Page 32 of Fa-La La-La Land
The first tune that comes is the one I hate, the one she loves. But I hum theauthenticversion, the way I wrote it. Softer. More melancholy.
A small smile curls her lips. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Because you were belting it out yesterday,” I say, stillholding her steady. “Reckon it’s not the first time you’ve sung it either.”
She opens her eyes, catches the sun full on, and squeezes them shut again. She startles and sinks, clutching my neck.
I move my hands to her hips, setting her upright, our chests pressed together. We breathe hard, neither of us letting go.
“You know,” I say, voice low, “there are a few other things on that list I could help you cross off.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then flicks up. “Didn’t you just promise not to talk about the list?”
My lip quirks. “Haven’t finished the swimming lesson yet.”
“That’s cheating, Rhys.”
“Just offering to help, La-La. Take it or leave it.” I drop my voice, a little rasp in it—old habits.
And it works. Her expression softens, curious.
“Help with what, specifically?” she asks, walking her fingers along my shoulders until they link behind my neck. I slide my hands around her waist.
“I think you know. All you’ve gotta do is ask.”
Her eyes flicker, sparking a dozen new lyric ideas—each one about her lips and the way she looks at me now. I hold my breath, waiting for her to close the gap.
I won’t move first. But if she does—if she asks—I’m gone.
Chapter Ten
Stella
Iknow what Rhys wants me to ask for. And the only one who wants it more than him may be me. Not just to cross things off my list—but because this Rhys right here is the fantasy Rhys. The one who’s fun. Playful. Silly. The Rhys who’s on stage. The Rhys I thought I was in love with when I was thirteen.
This is the Rhys I want to kiss me.
It’s the Rhys I work for who stops me.
What happens when we get out of this pool—and I have to convince him to show the fun, playful Rhys in reels and TikToks? When I have to coax him to let his fans see that side of him when it’s not scripted or rehearsed? The fun side that’s not part of the slightly manic persona Danny’s pushed on him.
So, instead of asking him for the thing we both clearly want. I ask for something else.
“Take me to get a tattoo.”
Rhys’s eyes crease with confusion. “Tattoo? That’s on your list?”
I nod.
“And that’s what you want to start with?” His hands loosen behind my back, and I already regret not asking for the kiss I really want.
It was the right thing to do…but the hardest, too. I’ve dreamed of kissing Rhys since the first time I saw him singing on “Surf City High.” I suppose if I were ready to give that dream up completely, I’d find my way out of his arms.
But I’m still here, trying to work out how to do what I don’t want to do. I drop my hands from around his neck and step back, but my fingers find the winding vines that trail across his right shoulder and trace them around his biceps, down his forearm, all the way to his wrist. “Tattoos are permanent. I want something that looks good and means something. Like yours.”
His hands move to my hips. “What gave you the idea these tattoos mean something?”
“Meeting your mom and dad, then seeing this up close.” I point to the flower wrapping gently from the inside of his arm toward the outer edge. I’ve seen the tattoo before but as a flicker under his sleeve, not like this. Not close enough to study.
