Page 9 of Savagely Yours
“I like women, and the right one would suit me just fine.” He searched my face, blinking slowly. “Interestingly enough, Tapley, you’d be the perfect person to help me find ‘the one.’ You probably wouldn’t even have to look that hard.”
“It’s a big city.”
“I’m not picky.”
“You’ve got to up your standards, Dez.”
He grinned.
“But I asked about the battery pack for a reason,” I continued, exhaling through a pulling sensation in my stomach. “I was wondering if you’d like to listen to music while we wait for the lights to come on. Or we fall asleep.”
He yawned into a bent elbow. “Sure. Are we indulging in your obsession with music from decades ago?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.” He left his seat, retrieved a small device from a duffel bag in the corner I hadn’t noticed, returned to his space next to me, and handed it over. “Here you go.”
I ran to the bedroom to grab my phone and raced back, afraid he would fall asleep on me before I was ready. Instead, he was wide awake and tracking my every move. While stealing glances at him, I plugged in my phone and searched my song list. Each time I looked at him, he was looking at me, and by candlelight, the man was intoxicating.
“How about a song from the nineties?” I asked.
He gasped. “Music from when we were both already alive? Who are you, and what have you done with my Tapley?”
My face flushed, joining the toiling in my middle. “Ever heard of Tevin Campbell?”
“Yes, I have, despite coming as close to living under a rock as humanely possible.”
I didn’t know every detail about his upbringing, but he’d shared a good deal. He’d done several stints in foster care before escaping it altogether. The years afterward, he spent as a homeless teen who sought safe harbor in everything from youth shelters to libraries. Because of his desire to join the military, he’d done all that while never missing more than a few days of school, as school was often the only place he was guaranteed a warm meal.
I hit the play button, set the phone in the small gap between our bodies, and faced him on the seat cushion. Still, he didn’t look away, and the gentle smile seemed to linger, the speed of his blinks growing increasingly lethargic.
“‘Brown Eyed Girl,’” I said. “It’s a classic.”
Tevin Campbell coaxed us through the first verse, filling the quiet with his declarations of love and tender affection. As the song played, I wondered whether it was possible to inadvertently seduce oneself while trying to charm someone else.
Dez’s gaze locked onto mine. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He shifted, slightly narrowing the space between us. “I like that saxophone. Do you know how good job security had to have been back then if you played the sax?”
“You know Kenny Gstayedbooked.”
We fell silent, saying nothing else until the song ended, and I enjoyed that he listened to music the same way I did—with only a few comments sprinkled between to give the song a chance to seep into every vein.
“So…what do you think?” I asked.
“You have great taste in music, Tapley,” he said. “After this, maybe you should take a walk with me…or come talk with me.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed.
I set my head on folded arms.
“Like I said, really good taste in music,” he added. “You’re very eclectic, you know. This song, though, I think it needed more cowbell.”
I frowned. “What?”
