Page 55 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

Dave’s hand moves from my leg to the steering wheel as if he’s been electrocuted. My heart is a traitor of the worst kind. How dare she grow attached to his touch so quickly, and how dare she ache like this when it disappears.

Dave looks over his shoulder. “Almost. About twenty minutes away. Your impeccable nap timing is truly a wonder.” His clear eyes find mine before he turns back toward the road.

Pushing myself up, I pull my feet away from his lap. “Sorry,” I croak, my voice still sticky from disuse. “I didn’t mean to use you like a foot stool.”

“It’s fine.”

Something’s wrong. There’s a hardness to his tone that makes me feel like my feet ending up in his lap isn’t fine at all. Where is the sweet and flirty Dave from hours ago who made me laugh? The one who went out of his way to have music in his car that I would enjoy? The one who was just touching my leg with the same tenderness you might pet a kitten?

Sitting up properly in my seat, I pull his jacket out from under my head, sure there are grooves on my face from the seams. Maybe I’m thinking about this too much. He couldn’t be mad at me, could he? I hand him his jacket.

“Thanks for the pillow,” I say sheepishly.

Without sparing me a glance, he takes the jacket and drapes it across his hips. “You’re welcome.”

I stare at him for a long moment, but he doesn’t look at me.Purposefullydoesn’t look at me, his focus trained on the road ahead while his grip tightens on the steering wheel. What the hell is up with this guy? All of this back and forth, hot and cold isgiving me whiplash. A scoff crawls out of my throat, and I turn my body toward the passenger-side window, crossing my arms and legs away from him.

I don’t need this in my life. I don’t have the energy to constantly interpret how someone feels about me, and with Dave I feel like I’m doing mental gymnastics every time we interact. It’s not normal. It’s not healthy. But it’s like a drug. Like feeling high only to crash and crave your next fix. Addictive.

“Hey, I see the lights, look,” Joel says, popping his head over the bench and pointing out the front window.

True enough, the bright lights of Las Vegas can be seen in the distance, surrounded on all sides by a dark desert. As we follow along behind James’s van, the lights grow and grow until they sparkle and shine off the cars we pass on the streets. I take a deep breath. Okay, I need to be happy. I’m happy my friends are getting married. Tonight will be fun. I can do this. I can forget about last week with Simon and this morning with all of those rejection letters. My dreams may be in the toilet, but I can pull it together for a few hours. I can even forget about Dave in order to be happy for James and Becks, even though he’s right next to me.

I can do this.

“We’re here,” Dave says. He pulls into a parking lot with a neon chapel sign, turns off the engine and gets out without ever looking back.

Another deep breath. I can’t do this. I need help, and I know exactly where to find it.

CHAPTER 17

White Wedding

DAVE

Watching James and Becks get married feels like a goddamn fairytale. And while I know it’s not something that will ever be in the cards for me, I allow myself to fantasize about it—for a few moments at least. I imagine myself dressed up in a pair of black jeans and a tailed tuxedo jacket over a T-shirt, vowing to love one woman forever. It wouldn’t need to be a big wedding, or as small as this one, maybe it could even be on a stage somewhere. I almost laugh at the thought of getting married in a little white church. If I didn’t burst into flames, it would be ironic to say the least.

I’d wait at the top of the aisle for my bride to walk toward me, her face shrouded in a gauzy white veil. We’d swear to love each other always, under the watchful eyes of our friends and families. Then I’d lift the veil for that first newlywed kiss to find the most beautiful brown doe eyes staring back at me.

I shake my head, as though I might be able to shake away the fantasy. To remove the image of Isabella looking back at me from beneath long lashes. Turning my head, I can see her now, standing closest to the aisle next to James’s aunt Noreen, snapping away with her camera in a dress that should be illegal. Herass looks like a ripe peach that I want to take a bite out of. But she’s mad at me.

I know why, and honestly, she has every right to be. I behaved terribly earlier. I lost my self-control in that car as she curled up around my jacket, her breaths evening out to a steady rhythm until she fell asleep with the last rays of sunlight shining on her face. She looked so beautiful. Then when her legs curled up and her feet landed in my lap, it felt . . . right. I hadn’t even realized I was touching her until Joel snapped me back to my senses.

Fuck.I’m giving this girl all of the wrong cues. We’re supposed to be friends. Just friends.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. James, you may kiss the bride.”

I turn my attention back to the front, where James kisses Becks like he’s the luckiest man on the planet, and if I’m being honest with myself, he is. There’s a shuffle of bodies as we follow the happy couple out into the lobby, and while I’ve been more than happy to witness all the lovey-dovey stuff until now, we’re in Vegas, which means that there are literally a hundred places more fun than this overly bright wedding chapel.

“Okay, okay, can we hit up a bar now?” Key asks. “First round’s on me.”

Thank god someone said it. I wonder how many bars are between here and a motel? Oh, that reminds me . . .

“Key, Joel . . . Al gave me some vouchers for motel rooms. Here,” I say, passing them each a slip of paper.

“Awesome,” Joel says, taking the paper and tucking it into his wallet. “Should come in handy.”

Looking past them, I spot Isabella standing on her own and fiddling with her camera. Taking a deep breath, I walk toward her. “Hey, Izzy,” I say. Her head shoots up, and I cringe at the way she rolls her eyes when she realizes it’s me. “Our manager gave us some motel vouchers for the night. I’ve got one for you.”

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