Everyone watching is getting to see a musician’s real process, and it’s absolutely beautiful.
The number of viewers grows to 356. Then 482. Then 789.
Maybe they aren’t huge numbers compared to some Tiktok stars, but I bet if Flynn did this regularly, he’d get a huge following.
“Is this the way you write your songs?” I ask.
He flashes that pirate smile at me. “Yeah, I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve composed anything.”
“Is it hard?”
He gives a chuckle. “It’s really easy. Or else it’s super hard. Seems like the harder you try, the harder it is. If you don’t really care whether you write a song or not, that’s when music just pours out of you.”
“Mmm. You need to be in the zone,” I say.
“Yeah, I guess.” Another panty-melting smile.
I draw my feet up on the armchair and prop the phone on one knee.
Who is the Russian? someone asks, hearing my accent.
Is that your girlfriend? Jelly! another posts.
I hate her. Get out of Flynn’s room, slut.
I love the new song.
I ignore the nasty remarks from his fangirls. I expected them. I’ve already seen how competitive they get at his shows. Discouraging them would be wrong, even if their vitriol makes my stomach churn. It’s girls like this who will ultimately get the Storytellers noticed. Maybe signed to a major label.
Flynn plays a while longer then stops and sets the guitar beside him. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat,” I say. I’m still filming. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think every single thing Flynn does ought to be absorbed by his fans. Adored the way I adore him.
He walks toward me, a beautiful, glorious lion. Lanky and lean, but still muscled with a light dusting of golden hair on his chest. He leans down and kisses me.
I pan up from his abs to his face before I end the video. He had 10, 472 views.
“Is this my new style? Pajama pants?” he teases.
“For this particular moment, yes. It’s a very good look for you.”
“You didn’t want me in my underwear?”
“That might get you banned. Also, I don’t want everyone–” I stop because I sound territorial. Like his middle school girlfriend. I don’t want to do that.
He grabs my wrist and tugs me to my feet. His smirk makes my nipples harden. Or maybe it’s just his nearness. “You don’t want everyone to see me in my underwear?”
My face grows warm. “No, it’s all right. I know we’re not–”
“Shut up, Nadia.” He grasps the back of my head and kisses me, hard. It’s more aggressive than usual, but I like it.
Scratch that–I love it.
I needed Flynn to be easy-going and non-threatening before. Now I need the passion. I want to know it’s me he wants. That I turn him on. That I’m not replaceable.
Except I am replaceable, aren’t I? I set this whole thing up that way.
“I wouldn’t want anyone to see you in just your underwear, either.” He traces the tip of his finger along the waistband of my panties, making my tummy shiver at his touch.
He kisses me again, this time gripping a handful of my ass and squeezing. My erect nipples rub against his ribs, and moisture slicks my lady parts again.
“How badly do you want to see the burlesque show?” Flynn asks between kisses. “Because I could skip dinner and just eat you again.”
It sounds heavenly, but I want both. I gently push him away, and he immediately backs off–ever respectful. “I want to go,” I tell him.
“Then we’ll go,” he says easily.
“I haven’t been out in so long, and you make it all feel possible. Not just possible-fun.”
“It will be fun.” He stoops to pick up my pants and tosses them my way.
“Plus, I want the dancers to take me seriously. I already have ideas for their costumes.”
“Trust me–they will be overjoyed to have your help. Artists jump at the chance to get something for free. We’re always starving, you know.” He winks at me.
“Are you?” I stop, shocked. I didn’t know.
“No, no, no. It’s cool. We’re starting to make money, actually, which I never expected.”
“But not a lot.” I suddenly want to help him, too. I have that money from Kat’s dad. Maybe I could put it to good use with him and the band.
“The point was never to make money.” There’s a line between Flynn’s brows I don’t like seeing.
“But wouldn’t it be great if you did?” I challenge. Something about his self-deprecation that feels wrong here.
He shrugs. “I don’t want to chase fame.” He holds my jacket out for me, like a gentleman. I didn’t even know boys our age knew how to do that. I try to resist the yearning kicking up inside me. The desire to have Flynn for keeps. For always.
It’s not going to happen, and I shouldn’t start wanting it now. Instead I press him on the fame issue. “Why not?”
He puts his jacket on, picks up his phone and keys and leads me out of the apartment. “My dad was always waiting to get discovered, and then one day, he just became kind of bitter, you know? I never wanted to be like that. The Storytellers are for fun. Because I can’t live without music. And it is my livelihood, too, but…”
I peer up at him as we go down the stairs. “You can’t avoid dreams just because you’re afraid they won’t come true,” I tell him. I see his customary smile fade, and I’m sorry I’m the one who dimmed his light. “Sorry,” I say when he doesn’t answer.
“No, it’s cool. I see what you mean. I’m just not sure I want to go that route.”
“The having dreams route?”
“Yeah.”