Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

I dance around like I’ve got ants in my pants. Like I’m four years old, wearing my Christmas jammies, and just got a toy train that needs its caboose. “Babe, I want to get my guitar. Please.”

She giggles. “Before you do that, there’s more to this gift.” She motions to the spot I just left. “Please.”

“Whatever more there is, take it back,” I say, shuffling toward the bed. “It’s only downhill from here. This is literally the best thing you could have gotten for me, in the history of time.” I resume my seat on the mattress next to her. “Did Kendrick tell you how much I love Jeff Buckley?”

“No, you told me, without actually telling me.” She winks. “You always sing Jeff Buckley in the shower.”

“I do?”

She nods. “All the time. And, of course, besides that little lullaby you always used to sing to Mimi, you often sang little snippets of Jeff Buckley to her, too. I could tell how meaningful his songs were to you.”

My heart is bursting. “Still, though, it’s a giant leap that you’d think to shell out the kind of money it’d take to buy one of Buckley’s actual amps. I’m blown away.”

“I love you. That’s worth more than all the money in the world.”

I grin broadly, thinking about the money I’ve given up to keep Laila on the show. And once again, like I told Reed the other night, I’m positive I did the right thing. In fact, I’d do it again and again, every single time, if my life were Groundhog Day. If it meant I’d be here with Laila this morning, with “True Love High” still ringing in my ears, and Jeff Buckley’s amp sitting on my bed . . . and, most importantly, Laila’s beautiful smile lighting up my bedroom.

Laila points. “The amp’s got papers certifying it was Buckley’s. I taped them to the bottom of the amp. Check ‘em out.”

I turn the amp over, as requested, and I’ll be damned, there’s a folded-up piece of paper taped to the bottom. I detach the paper and unfold it, excited to see Buckley’s name in black and white. Which I do. But I also find a small envelope with the certificate. I open the envelope and find a USB flash drive inside. I hold it up to Laila, a question on my face, and she smiles as big as the Grand Canyon.

“Adrian Savage, my love,” she says. “On that flash drive, you will find . . . a rare treasure.” Against all odds, her smile somehow finds a way to widen even more. She says, “That flash drive is loaded with the pro tools multi track stems . . .”

“No.”

“Of the entire album . . .”

“Oh my God, Laila.”

“Of Grace!”

“Laila!”

“Every single track from every single song on Grace, your favorite album by your favorite artist, the original owner of that guitar amp.”

I feel like I’m going to faint. Or have a heart attack or stroke. All while being simultaneously shot out of a cannon. It’s unthinkable that she’s acquired this impossible treasure for me. It’s beyond my wildest dreams or fantasies or imaginations. In my palm, I’m holding something priceless. Something that can’t be bought on the open market: the actual raw files from the recording sessions which were then layered and edited and seamlessly woven together to create the songs on my all-time favorite album. In other words, she’s given me the Holy Grail. A magical gift only a fellow artist would ever give—a gift only a fellow artist would possibly understand to give.

I thought the amp was the best gift, ever. And it was, a moment ago. But now, this is, by far, the most boner-inducing, heart palpitating, perfect, mind-blowing gift Laila could ever, ever, ever have given me. And to think she did it not only because she loves me. But because she knows me, so well. Because she’s figured me out, without anyone, not even Kendrick, telling her this would be the best gift I could receive. Honestly, I don’t think even Kendrick would come up with this idea, if tasked with finding the perfect gift for me. Only Laila could or would do something so magical for me. So amazing. And the effect on me is like she’s given my very soul the most amazing blowjob in the history of time.

I swoop her into my arms and kiss the hell out of her, thanking her profusely. I tell her I love her, over and over again, as I take off her clothes. And she tells me she loves me, too, over and over again, as she slides her naked body onto my cock and rides me like there’s no tomorrow. I devour her breasts and nipples. Massage her clit. We fuck and laugh and kiss, our euphoria palpable. I didn’t know love could feel like this. I thought love like this was a fairytale. And love songs about it were bullshit. But now I know this kind of love is not only real, it’s the only thing that matters.

When we’re done making love, we lie in bed for a bit, kissing and laughing. But soon, I can’t resist grabbing my laptop and inserting the flash drive, as Laila cuddles up to me and lays her cheek on my shoulder. As the files unfurl on my screen, I “ooh” and “aah” like I’m watching a fireworks display on the Fourth of July, and Laila giggles at my reaction.

“How did you get your hands on this?” I ask, clicking around through the files like a madman.

“Reed said he owed me a big favor for doing the music video for Alessandra. So, I called in the favor.”

“I could weep.”

She laughs, not realizing I’m not joking.

I pull her to me and silently hug her close for a very long moment, long enough to gather myself. Finally, I feel in control of myself enough to pepper her gorgeous face with kisses, before taking her face in my