Page 12 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

She looks away, and I get the sense that she doesn’t want to elaborate, so I drop it.

“What about you?” she says, finally turning her smile back on. “Meet any cute guys last night?”

I nearly trip over my own two feet and have to skip on one foot to right myself. Did I meet a cute guy last night? I met a guy so cute I wanted to climb him like a tree. “Uhh . . . not really. No one seemed interested.”

She pulls her face back and scoffs. “You’re crazy! There’s no way guys weren’t interested in you last night. I saw at least three sizing you up during the show alone.”

Not the one I wanted though. “Well, point them out next time, will you?” I say, laughing.

We walk through the glass doors and sit on the steps facing the street.

“How did the article go?” Becks asks. “You said you submitted it, right?”

I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. “Yeah, I think it’s my best work, if I’m honest. I hope they see that.”

“Did you submit it under another name?”

I sigh. “I did. I didn’t want to, but I can’t stand the thought of no one reading it.”

“They’re going to love it,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “Then they’ll all be eating their hats when they realize they never should’ve underestimated you.”

Becks is sweet—naive, but sweet—and I wish I had the optimism she does. “I guess we’ll see.”

“It’ll all work out. I know it. Oh! There’s James.”

A black van pulls up along the curb and the tall, attractive guitarist hops down out of the driver’s seat. He smiles widely at her and we both stand.

“We should hang out sometime. You know, outside of school, and maybe without all the loud music,” she says, pulling her bag over her shoulder. “Being new to the area and working so much, I haven’t had a chance to get out much.”

Dave’s comment from last night pings in my mind, and I’m surprised all over again. Becks is beautiful, and bright, and genuine. She reminds me of the popular cheerleaders from my old high school, so to hear she’s been struggling to make friends is hard to believe. Me, on the other hand, I’ve closed myself off from everyone. Becks being the exception, because she wouldn’t take no for an answer. And truthfully, I’m flattered she wants to be friends. It’s why I pushed myself out of my comfort zone by going out last night. “Sure. I’d like that.”

She pulls a piece of paper and a pen from the inner pocket of her bag and writes something down. “Here’s my number at the house. Call me whenever, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“See you!”

She practically skips down the steps and jumps into the wide,waiting arms of James, who wraps her up and spins her around like they haven’t seen each other in days. I’m envious. I can’t help it. They look sohappy. And I just feel . . . so alone. I look down at the paper with the phone number on it and tuck it into my purse.

My fingers slide over the photo I hid away, and I pull it out. Eyes zeroing in on the sexy smile on Dave’s face. The way his teeth gnaw into his lip, and that piercing look that makes my insides turn to liquid. Even through the photograph, he has me nearly in a sweat by the time I tuck it away. I can’t help but remember the heat of his body close to mine and the way he’d twirled my hair.

But I also can’t forget how he pulled away. How he flirted with that woman. Did they go home together? What a stupid question,of coursethey did. I’m not an idiot. Dave is hot, and she seemed eager for whatever he was willing to give her. Again, that ugly green monster rears its head. When I saw how he held her, I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to be a spectator to that show. So, I wave goodbye to Becks and James, watching them drive away into the sunset, and I ask myself another question: what would it be like to be in bed with Dave?

Would he be rough and punishing or would he be slow and gentle? Or would it be all of that somehow at the same time. Would his touch burn me from the inside out, and his kiss— It would be a crime against humanity if he wasn’t a good kisser.

I turn back inside to head for the newspaper office, and I’m so caught up in my own ridiculous fantasy that I don’t register someone calling my name until they tap me on the shoulder.

“Henry?” I ask, my heart jumping in my chest at his sudden appearance.

“Good, you’re still here. Come on,” he says, gesturing to the building I just left.

“What—?” I start, but Henry runs back inside the doors, andwhile I wish I could simply walk home after my long day, I’ve always been too nosey and curious for my own good. Hiking my bag up on my shoulder, I head back inside, where I notice the gathering of people outside the editor’s office. I sidle up behind Henry, who’s obnoxiously chewing on his thumbnail like a toddler.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

He leans over but doesn’t tear his eyes away from the front of the room. “Randall called an emergency meeting.”

My heart begins to race. “About what?”

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