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“Specificallyfootballplayers.”

“Because one did him wrong and that’s why he doesn’t want you getting with one?”

“He was one. Played ball all his life. Lumped them into the same category as him,” I say.

“And what is that exactly?”

“Womanizers. Partiers.”

“I’m different.”

“Not from what I saw on social media.”

“Then reform me, Pixie Dust.”

“How?”

“I can’t tell you that. If I knew, I wouldn’t be so fucked up, using women the way I did. Drinking myself into an oblivion to forget how empty I am on the inside. Losing any substance I had when you ghosted me, leaving me wondering what the fuck I did wrong to mess up what we had.”

Is that so? Anger swells up inside me. I heard the same sob story from Beau. He said losing the woman he loved to another man, her marrying the guy instead of Beau, was what was to blame for his womanizing and partying.

“You using what I didfour years agois nothing but an excuse to not take responsibility for your bad behavior. You have the power and the control to change for the better, Taron. You don’t need me for that.”

Surprise on his face, and then he laughs. “Giving it to me straight. I like that, Pixie Dust. Thanks for being a great friend.”

He shoulder bumps me. I set my hand on his knee, needing to touch him, to let him know despite him bashing himself for the drinking and womanizing, I believe him to be an overall good guy.

“What should we do first? Have you build our computer?” I ask, tipping my head at the big box in the middle of my small living room. “Or have me show you my hidden talent?” I slide my attention to the piano in the corner.

“Ladies first.”

17

Taron

No wonder Dare is hooked. No wonder he begged with his damn eyes for her to spend all of Sunday with him. Shit, watching Syn play the piano with her eyes closed and this serene expression on her beautiful face, I am falling fast for her, my thoughts of getting closure not high on my priority list.

“Do you like?”

“Hell yeah, I like. Very much.”

I shake my head, in awe of how she was able to keep this talent of hers a secret from me. She smiles. Bites down on her bottom lip. Runs the tip of her tongue over her lip ring. I groan. Stare at my hands. I am on the couch watching her do things to that piano I long for her to do to my cock.

“Any special requests?”

“You choose,” I say.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Your funeral.”

Throwing my words back at me? I chuckle.

She starts to move her fingers over the keys, then stops and pats the spot on the bench next to her. I head on over and plop my ass where I belong, close to my girl.

“Do you mind if I sing?”