Page 27 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Dave gives a thumbs-up while taking a long swig of water. He stands from behind the drums and moves toward a door—the door I happen to be standing right in front of. Before my brain can tell my feet to move, it swings open and there he is. He stops short of walking into me, and his eyes widen as they land on my face.

“Izzy?”

“Hi.”

He pushes his damp hair off his face and I can’t help but notice the way his skin glistens like gold in the dim orange light. Something heats in my belly and I find myself wanting to lick his skin.What is wrong with me?

“You’re here,” he says finally. “I—uh, didn’t think you’d take me up on my offer.”

The heat vanishes. My biggest fear has been realized. Did he really invite me here just to be polite? He never actually thought I’d come. That’s the only reason he—

“She’s here to write another article,” Key pipes up, appearing at my shoulder.

Dave’s eyebrows lift. “Oh?”

I shrug. “The first one was wildly successful. My editor is a bit crazed and wants to keep up the momentum because we’re actually selling papers.”

He grins. “That’s awesome.” He steps forward, passing me and heading for the burly man with the afro. “Hey, Al. You should meet Isabella Rodriguez.”

Al comes over and shakes my hand. “You’re writing about the band?” he asks, scratching at his bristly beard.

“Yes, I came to the show a few weeks ago and asked the guys some questions. It made the front page of our college paper.”

“No shit?” he says in a low rumbling voice. “And people are wanting more?”

I nod. “Students have been calling the office all week asking about upcoming shows.”

“And you’re here to write another?”

“If that’s okay with you,” I state, not wanting to step on any toes.

“Are you kidding me?” Al boisterously chuckles. “That article is probably what spawned the sudden upswing in gigs. Hell, it’s probably what got us this studio time. You can write about these guys all you want. As long as it’s good.”

I smile. “That’s the plan.”

He pats my shoulder and moves past me to head out into the hallway beyond, leaving us behind. Dave leans in until his breath is skirting the shell of my ear, and goosebumps prickle all over me.

“I’m going to head out for a smoke, want to join me?” he asks with a small grin.

“Sure.”

He places his hand on the small of my back, urging me forward, and thank goodness it’s still dark in here because my cheeks are burning.

We walk past the pictures and finally, out into the low sunlightof early evening. He leans against the brick exterior and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He looks over at me and offers the pack. I shake my head. “No, thanks.”

His eyes narrow as he pulls out a cigarette with his teeth. “I thought you smoked.”

“I try not to.”

“Oh,” he says, lighting his cigarette. “I thought—last week you did. Sorry. I wouldn’t have asked you to come out here if I knew you were trying to quit.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not quitting and . . . I do smoke, sometimes. Mostly when I’m drinking.”

“That’s fair.”

I shrug. “It’s stupid, I know. I feel like a huge hypocrite.”

He grins. “I get it. It’s nice to be bad every once in a while. You have to break your own rules now and again.”

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