Page 2 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

I’m not sure it’s possible for my cheeks to get any hotter. “Right, hi. I’m so sorry, the line was so long and, well, I was invited here tonight and . . . I didn’t expect it to be this busy—”

“It’s all good, sweetheart,” he says, tossing the old frayed cable on the counter and crouching down in front of the cabinet behind the bar for another one. “Generally speaking, though, if you ever use the excuse that you’re ‘with the band’ to bypass the line at a bar, know which band is playing.”

Oh god, he heard that?“Right.”

He continues looking through the cabinet, then with a groan, he mutters, “Fuck.”

“Problem?” I ask, desperate to steer the conversation away from my embarrassing screw up.

Looking over his shoulder at me, he clicks his tongue. “No cable,” he says simply. “Just my luck.”

“Oh.” Part of me wants to offer some kind of help, but what the hell can I do? “I’m sorry, that sucks.”

He stands with a sigh. “Yeah, it really will. No cable, no show.”

My eyes widen. “Shit, really? That’s . . . that’s—”

“Not for you to worry about,” he cuts me off, leaning against the bar and lighting up a cigarette. He holds his pack out to me and I take one. A lighter appears in his hands and he holds it up to the cigarette between my lips. The nicotine smooths away a little of my embarrassment as I inhale the smoke. He watches my face intently as he lights his own cigarette, and I can’t seem to break away from the intensity of his stare. “So, you got a name?”

“Isabella Rodriguez,” I tell him, exhaling into the already smoky air.

He pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, blows the smoke out, then runs his tongue along his lower lip. Heat throbs through my body, pulsing in dangerous places. That lip would look so good with my teeth imprinted on it. His eyes travel over my body again.

“You here for a date?” he asks, those stormy blue eyes growing darker in the dim light.

“A date?”

He gives me a subtle nod, his top teeth biting down ever so slightly on that decadent lower lip as his eyes scan my face. Is he . . . is he asking me on a date?

Lifting the cigarette back to my lips, I try my best at a flirty smirk. “I mean I— Sure, yeah. Okay.”

He tilts his head, a wide smile spreading across his face, then he rubs his hand along his jaw before taking another draw. “No, I meant . . . are you meeting someone here on a date?”

Oh my god.The inhale of the cigarette goes a little too deep, and I cough and cough and cough—eyes watering and my throat and lungs burning. My face must look like a tomato right about now. Could this be any more humiliating? I cover my face with my hands. “I’m sorry—” I try to compose myself. “I—I misunderstood. No, not—not meeting up for a date. I’m single.”

He takes a step closer to me, a light in his eyes as he laughs. “Not for lack of trying, if you always look like that.”

And just like that, my embarrassment is consumed by his flattery, and I release a breathy laugh. His smile widens further and my stomach clenches as he takes another step toward me, closing the gap between us.

“So, if you’re not here because you actually know the band, and you’re not here for a date—whatareyou doing here? You’re not lost, are you?”

“No, I’m meeting a friend.”

“Big fan?”

“Huh?”

He leans forward, finger wrapping around a strand of my hair, his breath in my ear making my brain go fuzzy. “The friend you’re meeting. Are they a fan of the band?”

My eyes flutter as he pulls back to look into mine. Good lord, Dave isgorgeouswith those deep-set eyes and full lips. He can twirl my hair all day if he wants. It would’ve been nice if Becks warned me. Wait, Becks . . . “I— Yes, I guess you could say she’s a fan,” I say. “She’s dating the guitarist.”

The smile drops from Dave’s face in an instant, and he steps back, dropping my hair as he does so. “You’re . . . Are you Becks’s friend?”

The heat in my cheeks is suddenly replaced by a splotchy, uncomfortable prickling. Why did he pull away like that?

“Yeah, she told me to come to the show tonight. I told that guy I was with the band so I could get in. I didn’t want her to think I ditched.”

Dave’s shoulders slump and he lets out a long breath, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. He mutters something, but over the music coming from the speakers, I can’t hear what he says. “Oh. Well, I’ll take you to her. She’s backstage.”

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