas what he got excited about? A blender attached to a lawn mower engine on a boat that probably didn’t meet regulations for seaworthiness? My heart squeezed—but it felt different from the dread that normally coiled there.It felt tender, this tightness. Raw.

We sat against the side of the boat, close enough that our knees knocked together, at least until the boat crested over a large wave, and I almost lost my balance, grabbing the railing for leverage. After that, Sasha pulled my legs over his lap to keep me stationary, his free hand resting against my outer thigh.

It was impossible to ignore his touch—too close, perhaps, because I wasn’t sure if the flush across my skin was from the heat of the sun or his hand on my upper thigh. Just a little slip and his fingers would inch under my shorts, and I wondered what his calloused fingers would feel like stroking me there—

He cleared his throat. Cut his gaze to me. The blue of his eyes was dark, like the ocean.“It’s not polite to tease, bird.”

His heated gaze held mine. I wasn’t sure if itwasa tease.

In my head he was off-limits because that kiss at the pier allowed me to see and feel inside his head, too close, too personal, too intimate for a stranger—

But he wasn’t a stranger anymore.

I knew this was a bad idea. This was what I didn’t want, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. If we kissed, what would happen next? After we chased the impulse, after an evening of sex? We went through life differently, loved differently—being with someone like Sasha didn’t make sense. He was a celebrity, famous, and that was the sort of life that I didn’t want.

Did I just want to hide in a bad idea so I didn’t have to think about the storm brewing right ahead of me, made of my grief over Mom and losing the Revelry and my own lack of inspiration? Or did I actually have feelings for this man in my head?

I didn’t know, but maybe I had been wrong this whole time. Maybethiswas what I really wanted.

Maybe—

I opened my mouth to say as much, but Uncle Rick plopped down two yellow monstrosities in front of us, and I came back to my senses. Sasha’s hand quickly slipped away from the frayed hem of my shorts.

And the moment passed.

We spent the rest of the afternoon floating on the Marge. The lemana marg wasawful(apparently some flavor profiles really should never mix), but the beach music and the conversations were good. Sasha talked about bars he’d snuck into when he was underage, chasing down no-name bands he loved, even when he had the world in his hands on Renegade’s world tour. I learned that he hated flying, but he hated tour buses more. He never tipped less than 50 percent of the bill, and he hadn’t had a drink since the night he crashed his Corvette, and his best friend was one of the other singers in Renegade who Gigi (and, let’s face it, about a million fans) thought he was having a secret relationship with.

I knew we needed to finish this song, but the more of the day I spent with him, the less I wanted it to end. The melody in our heads got progressively louder throughout the day, andwewere getting louder in each other’s heads, too.

With it came a strange sort of connection. Or maybe we were just getting more comfortable being loud and emotional to each other. I found that he’d simply get me a bottle of water when I felt my throat was scratchy, or I’d scoot over into the shade of the barge a little more to give him room because his shoulders felt like they were burning. He’d absently tuck a lock of hair behind my ear that kept falling into my face, and I’d call him Bernard or Lloyd or Stuart every time someone came up to the barge and looked at him a little too long as if they recognized him.It was unspoken things. Small, unassuming.

Things we didn’t even have to ask the other person to do. Learning each other, bit by bit.

And, when Uncle Rick finally kicked us off his boat, I learned that Sasha didn’t like going home.

Well, back to his Airbnb, anyway.

I still had to go to the Rev; my parents probably needed help tonight at the box office or the bar, and I wanted Mom to have more good days so I could spend time with her, and I wanted Gigi to talk to me about the things she was hiding, and—

He caught my hand as we started to leave the beach and said, “Let’s stay here. Your head is so loud right now.”

I gave him a strange look.

“Your head is always quietest when you’re staring at the ocean.”He nudged his chin toward a dune. “Just for a little while?”

I really didn’t have the willpower to say no.

So we sat on the beach in the dusk, watching the cotton-candy clouds roll across the horizon. The wind was cool, and the smell of ocean brine was strong. Sometimes, I wondered why I ever left this place. Sasha was right—the waves calmed my worry. The way they flooded in and ebbed out again. There was just something soothing in how reliable they were.

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