Say Yes: Ian
Ian:
Not everyone gets a chance to see their high school crush
after having their album go platinum and selling out fucking stadiums.
Doesn’t matter how unattainable she was in high school, the second she
sees I'm a rock star, she’s gonna spread her legs just like all the
others.
Maybe it’d be a good idea to finally fuck her and get over this crush.
Well,
it’s not really a crush. Not anymore. That would be fucking crazy.
More like I end up comparing every woman I meet to the girl I was so
crazy about all those years ago.
Cora’s something special. And
she’s probably married. Or engaged to some handsome billionaire. Or
something. Whatever it is, she’ll always to be way- the-hell too good
for the likes of me.
But like it or not, Cora Dwyer is about to come back into my life - and I have no idea what the hell to do about it.
Cora
Ian?
The only person I know named Ian is someone I haven’t seen since high
school. He’s sort-of famous now, the drummer in a band that’s getting
pretty big. But I’ll always know him as the sweet, dorky guy who
couldn’t say two words to me without tripping over himself.
Ian
Brooks, the junior high school marching band nerd that everybody picked
on who, sometime between junior and senior year, grew into his body,
traded playing drums for the marching band to drumming for the best/only
rock band in town, and became Ian Brooks, every girl’s
James-Dean-Rebel-Without-A-Cause bad rocker boy fantasy.
He’s taller than I remember. Shoulders broader. A little scruffier. More ink on his arms. But that’s him alright. In the flesh.
God, that smile. That face. That body. That soft white cotton tee shirt covering his hard chest and tattooed arms.
I mean, who would have thought that Ian Brooks from high school would grow up into six feet of pure man?
Fuck me.
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