Page 75 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

“Where the hell did you learn that?” James asks, crossing his arms.

“The army.” Key shrugs, taking the thermometer and cleaning it off.

Joel scoffs. “I was in the army too, fuck nut, and I never learned that shit.”

“Maybe you would’ve if you ever followed orders long enough to get kitchen duty.”

“Meh, I’m a loose cannon. Always have been, always will be.”

With the turkey taken care of, and the list of other tasks Becks left for us to do completed, I sit down at one of the stools and sigh. I haven’t had a proper Christmas in years, and it warmssomething deep in my heart to be having a real celebration with my new family. I even went out of my way to buy a small Christmas tree for the living room. We don’t have any ornaments on it, but I did manage to find some lights so it glows prettily in the corner.

The front door opens, and a cold breeze blows through as Becks walks in with several bags and . . .

“Isabella!” Key says, weaving around the kitchen counter and wrapping his arms around the shivering brunette.

My insides squirm at the sight of her nuzzling into his neck and I have to actively stop the frown that threatens to grow across my face. I promised her I could do this. Promised I wouldn’t act like some jealous caveman. That’s not fair. I told her I don’t want a relationship, but it’s been a few weeks and how could I have forgotten how pretty those eyes are—that mouth . . .

I stand and make my way over, sure that it would seem weirder to ignore her than to hug her in what is a normal holiday greeting.

“Hey,” I say, her body folding into mine. The smell of her hair hits me as her head tucks in under my chin. The scent of vanilla and just . . . her.

“Hi,” she says, and her arms take a beat too long to let go, but so do mine.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I admit, feeling uncomfortable I didn’t get her a Christmas present.

She tucks her hair behind her ears. “Becks invited me at the last minute. Is that okay?”

Her expression is nervous. Perhaps she’s thinking that because of our last conversation, I might not want her here. But I do. I’ve thought about her every day since Vegas. I’ve thought about the way she danced like she had no cares in the world on that dance floor. I’ve thought about the way her brown eyes flared when shetalked back to me. I’ve thought about the way her hands touched me before I stopped her.

I’m the fucking idiot who told her I want to be just friends.Friends. I need to remember that’s what we agreed to. And she accepted it so easily. Because of course she would, she’s cool. She’s chill. And I’m just a distraction for her. Does she have a lot of other guys she uses as a distraction?

I nod. “Yeah, of course. I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says with a small smile. “Actually, I was . . . Can we talk for a minute? In private?”

A lump forms in my throat, but I nod and follow her out the back door and onto the patio. My brows furrow as I notice the way she paces, her feet shuffling their weight around. “Want a smoke?” I ask, knowing it’s something that always helps me calm down.

I’m surprised when she nods. “Please.”

Passing her my open pack, she pulls one out and I hold up my lighter for her. Her eyes look like two pieces of burning coal in the cherry of the cigarette and I follow along, lighting my own and inhaling deeply. She visibly relaxes in her shoulders, but she still continues to shift back and forth.

“So, what’s on your mind?” I ask.

“I need to run something by you,” she blurts out.

My eyes widen. What the hell could she possibly need to run byme?

“I had a call today with the editor ofEarworm Magazine, Harold Lewis,” she says, and takes a long drag of her cigarette.

Wait.Earworm Magazine? Isn’t that . . . it’s a music magazine, I think. “Really? What did he want?”

Her face twitches like she can hardly believe what she’s about to say. “He wants . . .” She pauses and looks up at me nervously. “He wants me to write a feature for the magazine about Carnal Sins.”

My mouth drops open. “Holy shit, really? That’s—”

“He wants me to go on tour with you guys . . . follow and document your experience for the final three weeks of it.”

“Well that’s . . . that’s . . . great.”Shit.She’ll be there, every city, every show, every moment for three weeks. My Disco Girl with a backstage pass. After what I told her in Vegas, she’ll be expecting me to be partying, chasing after girls, doing whatever stupid thing I feel like, but how can I keep this up if all I feel like doing is talking to her?

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