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    A Love Song for Emily
    A Love Song for Emily
    A Love Song for Emily
    Ebook69 pages1 hour

    A Love Song for Emily

    By Eli Lang

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    About this ebook

    A cold, icy winter is the least of Arizona born-and-raised Jamie's problems. He's moved to a distant college to escape a bad breakup, but it's not working. He can't stop thinking about his ex-girlfriend, worrying about the future, and wondering, constantly, what went wrong. All he wants is something that'll distract him from everything.

    Enter Emily, guitarist for Jamie's favorite up-and-coming band. She's gorgeous, talented, and one hell of a guitar teacher. Jamie can't imagine having a conversation with her without tripping over his words, never mind taking music lessons from her. But a friend's suggestion leads to just that, and Jamie discovers that playing guitar is one of the few things that makes him feel whole again.

    Talking to Emily is one of the other things. She's way more than a distraction—Jamie realizes he's falling for her, fast. Telling Emily how he feels isn't simple, though, especially when he's pretty sure Emily only sees him as another fan. But if he wants to win her heart, he'll have to come up with something. Maybe if he could just put all that emotion into a song…

    A Love Song for Emily is a novella in the Escaping Indigo universe, and takes place sometime after Skin Hunger. However, it's a standalone, and you don't need to read the other books (or read them in any particular order) to enjoy this one.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLeftover Sushi Press
    Release dateApr 26, 2019
    ISBN9781386419990
    A Love Song for Emily

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      Book preview

      A Love Song for Emily - Eli Lang

      A Love Song for Emily

      Copyright © 2019 by Eli Lang

      All rights reserved.

      This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, or recording, without express written permission of the author, except brief passages for review purposes.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, locales, or business establishments is strictly coincidental.

      Cover design by Eli Lang. Photo used under a creative commons license.

      For 1327

      Thank you for everything

      A Love Song for Emily

      I parked myself in front of the stage, right at the center, and tried to decide if I was embarrassed or proud of my positioning. It’d be the very best spot for the show, but we were ridiculously early, and there was hardly anyone else in the narrow room yet. We stuck out like sore thumbs. Overeager, trying-to-play-it-cool-but-not-really-succeeding sore thumbs. If I hadn’t been keenly aware already of just how awkward we were, Marlo was inching behind me, busying herself with her soda, and in general pretending we weren’t there, an hour early for the show.

      If you didn’t want to come, you didn’t have to, I said, turning sideways to face her. I was getting edgy, letting anxiety rise up through me, and I was taking it out on her, but I couldn’t help it.

      She lowered the drink. I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I totally want to.

      This is a really good spot. You can’t get a spot like this without being early. I knew I sounded whiny, and it was annoying that I could anticipate any objections she might bring up. But we’d had this conversation before. A few times.

      She glanced pointedly around the room before turning back to me. There were six people here, including a bartender and the two people running sound.

      "There is no earthly reason why we needed to be this early, and you know it."

      I tried to sound frustrated, but my breath came out in more of a defeated sigh, and I turned back to the stage. It was always like this. I existed in a constant state of high-strung nerves. Nothing ever felt quite right, and that panic grew and grew, and then peaked just before a concert.

      A second later, I felt Marlo’s hand on my arm.

      I don’t care, she said, her words softer. "I don’t mind. I like hanging out with you. I don’t care where. Even if you are going to spend most of tonight trying to get into that guitar player’s pants."

      The last thing shocked me into spinning to face her. I am not!

      Her forehead creased and she made a ‘pshaw’ sound. Maybe not that far. But you’ll basically forget I’m here, once she’s on stage.

      She doesn’t even know who I am. I looked up at the stage, where Emily’s guitar was set up in its stand. It was glossy, like she’d carefully wiped it down before setting it there, the cable neatly coiled below. In a couple hours, maybe a little less, I’d get to see her play again. I couldn’t wait.

      Marlo made that sound again. She’s not Lana Del Rey. She hangs out after the shows. You could have introduced yourself a dozen times.

      I just shrugged. The truth was, for me, she was absolutely as famous as Lana, and in my opinion, even better in a lot of ways. I’d fallen for Common Reactor’s music first and Emily’s guitar playing second, once I’d figured out how genius she was. Then I’d followed her and her bandmates on Instagram, to keep track of shows and new song releases, and I’d sort of fallen in fan-love with her. Her bio had done it for me: Lead guitar for Common Reactor. Interested in dinosaurs, curling up with good books, and saving the bees. Trans. She/her. Anyone who included books, dinosaurs, and saving the environment in the same sentence was more than all right with me. That was exactly the kind of person I wanted to hang out with.

      Theoretically. I wasn’t a stalker, and I knew that even though Emily was a public presence on social media, it didn’t mean I had any claims on her, or really knew her.

      Marlo wasn’t wrong, though. I could have introduced myself, casually, without any pressure, any time. I just never had. I wouldn’t know what to say.

      She narrowed her eyes at me, then gave up and shook her head. She knew me too well. It hadn’t taken her long—we’d only known each other for a semester, but it felt a lot longer. I got her, and she definitely got me. The first day of class, we’d sat next to each other, and by the end of the hour, we’d covered about ten different conversation topics, had plans for coffee that afternoon, and I was sure I’d never felt more comfortable with anyone, ever.

      Marlo turned back to the stage, but she hadn’t completely let the subject drop. I’m pretty sure she has a good idea of who you are, though. You come to every show.

      I could only shrug again. I didn’t want to think about that, because if I

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