Page 4 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Something flickers across her face. “Mm-hmm. It gets a bit messy sometimes, but Dave, Joel, and Keith—Key, as he prefers—they’re like my big brothers. And James . . .” She smiles. “Well, let’s just say there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with him.”

I don’t know Becks very well. We only met a few weeks ago in our History of Fashion class at Stoneman College. I will admitI was a bit shocked when she mentioned she lived with four men—four men in a heavy metal band, especially, since Becks is all soft pinks and quiet, feminine beauty. I’m sure there’s a story there, but I won’t push her to tell me until she wants to.

“The guys will be starting their set in an hour. You’ve already met James and now Dave, but I’ll introduce you to the others and you can hang out,” she says, pushing open the greenroom door.

Walking into the small space, I immediately spot James sitting on a chair and re-stringing a red electric guitar. He looks up and grins, his eyes focusing on the blonde beauty next to me until he looks over.

“Hey, you made it!” he says, setting the guitar down behind him and coming over. He kisses Becks on the temple and holds out his hand for me to shake. I grasp it, the tattoo of a raven staring back up at me. “Joel, Key,” he calls. The other two men sitting on the couch turn and take me in, waving and smiling. But their eyes don’t burn me from the inside out the way Dave’s did. And while they’re all ridiculously handsome—seriously, how is this fair?—they don’t compare to the eyes that made all the breath halt in my body.

The door opens behind me and I know it’s him. His smell makes the blood race in my veins.

“Crisis averted,” he says, his voice whispering past my ear.

Glancing over my shoulder, my heart stutters when he grins and winks at me. He’s standing so close behind me that I can feel his chest brush against my shoulder blades. Then he’s moving across the room, tucking something into the front pocket of his jeans before grabbing a beer and sinking down onto the orange and brown sofa.

“You want a beer?” James asks me.

I nod, my pulse running a marathon. I need something to cool me down. Perhaps I should run out to the pier and jump into the bay. That might help.

“Are you a fashion major, too?” James asks, passing me an open beer and sitting down, then pulling a giggling Becks into his lap.

I take a long sip, grateful for the distraction. “No, I uh . . . I’m just taking the fashion course as an elective, and, well, because I love clothes. But, I’m actually in the writing and journalism program.”

James’s dark brows shoot up. “Journalism? That’s cool.”

“It’s great,” I lie. “Most of the time. I just—It’s . . .” I shut my lips tightly together. These guys are metalheads and rockers, they won’t care about my problems. Sure, James is sweet with Becks, but they’re dating.

“What is it?” Becks asks as the silence stretches.

I lean back on the sofa. “It’s nothing.” Taking another long sip of beer, I look over at Dave, but he’s engrossed in some conversation with Key, or is it Joel? I can’t remember who is who.

I feel a soft hand on my arm where Becks has reached over to me. “Do you not like the program?”

Okay, I guess I can’t avoid it after all. “No, the program is amazing, the best in the state. But, it’s just . . . the majority of the program is writing for the college newspaper and well, I tend to get overlooked for the bigger stories. Which, now that I’m in my last year and looking for internships . . . isn’t great.”

Becks frowns. “Why would they overlook you?”

I wish I could say it’s because I’m untalented. A shitty writer. That I have terrible grammar or can’t spell without a dictionary open next to me. But none of that is true.

“It’s because I’m a woman.”

Blood pools in her cheeks. “They overlook you because you’rea woman? It’s 1986.”

I take another long sip of beer. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. “It’s very much a boys’ club. I’m one of only a handful ofwomen in the whole program, but I’m the only senior. And they’re always giving me these shitty fluff pieces to write. Like, dating for college students, diet tips, celebrity gossip. Sure, that stuff can be fun to write, and yeah, I’ll admit I might get a bit too excited when the paparazzi take a scandalous photo, but I also want to be taken seriously, and they won’t give me the chance.”

Becks chews on her bottom lip.

“And if I don’t have anything decent in my portfolio soon, no publication is going to give me an internship.”

“I’m sorry, that’s awful. People can be so narrow minded,” she says, then claps her hands. “Oh, I know! You should write something amazing, and turn it in under a different name. When they ask who it was because they all thought it was great, admit it was you. Then they’llhaveto give you a chance.”

I fiddle absently with the paper label on my beer bottle then take another long sip. “Yeah . . . maybe. But what would I write about?”

She grins, her perfect white teeth gleaming back at me. “Write about them!” she says, gesturing to the men sitting around the room.

My eyes widen. “The band?”

Nodding enthusiastically, she leaves James’s lap and scoots down next to me before lowering her voice. “Yeah. They’re up-and-coming. And, between us?” She looks around, as though worried someone might overhear her. “They’ve had a stint of bad luck lately. A bunch of canceled gigs, and their manager, who was so confident, has been having trouble getting them studio time to record their first album.”

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