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What Happens in SoHo...
Yes. Yes. Yes. A million fucking times yes is the immediate response that comes to mind when Jalen asks if he can come see me.
The actual response I give: "You mean, like, right now... at my house?"
"You can say no if you want too, Lyndon. I won't just show up like some stalker," he says in a calm tone.
Meanwhile, I, Lyndon Prince, am anything but calm at the idea that Jalen Uccello wants to come see me.
"I don't want to," I quickly blurt.
"Okay...?"
"I don't want to say no, I mean. If you want to come see me, then, come," I clarify as best as I can while feeling so flustered all of a sudden.
"Okay," he repeats, but this time, it's firm, and when I hear a door open in the background, I begin biting my fingernails, nervous and excited at the same time.
I have no idea where he was before this, during the beginning of our call, but soon after, it's silent between us once again as he drives, and I sit on my couch, biting my nails till they're no longer existent.
"I'm here," he finally announces, successfully sending my heart crashing landing to my ass.
"Um, okay," I respond, and, again, it's silent. "Should I come outside?"
"Whatever you want, Lyndon," he says gently.
"I'll come out," I decide, standing, shoving on shoes, and quickly leaving before Knox hears. "Where are you?"
He lightly laughs. "Literally right in front of your face."
I look around for his motorcycle, not seeing it. "Are you playing me right now? Are you even really here?"
"No, I am not playing you, Lyndon. I'm here." Then, to prove his point, bright lights flash at me, coming from a sleek black sports car.
I walk toward it, and slowly open the door, gently seating myself inside, hanging up the phone. "Is this an Aston Martin?"
He nods, watching me, not saying anything.
"What happened to your motorcycle?"
"Didn't feel like driving it tonight," he explains, still observing every move I make.
"Well, you lied," I announce, not missing the way his eyes briefly widen at my words, before he relaxes again. "You did play me. I was looking for your motorcycle."
"I like to change things up. Got this baby to match David's."
"Goals," I sing, making him laugh.
And then, again, it's silent.
"So," I start, letting the word hang in the awkward air between us. "What're you doing here?"
Jalen looks out the window, making me worry that my parentsâor, worse, Noahâare here. He turns to me next, slightly smiling as he states, "I wanted to see you."
Trying to ignore what he means, and how that'll make me feel, I look toward the time on my phone, then out the window, estimating how much longer it'll be till they do come back.
"Waiting for something or... someone?" His voice is louder than the low tone he was previously speaking in. When I bring my gaze his way, I see his features are hardened, eyes zoning in on my phone.
"I can't remember what time my parents said they'd be home, so I'm looking out for them." I don't like feeling like I need to explain myself, but I also don't want him getting snippy at me for no reason. "What were you thinking?"
His eyes lower, losing that tension that was previously in his shoulders. He chuckles, finding whatever it was humorous now. "Nothing."
I narrow my eyes and cross my arms, leaning against the door to put as much space between us in this tiny car. "Clearly wasn't nothing since you sounded annoyed for a second there."
Jalen sighs, eyes darting out the window again. "Your parents are here."
"Bullshit. You don't even know what they look like."
Laughter fills the small car, somehow making me lose my own annoyance, just because the sound of his laugh is so cute. "That was a good response."
"Can I get my answer now?" I ask while uncrossing my arms, pushing off the door, moving closer.
His blue eyes watch my movements, before he looks to my face again, wetting his lips before saying, "I thought it was the boyfriend."
My smile drops, having forgotten for a second about the downfall of my first ever serious relationship. "What boyfriend?"
Jalen tilts his head, sending me a questioning look, before understanding crosses his face. He searches my face for something, then asks, "Was it recent?"
"Doesn't matter. It's over."
"It matters if you're sad about it," he declares.
I turn away, not liking where this conversation is heading. I want to talk about Cortney and their relationship, not Liam and our bullshit. "I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."
He makes a noncommittal grunt, but says nothing else about the subject.
And because I just realized how annoying it is speaking of someone you don't want to talk about, I decide to not mention her or any of the other rumors tonight.
"What are you really doing here?" I ask, breaking the silence, unable to stop myself from asking him another question.
"I said I wanted to see you," he responds.
"Yeah, I know what you said. I'm asking for the real reason, though."
"I wanted to see you," he says slowly, as if he's talking to a small child. When I send him a dry look, he smirks and adds, "And I wanted to get the hell out of my house for a few."
I smile, happy with the honesty. "I know the feeling."
This time, when we make eye contact and it's quiet again, the air between us is different. It's heavier, but not suffocating in anyway. Instead, it's comforting and inviting, as an invisible blanket of understanding seems to be enveloping us. I don't know his situation at home, and he doesn't know mine, but we both don't need details to know that being in this car is better than being there.
I become unsure of what's happening between us, are we friends or is this more? Is it too soon for me, and too complicated for him?
Should either of us care?
Jalen doesn't seem too, because he starts to lean closer, as if we could get any closer in this tiny car. I don't pull away, but I don't reciprocate either, letting him decide where this goes for now.
His navy, blue eyes flash toward my lips, making my heart speed up, realizing just how much I want him to follow through with what he's started.
Kiss me is my immediate response, but like earlier, I don't say it aloud. All I do is sit there.
And, sadly, Jalen either takes this as a rejection, or changes his mind before anything even happens, because he leans away. It's a minor movement, but because I was watching so closely, anticipating his every move, I notice. And I want to scream the two words at him as loud as I can.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!
Cortney flashes in my mind, standing there, looking intimidating yet meek all at once.
Maybe Jalen's got the right idea.
"Are you busy this weekend?" He asks, voice loud in the impossibly quiet car.
Or, maybe, he just has a better idea.
"Um, I'm not sure. Why?"
"I want to take you out," he says simply.
I hesitate to answer, unsure of what his intentions are since I thought he'd kissed me, yet he backed away.
"Figure out what you want, and then let me know," he reassures me.
I want you. Now that's a response I'd definitely never say to him.
I nod my head, noticing out of the corner of my eye that my parents' car is turning the corner. "I have to go," I announce.
He watches the car drive up the block and nods, leading to me quickly scramble out the car, caring less about making it before my parents see, and more about getting away from Jalen.
This is all too soon... right?
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I think I'd rather sit in Jalen's car and deal with all of that again, than sitting in AP Calc right now.
I almost cry when the teacher announces we have a quiz tomorrow, but I'm able to hold the tears when she announces we're having a study period today. She says to get into groups of two, and although Rachel eagerly reaches for my arm after, my eyes are set on Elijah, who's sitting two seats down.
Elijah catches my eye, and subtly nods, letting me know he'll work with me. I smile, grateful, because he's the smartest person in this class. We haven't talked much since Friday, when I ditched his game without even letting him know, but it wasn't a big deal to himâthank goodness, I need his brain. He said it was cool while we were in art class the other day, and since we never sit together in this one, I want to work with him.
Hopefully Rachel won't be too mad I'm ditching her. She knows everyone else in class and will be fine finding a new partner, but I think she has a crush on Elijah. I'm not sure, but the way she talks about himâand the other Boysâmakes me think she does. I could be wrong.
Woah, my new name should be Don the Ditcher.
I giggle to myself at the referral to myself as Don, then shake my head at my stupidity. That's when I realize my teacher is standing over my desk, calling my name.
"Yes, Miss...?" I trail off, not knowing her fucking name. Holy shit, no wonder I'm struggling in this class so much. I gotta start paying attention.
"Who are you partnering with?" She asks, eyeing Rachel next to me.
"Elijah," I answer, shooting him a smile as he rises from his seat, walking toward me.
"No, I want you with Dedra Reyes. Elijah, work with Rachel instead."
F.M.L. How can she put my two smart friends with each other and leave me with a stranger?
I turn toward where she motioned, seeing a darker skinned girl sitting in the back, examining her nails, looking bored as hell.
Taking the empty seat next to her, I introduce myself. "Hi, I'm Lyndon."
"Dedra, or DeDe, whichever you prefer," she responds, sending me the smallest smile.
"Do you know this stuff?" I ask, praying she says she does and can teach me.
She shakes her head. "We were totally paired together because we're the dumbest."
My chest hurts at the words, never having been known as the dumb kid. "Ouch."
"Truth hurts," she deadpans.
"What a bitch. She wants us to fail," I say, motioning with my head to the teacher.
"Oh yeah. She's gotta keep the grade curve evened out somehow. Fuck us, right?"
We laugh at that, each taking out our books and getting to work after.
"So, which name do you prefer people call you?" I aks once we're almost done with the sheet, not sure if anything's right, but at least we're almost done.
"Honestly, I only like being called by my first name. But once one person calls you a nickname, and others pick it up, it just sort of sticks. And I'm sure you know how people love to talk around here," she says, rolling her eyes. "I figured you might've heard the name DeDe before."
I slowly shake my head, not remembering. Then, I laugh when I remember something that would make no sense. "Only as the name of David's girlfriend, but..."
My voice cuts off when I see the sly smile on her face, making me rethink that sentence.
"No way," I shout. "You're dating David? How?"
"Oh no, don't tell me you're one of those girls fawning all over him, thinking he deserves better," she teases.
"David deserves shit. Literal shit. I'd never fawn over that," I say with disgust, then quickly add on, "Um, no offense, though."
She cackles loudly. "None taken. I already know about you and David's hatred for each other. He couldn't stop talking about you slapping him. Plus, he's not my actual boyfriend."
"He's not?" I am so confused.
"Well, he's not my boyfriend, but he's my boyfriend. It's officially unofficial. It's..."
"Complicated?" I supply with a dry tone.
"Basically, yeah," she giggles. "You don't like that word?"
I shake my head. "Makes sense for your situation, though. Seems like both Jalen and David have complicated relationships. Is there anything those two don't have in common?"
Matching cars, matching relationships, what the fuck else is next?
"What do you mean?" She whispers while motioning for me to talk at the same volume, aware people are listening.
I bite my lip, contemplating continuing since I don't know her, but Dedra's in that circle, she knows those people better than I do, and better than Rachel does.
But, she can be fake just like everyone else, ready to run back and spread something about me
Ah, fuck it. "Do you know Cortney?"
"Yeah," she answers. I raise my eyebrows, because I need more than that. "Just know, David's more my boyfriend than Jalen is hers."
I breathe a sigh of relief at that, but it's not enough. "What about the other girls?"
"Jalen does what Jalen does, and people are always gonna talk," she explains with a shrug. "Both him and David have bad reputations with having too many girls, especially Jalen. You gotta take what you hear with a grain of salt."
"What about Jalen and Malia?" I can't stop myself from asking.
Dedra rolls her eyes, clear annoyance coming from her. "Malia's a whole other topic I do not have the time or patience for today, okay? I know she's your cousin, but..." she trails, before stopping herself and looking at me. "I don't wanna talk about her."
I nod, not wanting to push it, especially over a topic I don't care too much about. Jalen and the other girls should be my priority, seeing as I don't want to just be another one. Though, I need to remember to question why she seems to dislike my cousin so much. "So, Jalen is single, and he does go after a bunch of different girls?"
"Oh, you mean the games?" She asks with a snort.
The games?
"Don't stress that dumb shit," Dedra dismisses, waving her hand around. "I wouldn't be with David, or have everyone thinking we're an item, if that was true."
I open and close my mouth, unsure of what to even say. What are the games?
"Lyndon," she says while grabbing my hand. "I've heard all these rumors too, but from what I know from actually hanging around Jalen and knowing him, is that he's a nice guy. He can be a little douchebag sometimes, especially when he's mad, but he takes care of his own. Through all the shit David's dealt with, Jalen's always had his back, and I'll always be grateful to him for that."
I wonder for a second exactly what David's gone through, and if that's why he's such a dickhead, but that thought leaves, as I begin appreciating how loyal Jalen seems to be.
Before I can say anything, the bell rings, and Dedra's wishing me good luck, though I don't know why, and leaving the classroom.
Rachel links her arm with me, guiding us toward lunch as she asks, "Have you considered Jalen's invitation yet?"
Suddenly, I regret telling her, wanting that to have been private information now, but I can't take back what I said, so I say, "I'm still not sure."
"You should go," she says eagerly. "Please go."
Her eagerness confuses me, but I nod my head along, having already made up my mind after Dedra's words.
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"Where are we going, Uccello?"
Jalen waits until I'm sitting and buckled in before driving off, though I instructed him to take off right away, before my parentsâactually, Noah, but I don't want Jalen knowing my brother doesn't like himâsee us.
"It's a surprise, Prince."
"Ew, no, I change my mind. Let's never address each other with last names again," I grimace.
"Agreed," he laughs.
"But seriously, where are we going? I can't keep letting you drive me wherever. That's dangerous."
"You don't like dangerous?" He asks as we come to a stop sign.
"Not at the moment, no," I send a sharp smile.
Jalen's hand reaches over to my side of the car, arm grazing my leg as he opens the glove compartment, making me glad I thoroughly shaved since I'm wearing a skirt. "Here."
I grab the tickets he hands me, as his attention goes back to the road. "An art gallery in SoHo? Didn't peg you as the type to view art, or spend time in Manhattan."
"Not that shit again," he deadpans, causing an ugly giggle to escape me.
"But seriously. You're a fan of art?"
He shrugs his shoulder, leaning back into his seat, moving one hand to hover over the gear stick while the other loosely grips the wheel. "I wouldn't call myself a fan."
"Then why are we going, and why do you have tickets?"
He briefly looks at me before focusing on the road. "You ask a lot of questions."
"I'm curious," I justify, staring ahead at the road, and how easily he maneuvers around cars when switching lanes.
He lets a quick bark of laughter. "More like nosey."
I gasp loudly, probably giving a telenovela star a run for their money with that sound. "I am not nosey."
"Mm," he hums out, calling my attention back to him as he squints his eyes and tilts his head to side. He flashes me another look, then says, "Lyndon, you are very nosey."
He sounds like a reprimanding parent right now. "Dude, I am not nosey."
Jalen looks my way again. "Did you just call me dude?"
"I call everyone dude."
His head turns back toward the road, but he side eyes me long enough to say, "Then don't call me that."
Rather than questioning what the hell that response even means, I say, "Can you stop looking at me? Focus on the road, please. I'm not trying to die today."
"Okay, when are you trying to die?"
"Huh?" I ask, confused as fuck.
"You said you're not trying to die today, so, when are you trying to die?" he asks, keeping his eyes on the road like I asked, but smirking the entire time.
"Oh my God, Jalen," I scold.
But he takes it another way, of fucking course.
"If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that," he states with an annoyingâyet gorgeousâsmirk still present on those irritating, pink lips.
I roll my eyes and reach for the radio, turning up the first song that comes on, some mindless pop song that plays all the time, making everyone tired of it, but I make us sit through it anyway. I can't fight the feeling in my stomach at the mention of other girls, because even though he didn't directly say it, he hinted toward it. Sure, it could be a joke, it most likely was, but that doesn't erase the rumors. The games.
I almost make myself feel sick pondering over what the rumors about the games are... even more so when I wonder why they'd even be a rumor in the first place. I don't want to think this way, but most of the time, rumors start from some sort of truth.
Rumors are word of mouth, one person hears or sees something, and spreads that gossip until it's turned into something entirely else. Something unrecognizable, so far from the truth that it doesn't even make sense anymore.
The end result doesn't change the fact that it comes from something true.
I glance at Jalen, who's become completely okay with the silence between us. He's entirely focused on the road, still leaned into his seat, the image of complete relaxation.
He must sense my gaze, because before I can turn, he glances my way. The small smile he sends causes butterflies in my stomach, mixing in with the dread and worry forming from the rumors.
How can this boy possibly be behind all of this?
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The art gallery is foreign to me, and though Jalen acts as if he's out of place as well, there's no denying he fits in. It's clear he's been here before, many times before.
Meanwhile, I fit in more at the food cart he took me too before we got here.
"What do you think of this one?" He asks, hand reaching out to touch my arm and gather my attention. I ignore the feeling it caused, the warmness his touch brought me, instead focusing on the piece before me.
"You want me to be honest?" I ask.
He nods. "One hundred percent."
"This thing is so ugly it's hurting my eyes, and I'm not exaggerating at all."
He watches me with a blank face for a moment, before bursting into a fit of laughter, actually leaning over, unable to even stand straight. I let out an unsure laugh, finding his hysterics funny, but not knowing what made him laugh.
When he gathers himself, he wipes mirth from his eyes. "That's my mom's."
My jaw drops, quite comically, except nothing about this is comical. He can't be serious? I walk closer, examining the name, and sure enough, it reads By Aurora Uccello.
At least her name is pretty? But damn, that piece isn't... at all.
"Oh my God," I say, covering my face with my hands, ashamed at my words and thoughts.
His fingers gently peel my hands away. "Don't worry," he says, before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, "That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen in my life, and that's coming from someone who's had to watch David barf up everything he ate from twelve hours prior."
"Why'd you have to watch?" I ask while grimacing, trying to focus on the image of David yacking, rather than the fact that Jalen's hands are still holding mine.
"Someone had to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit," Jalen explains as if it's the most obvious thing.
My heart skips a beat knowing Dedra was right, because Jalen does seem so caring for his friends.
I flash him a grin, to which he sends me one in return, and now it's my turn to lean in conspiratorially and whisper, "What'd he eat?"
Jalen leans back a bit to let out a boisterous laugh, clearly not having expected that. I laugh, too, just because the sound of his is so infectious.
He stands to his full height again, almost looming over me, looking down, biting back a smile as he murmurs, "You're something else."
That's one of those sentences that can be taken as an insult or a compliment, all depending on how the person says it, means it. His voice is deep as he speaks, just as it usually is, and I've learnt in this past week that Jalen hardly ever puts emotion into his voice.
It's all in his actions, facial expressions, movements.
With the way his fingers start playing with mine, and with that teasing glint in his eyes, I know it's meant as a compliment.
I lightly shrug my shoulders and smile up at him, both of us staring without saying a word, fingers lightly brushing and pushing the others.
I start to think it'll happen now. He'll lean in again, or almost lean in again, but this time, I'll meet him halfway, or fuck it, I'll meet him three quarters there. As long as he kisses me, I don't care.
Jalen leans, but it's away, turning his head to examine the gallery. It brings to my attention that its starting to get more packed, and I briefly wonder if his mother will be here.
Oh fuck, am I meeting the family?
I think back to mentioning his family the other day, and how his face darkened so quickly at the thought of me meeting them.
Does Cortney know them?
Stop it, Lyndon. You're not his girlfriend. You're just friends. He doesn't even want to kiss you, for fuck's sake!
When Jalen looks back to me, he furrows his brows in concern, gently asking, "You okay?"
I look at him with confusion, before realizing I'm frowning, obviously not liking my thoughts. But hey, what can I do about it? If Jalen's situation really is complicated, then friends really is all we'll be.
It's not like I'm in any position to be in a relationship.
"Yeah, I am," I smile at him, because honestly, right now, I am okay. I'm better than okay. I'm actually happy, and I haven't been happy once since we landed in New York.
And now, I am. Thanks to Jalen.
His hands lightly pull mine as he takes a step back. "C'mon, let's get out of here."
I nod and follow along. His hands release mine as he begins maneuvering us through the crowd, and I have to fight off another frown from the loss of contact. That battle ends, however, when I feel one of his hands reach for mine a second later, gripping my hand and lacing his fingers through mine.
Will I sound like a complete loser if I say our fingers fit perfectly together?
Bitch, stop.
He's just guiding me through. That's all.
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After the valet takes Jalen's car, we walk side by side to the front door. I take in the lettering in the front, able to ignore his hand on my back long enough to ask, "Local and Vyne? Why is it spelt like that?"
"Why do you complain about everything?"
I almost get whiplash from how quick I look at him. Just as I'm ready to fight, I see that beautiful smile on his face. The one where half his lip is quirked up into a smile, while the other half is turned in, because he's trying to fight it off, but he can't. He can't help but smile, and I like knowing that he's trying to resist shooting me a smile, but he just can't.
That crooked smile is my new favorite sight.
"Oh shit, call me out," I tease.
His smile fully blooms when he sees me raising my hands in surrender, and then that becomes my new favorite sight.
I am so weak for this boy and he's not even trying.
"Oh, this is a wine bar?" I question once we make it inside, and a hostess leads us to an already set table.
"You don't usually drink?" he asks, sounding more curious for the answer for his own knowledge, rather than caring if I order a drink here or not.
Liam always cared if I drank with his friends or notâa main reason I liked meeting up with them when the night, and their drinking, was close to over.
"Sometimes. Only at parties, but it's really only when people ask me too."
He pulls my chair out, letting me sit first, before he takes his place. "Ask you too, or tell you too?"
Is that concern in his eyes, in his tone? With Jalen it's almost impossible to ever know.
"I'm a victim of peer pressure," I joke, but Jalen doesn't laugh.
A waiter arrives, and I decide to let Jalen order the wine and appetizers for us from the short menu, seeing as I don't know shit about this.
"Tell me about Florida," he lightly demands once the waiter's gone. He catches my skeptical look. "It's only fair, seeing as you spend all our time grilling me about my life."
I roll my eyes, but bite my tongue, knowing that's the truth. "What do you want to know?"
Please don't ask about Liam, or why I movedâI don't even know the answer to that.
"You were on the swim team at your school?"
I freeze, thrown off by that question. "Um, yeah, I was."
"But you weren't at the time you left?"
"No," I say unsurely.
"You said you grew tired of it, but is that what really happened?"
I hold my breath for a second, caught between being annoyed at his questions, and being flattered he remembers. "Not really."
"Well, what did happen?' He asks gently.
"I was kicked off the team," I simply state, feeling he deserves some sort of explanation after all the interrogating I put him through.
"Oo, a little rebel over here," he says with a teasing tone. "What'd you do?"
I laugh to myself, because it wasn't as scandalous as he's making it seem, but still, I'd rather keep that information to myself. It feels too private to share, only because it involves my family. "Let's just say I couldn't play well with others."
"Ominous. I like it," he says while furrowing his eyebrows around.
I let out a giggle, reaching for the wine glass the waiter just placed on the tableâand filled for meâas if this was a routine.
"You come here often?" I ask, giggling again.
Jalen laughs too. "A few times."
I nod my head and take a sip, surprised that I actually like whatever the hell's in my glass. "This shit's good."
Jalen lets out another boisterous laugh, similar to how he did earlier, not caring if people look our way and judge. "I bring you to a high-end wine bar in SoHo, and that's what you say."
I nod my head rapidly, smiling over my glass as I eagerly bring it to my lips again, savoring the unique taste. "It's the goddamn truth, though."
His eyes widen as my words garner the attention of a middle-aged woman to my left. She sends me an appalled look, either due to my language or my obvious under-aged-ness. Um, huh, is that a word? Hah, under-aged-ness.
I giggle again, then bring my hand over my mouth to stop, seeing she's still watching me. "Sorry," I mouth to her once I remove my hand, though I quickly realize I didn't actually mouth the word, I kind of whisper-shouted it.
Is whisper-shouting a thing?
I shrug and take another sip, not really caring.
My eyes go to Jalen, sitting across from me, looking dreamy as hell. His elbow is on the table though, using it as a way to allow his face to lay on his palm.
I point to his elbow. "That's not proper."
"You're not proper," he counters.
I take another sip, then lick away the excess wine on my lips, making an appreciative sound after. "It's still good, though."
His eyes follow my tongue, then land on my own after. He brings his finger up, running it along his beautifully pink lips, before deciding on letting his finger rest just to the side of his face, while another rests under his lips.
It almost looks, and feels, like he's examining me.
"Watching me like I'm your mother's work of art?" I ask in a low voice, before quickly shutting my mouth, realizing just how stupid that sounded.
He chuckles. "I'm my mother's work of art." Yes the fuck you are! "And I'm not watching you, I'm admiring."
"You're admiring me?" I ask. He nods, bringing a finger back to his lip to tame his boyish smile. "My non-classy, improper ass is admirable?"
"Yeah," he says, removing his hand from his face and arm from the table. He leans across a little, just a little, but it's enough to remove whatever haze the wine was causing, and replace it with something else. "I find your ass very admirable."
I give him a full blown grin. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
He replicates my smile, awarding me with that delicious dimple. "I do have a way with words."
We laugh again, and I can't help thinking that this really is the happiest I've been in a while. Not just in New York, but for the last few months I had spent in Florida, too.
No matter how I tried to pretend or lie to myself, things weren't completely okay with Liam and I. I probably could have saved myself a lot of hurt by ending things sooner.
But I'm happy now. I don't think anything could make me happier right now than sitting here, drinking expensive ass wine, with this beautiful, blue-eyed boy.
And that's when I'm proven wrong. Because from the corner of my eye, I spot it. A piano sitting all by its lonesome in the back corner of this impossibly large room. I let out a gasp, reaching my hands out to touch Jalen's fingers that are leisurely laying on the table.
"Jalen, look," I shout like a child in a candy store, desperate for their parents attention, so they'd buy them what they want.
Except, what I want isn't something Jalen can buy me. What I want is for him to play for me.
He slowly turns, face covered with amusement at my child-like behavior. Apprehension replaces that when he realizes what's caught my attention.
"Lyndon," he begins with a heavy sigh.
"Please," I plead. "Want me to beg? I'll beg."
Of course I'll beg. I have no dignity when it comes to him.
He shakes his head, but his fingers move over mine, gripping my hand in his larger one. "I don't want too."
"But I want you too," I counter, pretending for a second that my wants actually matter to him. Of course they don't, especially not more than his own. That'd be crazy.
Jalen sighs again, eyes looking me over, before looking toward the piano again.
Holy shit. This is crazy. I think he's actually gonna do it.
"One song. One note. One anything. I don't care. I just want to hear you play," I say, trying to convince him.
"Is this you begging?" he asks, letting out a light laugh as he watches me.
"Um, yeah?" I respond unsurely, not really wanting to actually beg.
"Doesn't sound like begging," he teases.
Due to that smirk on his face, I can tell he's already made up his mind, and nothing I say will change it.
And because I think I've kind of mastered the act of deciphering what Jalen means, I'm going to assume he'll play, so, I beg.
"Please play the piano for me, Jalen."
He squeezes my hand, standing up from his chair and bringing me along with him. I'm so happy about it that I forget that delicious wine, and don't even care.
"This'll be quick," he says with a firm voice.
"Yeah, yeah. Just one song," I nod along, waving my free hand in the air.
"Half a song," he counters, as if we're making a business deal.
"Fine," I say exasperated, honestly not caring how long he plays.
I just want to hear something, anything. How pathetic is that?
He takes a seat in front of the keys. I stand by the side of the piano, eagerly watching. I take note of the staff briefly looking at us, but once they take in Jalen, they turn away.
I make a mental note to question that later, but for now, I'm too focused on Jalen and the piano to care.
He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders, before bringing his hands slowly to the keys. He seems to tense up the closer his fingers get, making me wonder if he's acting this way to purposely make me wait longer to hear, or if he's actually nervous or upset about playing.
When his fingers begin delicately moving over a few keys, I perk up, moving closer, wanting to watch every move he makes.
Jalen's eyes close as his fingers press more firmly into the keys, the music getting louder, his shoulders slightly dropping as he becomes more as ease.
He continues playing a few chords, and somehow, the melody sounds familiar to me.
It's slow, sad, but so, so beautiful. Weirdly, that's how I'd describe Jalen in this moment. His movements are slow, and I think that's why it's hard for me to tell if I really do know the song he's playing.
Is he playing slow because he hasn't played in a while, or is he just hesitant to play in front of me?
Sad and beautiful come to mind again. I already know he's beautiful, that fact has been stuck in my mind from the second we met at that warehouse party almost three weeks ago. But sad wasn't a word I'd use before, yet somehow, watching him with sealed eyelids, moving his hands tenderly over the keys, and then as his movements stops, his eyes open, and he looks over at me expectantly, I see it. Sadness.
And my heart instantly hurts for the boy who Arlin Preparatory has got all wrong.
I don't care about the rumors. I don't care if they started from some sort of truth. I don't even care if they're all true, if Jalen is the guy they make him out to be.
Because right now, here with me, at this bar in SoHo, alone, he's someone else. He's the Jalen I know, the Jalen I believe he really is. And that's all that matters to me.
So, I smile at him encouragingly, and softly say, "That was so beautiful."
He doesn't smile. He keeps staring, then rises from his seat, closing the small distance that was between us.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers softly, close enough for me to hear every word easily.
"Yeah?" I question lowly with a smile.
"Yeah," he nods, finally smiling at me.
I take a small step toward him, wondering if I should go through with my previous thoughts and fully close the distance, finally make the move.
But when I look into his eyes, and see him looking back, completely content with where we're at now, I decide not too.
I'm happy with this. Whatever this is, I'm so happy with it.
"Think it's time I got you home?" he asks.
"Mhm," I hum in agreement, stepping back so he can properly move around the seat he had previously occupied by the piano.
Once he's done so, he begins walking, and when he passes me, I feel his fingers lightly graze mine. Then, he's reaching fully for my hand, letting our fingers collide once more, firmly holding on as we walk out the bar.
And this time, there's no crowd he's leading me through. This time, I can tell myself he's holding my hand because he wants too.
And I'm so happy with that.