Play Only For Me: (A New Adult Romance) Read online

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  Only for Me

  A New Adult Romance

  R. B. O’Brien

  Copyright © 2020 R. B. O’Brien

  Play Only For Me

  Kindle Edition

  Written and Published by: R. B. O’Brien

  Editor: Laura McNellis, AlternativEdits

  Cover Designer

  R.B. O’Brien

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and can be blamed on my subconscious.

  contents

  Author’s Note

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  OTHER WORKS by R.B. O’BRIEN

  AUTHOR BIO

  EXTRAS

  Author’s Note

  Oh, this journey! It feels so good to finally complete this long-awaited project. There were days I never thought I’d finish. But with you, my readers, you pushed me, even when I felt like giving up. To all of you reading this right now: THANK YOU.

  There are a few special people that must be mentioned by name.

  First and foremost: My family and friends who support me when I must isolate myself and write. Without that support, I wouldn’t be anywhere.

  Mandi Calder and Darlene Carroll. Thank you for all the extra time you put in. Listening to me. Keeping my crazy at bay. Sharing my work and supporting it with undaunting passion. But mostly, for your friendships. I never give up, knowing I have such loyalty and honesty in my studio. (Yup. Leave it to me to make a dance analogy rather than a basketball one.) Mandi, you’ve been here from the beginning, and I know you’ll be here until the end. Thank you for always saying: “Positive thoughts, honey.” You mean so much to me.

  Rachel de Vine and Sebastian Nox: My fellow Nu Romantics. How far we’ve grown together! You keep me grounded and smiling, day in and day out. I enjoy beginning and ending each day with you both. Your positivity and friendships keep me alive! Rachel, thank you for the extra mile you go, not only for me, but for all the members of The Nu Romantics. Thank you, also, for your willingness to help me polish the final manuscript. You are a gift!

  Jeanette LaFrancis: My dear fellow Nu Romantic. What a keen eye you have! Thank you for reading my ARC with such diligence and attention to detail. Your help with this manuscript is unparalleled. I’m sorry you burned your pancakes. But damn, it made me smile. You make me smile. Cheers to many more years of friendship and writing in The Nu Romantics.

  The Nu Romantics: Thank you for making me a better writer. To all the ones who read my daily writing, who take the time to comment on it, and to all who participate themselves: YOU ARE AMAZING. Without this mutual support, we don’t grow. Our writing stays stagnate. And so, too, do we. Thank you for making me feel supported and respected. You are my family away from home.

  And to my ARC team: Thank you for helping me with my rough drafts, for your notes, for your kindness along the way, and for your support, even when reading earlier, blemished versions. When I lost an important document, so many of you were so understanding, reaching out. You all have shown me the goodness that remains in people. xo

  Dedication

  Dedicated to those who kept their spirits kind, their love strong, and their dreams alive—

  even in the wake of the coronavirus of 2020

  “Bring on the rebels

  The ripples from pebbles

  The painters, and poets, and plays

  …here's to the fools who dream

  Crazy as they may seem

  Here's to the hearts that break

  Here's to the mess we make.”

  ~La La Land

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Jesus Christ,” Angela hissed. “What’s with Little Miss Perfect?”

  Colton was practicing his guitar scales before the professor arrived. He acted like he hadn’t noticed the fidgety, dark-haired girl with the oversized Hollister sweatshirt who was clearly trying to hide a body that even a dying man would have trouble not noticing.

  “Huh?” Colton said, not even looking up at Angela. They’d spent another night together. He liked her. They had decent sex. But he didn’t want anything serious with her. He didn’t want anything serious with anyone. She accepted it. They were perfect together creatively, having met at a summer music workshop two years before.

  “The girl over there in the corner? You’re trying to tell me you didn’t notice her? She’s fucking gorgeous, Colton. Rich kid, I’m sure. Just look at her.”

  “Why would I be looking at her?” Colton lied. He had been watching her from underneath his hair. She kept squirming, biting her lower lip, looking around nervously. He could tell how uncomfortable she was. First days can be that way. She must be a freshman. “Whatever,” he lied again and kept playing his guitar.

  When the professor finally arrived, he and Colton nodded openly. Colton had had him the year before when he was a freshman for Music Theory. He thought he was a pretty cool professor. The guy was brilliant and had helped Colton a lot with his music, among other things. Professor Blake was there when Colton learned the truth about his father, the whole truth. He’d given Colton the fatherly support he had never had at home. Colton may have shattered if it hadn’t been for the professor. He wouldn’t soon forget it.

  Professor Blake began roll call. Colton waited for the dark-haired girl to get called. He was dying to know her name, hear her voice, though he would never admit it. She looked so uncomfortable, fidgeting and squirming in her seat, eyes like a deer in headlights—eyes, he thought, were a bright blue, or were they green? He couldn’t tell.

  “Lauren Percy?” Professor Blake called.

  She raised her hand but didn’t speak. “Welcome,” Professor Blake stated, and he smiled with a nod, clearly seeing her nerves as much as Colton did, and then continued on his roll call.

  “Okay. Welcome to Music Expression,” the professor continued. Dressed in jeans and a casual t-shirt, Blake didn’t come across as some typical, stuffy college professor one might expect. But then again, in a small liberal arts school with a theatre arts and music conservatory pretty separated from the rest of the school, the professors here knew they had the respect and clout to wear whatever they wanted.

  “Some of you I know. Welcome back,” Blake stated. “And some of you are new. Welcome to you as well.”

  Professor Blake looked through his wide-brimmed, black glasses at the class. “Before we begin, just a reminder. If you somehow got in here accidentally, you need to fix your schedules. You would have either had to take the prerequisites or a placement test that e
xempted you from those prerequisites. See your advisors if you’re still unsure. Make sense so far?”

  No one said a word. And the professor launched into a 20-minute overview of the syllabus and the class. When the basics were covered, he said, “Today we delve right in. We can’t create, express ourselves, without putting ourselves out there. So today, I’d like you to pair up with another student. I have some questions for you to ask each other. They get progressively more difficult as you go down the list.”

  He waited through some of the groans from the other students.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. You’re too cool for this. But sorry. We take a lot of chances in this class. We make mistakes. We put ourselves and our music out there. We need to trust each other in here. And that starts now. I’ll call off numbers and then you’ll sit with your partner, recording the answers to each question. If there is a question that makes you uncomfortable, you’re not off the hook. Discuss why it makes you uncomfortable, at the very least. Any questions?”

  “Why can’t we pick our own partners?” Angela piped up.

  “Because the whole point is to talk to someone you don’t know. The point is to get outside of your comfort zone. That’s what sharing your music with people is all about.” He paused. “Other questions?”

  “What if every question makes us uncomfortable?” Another student with a Grateful Dead t-shirt asked.

  “Then you’re probably not ready for this class. Add/drop is all week. If you’re not ready to take chances, own who you are? You’re not ready for this level of a class. This isn’t just about learning how to play music or sing anymore. It’s about writing music, playing it or singing it, finding your voice through it. It’s about creativity, expression. It’s about becoming an artist…Alright. Let’s get started.”

  The professor began counting the students off into pairs.

  When Colton realized that his number matched hers, he almost moaned. Fuck, he thought. Of course I get stuck with the prim and proper beauty. But when she looked up at him and smiled shyly, something in his pants thought differently in his seemingly now too-tight jeans. Colton didn’t budge. He wasn’t going anywhere near her. So, she stood up to make her way over to him.

  Angela chuckled as she left her seat to find her partner, giving it up to Lauren. “Later.”

  “Fuck off, Angela,” Colton said good-humoredly.

  “Hi,” Lauren said outstretching her hand. “I’m Lauren Percy.” Her eyes, which he could see perfectly now, not quite green, not quite blue, sparkled.

  “Yeah. I heard earlier. Nice to meet you.” He was rude and not sure why.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her fingernails and then trying to look back at him.

  She didn’t know why but he made her extremely uncomfortable. The whole class did. She knew she was probably the only freshman in the class. She’d been playing guitar and piano for years, but she’d been accepted into the program for singing, and she’d placed into the class without having to take the prerequisites so she knew she might be the youngest one in there. And she realized she might be slightly resented if they found out. Maybe that’s why he’s being rude?

  “I’m sorry,” she said starting over. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Does it matter?” he bit back.

  She stilled. If she’d felt uncomfortable before, she felt downright miserable now.

  From across the room, Angela yelled over, “Hey, Colton, check out number four!” She giggled.

  Lauren looked at Question #4. It read—Tell your partner something you did last night that brought a genuine smile to your face. When Lauren looked back up, Colton was smiling over at the girl across the room wickedly.

  Professor Blake chimed in. “Angela, focus on your partner…and try not to be superficial. Don’t just jump on the first answer that may come to mind. Try to think. Ponder. Go deeper than you might normally go.”

  Lauren asked quietly, “I take it that’s your girlfriend?” She hadn’t meant to really ask, but it slipped out. And she regretted it the moment she said it. She saw him look at her for the first time. And she didn’t like what she saw. His eyes were dark. Mysterious. Angry? She wasn’t sure. But they bore into her, making her squirm. He seemed to take pleasure in her discomfort.

  “Lauren, is it?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Yes,” she answered, barely whispering.

  “Mind your own fucking business.”

  She inhaled sharply, and for some reason, she felt like she might cry. Being in Florida was a long way from her Connecticut home, she’d cried the entire night in her dorm room, while her roommate fucked some random guy in the bunk bed above her, and now the class she was most worried about taking in the first place was turning out to be a nightmare.

  Professor Blake was making his rounds, and when he came over to Lauren and Colton, he could sense the tension. “Colton?” he said. “You treating Ms. Percy well?”

  Colton looked over at the timid girl and noticed that her eyes were wet. Was she going to cry? Jesus. He tried to soften, to stop himself from acting like an inexplicable dick she’d done nothing to deserve. He had no idea why he was being so rude to her. She hadn’t done anything wrong to him. She seemed nice actually, sweet.

  He thought she was fucking attractive, that was for sure, but she certainly wasn’t trying to capitalize on it. She was in a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Maybe it was the UGGS that pissed him off? The screaming designer label on her sweatshirt? Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t stopped fantasizing about what she might look like underneath it.

  “Of course, Professor,” Colton smiled up into the professor’s knowing gaze.

  “I hope so, Colton. Let’s not forget how intimidating freshman year can be. Make Ms. Percy feel at home here at our school.” And he walked on.

  Colton and Lauren stared at each other and electricity was popping between them. Colton felt a twinge of guilt and a twinge of something more visceral.

  “Okay,” Colton broke the tension. “Let’s just do this fucking questionnaire.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  She looked at his face first. He had a face that had that boy charm—dimples, big brown eyes, sandy hair, and clear skin. But as she traveled to his t-shirt and chest, she saw that this was not any type of innocent boy. He wore a white t-shirt that gripped his biceps, and she could see the black ink of tattoos through it. Where she came from, she’d never seen a tattoo up-close and personal.

  As he twirled his pencil between his fingers, she noticed his hands were calloused, his fingernails slightly bitten. She also noticed a slight scar on his collarbone, but he wore a choker that looked like it was made of hemp around it. He was sexy as hell. He looked dangerous. She licked her lips as she stared, the spell broken by his chuckle.

  “You done staring?” Colton said condescendingly, and she froze, utterly embarrassed.

  “Um…I wasn’t…” She trailed off, feeling the flush of embarrassment travel all the way out to her ears. She hated how easily embarrassed she got.

  “Yeah, okay.” He smiled, and she thought she might die from how gorgeous he was. His lips were wet and plump, and his smile dazzled her. She literally felt warm, even with the air-conditioning freezing the room, and wished she’d worn something different. The sweatshirt felt suffocating and the way he seemed to look at it, too ugly.

  “No…I…I’ve never really seen a tattoo before.” She didn’t know why she said it. Nerves? The fact that she was so uncomfortable around him, she couldn’t control herself or what came out of her mouth? Or perhaps, it was simply because it was true. She hadn’t.

  He laughed loudly. “What? Where are you from? Some sheltered Amish community or something?”

  She gasped at his rudeness before she could stop herself but recovered. “No. I just never had a friend or family member who wanted one.”

  “You’re a fucking snob,” he blurted out.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.
You’re a rich, spoiled brat. I can see it written all over you.”

  “And you’re a rude asshole,” she said, trying to remain calm, but she felt her unease overwhelming her, her eyes flooding, ready to pour forth tears.

  He laughed at her. “Are you seriously getting upset?”

  She pushed forward. “Can we please just do the questionnaire? I don’t want to start college with bad grades.”

  “I bet.” He chuckled. “Let me guess? Valedictorian of your high school? Straight A’s?” He leaned in and whispered into her ear. “A virgin?”

  She shot him an angry look and whispered back, very slowly, surprising even herself, “Fuck you.”

  “Interesting choice of words, Lauren.” He smirked. “Why? ‘cuz I’m right?”

  Salutatorian but close enough. He certainly got the virgin part right, she thought to herself but refused to answer.

  “Please,” she said, “can we just do the work without all the questions?” This was not how she wanted to start college.

  Why does he hate me so much?

  Colton felt a pang of guilt for his behavior, behavior he couldn’t quite understand. “Okay. Okay. Fine. Let’s do the fucking questionnaire.”

  “Okay.” She drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly, seemingly oblivious to the way he knew he had been staring at her.

  He thought she was really something beautiful. Her hair was thick and dark, naturally wavy, the kind of hair a guy like him could wrap his fists in, he mused. She had it tucked up in a ponytail, but strands fell out here and there, unruly, sexy, touchable. Her eyelashes framed her light eyes with such contrasting darkness. He couldn’t see any make-up on her, and he couldn’t believe how flawless she was. Her lips were dark pink, full. He wondered what they’d say while he made her come beneath him. He shook his head. Fuck. What is wrong with me?