Chapter Thirty-One

Victorious Secret

Back in college, sophomore year, there was this one guy, Greg, who lived down the hall from Kelly, Yessi, and me. Somewhere around November, he started asking me out. I kept saying no because he wasn’t my type—too goofy, too short next to my five-ten frame, too persistent. Not interested.

Once he finally took the hint, I started seeing him around campus making out with a gorgeous, tall girl who was on the basketball team and had done some modeling. I pointed them out to Yessi and said, “That’s really nice. He found someone who likes him.”

Yessi, who was a voice major, said, “Maybe she really likes him; I don’t know. But this thing only started because she came to an orchestra concert and saw him with his upright bass.”

I laughed. “What are you talking about?”

She just said, deadly serious, “Come to a concert. You’ll see.”

To prove my own point, that I would not be tricked into finding Goofy Greg attractive, I went with Yessi to the next available performance—a selection of holiday music. We sat in the front row, on the right side, directly in front of the string section. Greg, who had previously been the absolute bane of my existence, stood there with his arm around his double bass like it was a person—a woman—and he played her with the careful intensity of a skilled lover.

Somewhere around the second movement, Yessi reached over and closed my gaping mouth.

At the Farouche concert, I similarly could not take my eyes off Dax—his furrowed brow, his long, nimble fingers—that had been inside me, oh my god—dancing across the keys, the beads of hot sweat rolling down his cheeks. I realized somewhere around the third song that I’d nearly chewed a hole in my bottom lip.

Musician lust was real.

And this was so far from Dax being “in a band of some kind.” This was legit. Farouche was “pre-order their next album, buy all the T-shirts” good.

“So, you told the other guy ‘maybe,’” Darius said as Farouche left the stage to resounding applause. “Do you have a drop-dead date in mind for this proposal?”

“He’s given me until July thirty-first.”

Darius nodded. “Okay…okay.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’ll just have to up my own game, then.”

My stomach sank. For some reason I expected that this news would make Darius bow out, easing the decision for me, but instead he was doubling down.

“For my first act,” he said, winking, as he pushed his chair under the table. “I’ll take you backstage to meet the band.”

An icy chill surged up my back. My head went foggy. I’d managed to avoid Dax since the…finger incident the other night, but now Darius, one of the guys I was seriously considering settling down with, was taking me backstage for a meet-and-greet with my near-hookup.

“You okay?” Darius asked.

“I’m a little woozy…”

“You just need some water. They’ll have that in the dressing room. Come on.” Darius waved to Joe the owner and started walking toward the restricted backstage area. I stood rooted to the ground for a moment but quickly relented. He was my date, and I’d come here with him. I’d be a huge jerk if I ran out now.

I jogged to catch up, and the bouncer at the backstage door let us in right away, no questions asked. I suddenly really resented Darius’s sway in this town. Why couldn’t one little bouncer not know who he was?

Farouche, in various stages of undress, drank water and other assorted beverages while chatting with their guests. Dax sat on the makeup counter across the room, his jumpsuit down around his waist, exposing an expanse of bare, tattooed torso. He took a pull on an icy bottle of Evian, a few beads dripping onto his chest, making him look like he was in a sexy, slow-motion water commercial.

I realized then that he wasn’t alone. He hung on every word pouring from the ample lips of a gorgeous woman with long, shiny hair, nearly the same color as her luminous bronzed skin, who was about fifteen years younger than I was. My body immediately replaced lust with jealousy.

He wanted her.

As well he should, Annie. Get it together. I was here with my own date, after all.

Darius motioned me over to the bassist, a woman in her thirties, named Kat. “You were awesome,” I told her, trying to sound perky.

“Kat studied music at the Boston Conservatory,” Darius said before launching into an earnest, interviewer-type conversation, digging deep into Kat’s life and motivation. I could barely take in any of it. I kept thinking about Dax and that perfect, younger woman, wondering where I fit in—if that thing with us the other night had just been a lark, something to cross off his bucket list: finger bang a cougar.

Soon I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Annie?”

I spun around to find Dax, eyes searching and intense, looking down at me. My heart leaped to my throat, and my cheeks burned.

“What are you doing here?” He stepped closer, eyeing me intently.

I forced a grin, hoping it looked more relaxed than it felt. “I came here with Darius.” I tapped my date on the shoulder.

As Darius turned around, Dax, probably realizing he was standing there half-naked in the presence of Chicago media royalty, pulled his jumpsuit back over his arms and zipped it up.

“Annie, who’s this?” Darius, TV smile flashing, offered his hand to Dax.

“Darius,” I said, “this is Dax. Dax, Darius.”

Darius looked curiously from Dax to me. “Do you two know each other?”

I chuckled, half-wishing an earthquake would crack open the floor of this club and swallow me, entombing me forever under the rubble. But that’d mean Dax and Darius would end up in the hole with me, the three of us buried alive together, and I’d still have to have this conversation. “It’s funny, actually. He lives in my basement…?” I shrugged.

Darius dropped his smooth, TV-man persona for a moment. “Wait. What?”

“Long story.” I laughed it off.

Darius held up his hand. “I want to hear it. Why does he live in your basement?”

“Because Annie’s awesome,” Dax said, looking right at Darius with wide, honest eyes. “My dog and I needed a place to stay, and, even though she barely knew me, she took me in. Who does that?”

His gaze shifted to mine, and a wave of heat pulsed through me. I sensed Dax could feel it, too, because he quickly looked away and glanced around the room.

“I should go—”

“Wait a minute!” Darius reached into his coat pocket. “I’m going to need to know more about the whole ‘you living in the basement’ story.” He made a note with a pen on his business card, which he waved in the air to dry the ink. “I’m not sure if you know, but I do the Man on Main Street segment for WTS.”

Dax looked at the card. “Of course I know that. Everyone does.”

“Talking to you about Farouche could be a great follow-up to Annie’s story,” Darius said, chin jutted out confidently. “The doctor and the…” He squinted at Dax. “Too bad you don’t play the drums.” He snapped. “Wait! I’ve got it! The physician and the musician!” He clapped Dax on the shoulder.

Again I imagined the floor swallowing me whole.

“That sounds amazing,” Dax said. “I will definitely call you.”

“Excellent.” Darius put an awkward arm around my waist, and I immediately felt my body tighten. Before I could relax, Darius had gotten the hint and had removed his grip. “I think it’s time to take Cinderella home.”

When I reached the door, I took one more glance back at Dax, who’d returned to the shiny-haired girl again. The universe back in its proper order, I followed Darius out to his car.