Suddenly, I barely heard him. I was too busy leaning forward, squinting, peering up at the dour and serious keyboardist tapping his foot in time to the music.
Yes, it was him. It was Dax.
Chapter Thirty-One
Victorious Secret
Back in college, sophomore year, there was this one guy, Greg, who lived down the hall from Kelly, Yessi, and me. Somewhere around November, he started asking me out. I kept saying no because he wasn’t my type—too goofy, too short next to my five-ten frame, too persistent. Not interested.
Once he finally took the hint, I started seeing him around campus making out with a gorgeous, tall girl who was on the basketball team and had done some modeling. I pointed them out to Yessi and said, “That’s really nice. He found someone who likes him.”
Yessi, who was a voice major, said, “Maybe she really likes him; I don’t know. But this thing only started because she came to an orchestra concert and saw him with his upright bass.”
I laughed. “What are you talking about?”
She just said, deadly serious, “Come to a concert. You’ll see.”
To prove my own point, that I would not be tricked into finding Goofy Greg attractive, I went with Yessi to the next available performance—a selection of holiday music. We sat in the front row, on the right side, directly in front of the string section. Greg, who had previously been the absolute bane of my existence, stood there with his arm around his double bass like it was a person—a woman—and he played her with the careful intensity of a skilled lover.
Somewhere around the second movement, Yessi reached over and closed my gaping mouth.
At the Farouche concert, I similarly could not take my eyes off Dax—his furrowed brow, his long, nimble fingers—that had been inside me, oh my god—dancing across the keys, the beads of hot sweat rolling down his cheeks. I realized somewhere around the third song that I’d nearly chewed a hole in my bottom lip.
Musician lust was real.
And this was so far from Dax being “in a band of some kind.” This was legit. Farouche was “pre-order their next album, buy all the T-shirts” good.
“So, you told the other guy ‘maybe,’” Darius said as Farouche left the stage to resounding applause. “Do you have a drop-dead date in mind for this proposal?”
“He’s given me until July thirty-first.”
Darius nodded. “Okay…okay.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I’ll just have to up my own game, then.”
My stomach sank. For some reason I expected that this news would make Darius bow out, easing the decision for me, but instead he was doubling down.
“For my first act,” he said, winking, as he pushed his chair under the table. “I’ll take you backstage to meet the band.”
An icy chill surged up my back. My head went foggy. I’d managed to avoid Dax since the…finger incident the other night, but now Darius, one of the guys I was seriously considering settling down with, was taking me backstage for a meet-and-greet with my near-hookup.
“You okay?” Darius asked.
“I’m a little woozy…”
“You just need some water. They’ll have that in the dressing room. Come on.” Darius waved to Joe the owner and started walking toward the restricted backstage area. I stood rooted to the ground for a moment but quickly relented. He was my date, and I’d come here with him. I’d be a huge jerk if I ran out now.
I jogged to catch up, and the bouncer at the backstage door let us in right away, no questions asked. I suddenly really resented Darius’s sway in this town. Why couldn’t one little bouncer not know who he was?
Farouche, in various stages of undress, drank water and other assorted beverages while chatting with their guests. Dax sat on the makeup counter across the room, his jumpsuit down around his waist, exposing an expanse of bare, tattooed torso. He took a pull on an icy bottle of Evian, a few beads dripping onto his chest, making him look like he was in a sexy, slow-motion water commercial.
I realized then that he wasn’t alone. He hung on every word pouring from the ample lips of a gorgeous woman with long, shiny hair, nearly the same color as her luminous bronzed skin, who was about fifteen years younger than I was. My body immediately replaced lust with jealousy.
He wanted her.
As well he should, Annie. Get it together. I was here with my own date, after all.
Darius motioned me over to the bassist, a woman in her thirties, named Kat. “You were awesome,” I told her, trying to sound perky.
“Kat studied music at the Boston Conservatory,” Darius said before launching into an earnest, interviewer-type conversation, digging deep into Kat’s life and motivation. I could barely take in any of it. I kept thinking about Dax and that perfect, younger woman, wondering where I fit in—if that thing with us the other night had just been a lark, something to cross off his bucket list: finger bang a cougar.
Soon I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Annie?”
I spun around to find Dax, eyes searching and intense, looking down at me. My heart leaped to my throat, and my cheeks burned.
“What are you doing here?” He stepped closer, eyeing me intently.
I forced a grin, hoping it looked more relaxed than it felt. “I came here with Darius.” I tapped my date on the shoulder.
As Darius turned around, Dax, probably realizing he was standing there half-naked in the presence of Chicago media royalty, pulled his jumpsuit back over his arms and zipped it up.
“Annie, who’s this?” Darius, TV smile flashing, offered his hand to Dax.
“Darius,” I said, “this is Dax. Dax, Darius.”
Darius looked curiously from Dax to me. “Do you two know each other?”
I chuckled, half-wishing an earthquake would crack open the floor of this club and swallow me, entombing me forever under the rubble. But that’d mean Dax and Darius would end up in the hole with me, the three of us buried alive together, and I’d still have to have this conversation. “It’s funny, actually. He lives in my basement…?” I shrugged.
Darius dropped his smooth, TV-man persona for a moment. “Wait. What?”
“Long story.” I laughed it off.
Darius held up his hand. “I want to hear it. Why does he live in your basement?”
“Because Annie’s awesome,” Dax said, looking right at Darius with wide, honest eyes. “My dog and I needed a place to stay, and, even though she barely knew me, she took me in. Who does that?”
His gaze shifted to mine, and a wave of heat pulsed through me. I sensed Dax could feel it, too, because he quickly looked away and glanced around the room.
“I should go—”
“Wait a minute!” Darius reached into his coat pocket. “I’m going to need to know more about the whole ‘you living in the basement’ story.” He made a note with a pen on his business card, which he waved in the air to dry the ink. “I’m not sure if you know, but I do the Man on Main Street segment for WTS.”
Dax looked at the card. “Of course I know that. Everyone does.”
“Talking to you about Farouche could be a great follow-up to Annie’s story,” Darius said, chin jutted out confidently. “The doctor and the…” He squinted at Dax. “Too bad you don’t play the drums.” He snapped. “Wait! I’ve got it! The physician and the musician!” He clapped Dax on the shoulder.
Again I imagined the floor swallowing me whole.
“That sounds amazing,” Dax said. “I will definitely call you.”
“Excellent.” Darius put an awkward arm around my waist, and I immediately felt my body tighten. Before I could relax, Darius had gotten the hint and had removed his grip. “I think it’s time to take Cinderella home.”
When I reached the door, I took one more glance back at Dax, who’d returned to the shiny-haired girl again. The universe back in its proper order
, I followed Darius out to his car.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Quiz Me Baby One More Time
On the way back to my house, Darius kept asking about Dax.
“You barely knew him, and you asked him to move in with you?”
“I knew nothing about him.” I laughed, watching the streetlights as we zoomed past. It was one o’clock in the morning, basically the only time of day traffic in Chicago moved quickly. “It was a right place/right time situation. My friend Kelly had just moved out of my basement apartment, and I was there when Dax found out he and his dog no longer had a place to stay.” I shrugged. “I offered.” I turned to Darius. “Also, I needed a teammate for the citywide trivia tournament, so this was my way of forcing him to play with me.”
Darius frowned. Something had shifted in him since we spoke to Dax, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was he jealous? Could he tell there was something going on with us? He knew about Rob’s existence, but Darius had never pressed me for more information on him.
“He’s kind of like a—” I almost said “younger brother,” but that sure as hell wasn’t right. “He’s just a guy who lives in my basement.”
Guilt crept in. Though I usually thought through every ramification of every move before taking it, I’d behaved recklessly with Dax. I’d allowed my libido to lead me instead of my head. I’d been so, so foolish, and in the process I may have hurt Darius and—though he had no idea Dax even existed—Rob.
The truth was, my little flirtation with Dax didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. This thing with Darius—or the other thing with Rob—held actual possibility for a future. I reached for Darius’s hand, to show him some affection, to prove that I was fully invested in this potential relationship with him, but he picked that moment to clutch the steering wheel with both hands.
Oh, shit. I’d really blown it.
When we pulled up in front of my house, Darius put the car in park. “Annie, it’s not my place…”
My heart pounded in my chest.
He turned to me, eyes serious. “First of all, I’m not accusing you of anything.” He shook his head. “That’s not what this is. Tonight, I’m speaking as a friend.”
“Okay…” Panic settled inside me. I wished he’d hurry up and say whatever it was he wanted to say. Call me out, tell me we were over. Whatever it was, I could handle it. It was his calm tone that unnerved me.
“You and I have gotten to know each other a little bit, and we’ve discussed it—we want the same things.”
“Right. We do.”
“Dax can’t give you that.”
I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him that Dax wasn’t even truly on my radar, to reiterate that he was and would only ever be just my roommate.
He wiped an invisible spot off the dashboard. “Again, as a friend, I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to have feelings for someone who’s never going to be able to give you that commitment or put you before their artistic career.”
I didn’t have feelings for Dax, but I wasn’t about to argue that point with Darius. “Monica Feathers,” I said.
“You know about her?”
I shrugged. “Google does.”
Darius sighed. “Monica is an amazing woman, and we cared deeply about each other. But to stay together, one of us was going to have to give up on their dream, and neither of us was willing to do that.”
“I’m really sorry, Darius,” I said, “and I understand where you’re coming from, but Dax and I…there’s nothing even going on there.” I pushed away the memory of his eyes staring intently up at mine as he knelt before me at the piano bench. “It’s like I said. He just lives in my basement.”
Darius patted my knee. “Please know that if you’re questioning anything, if you’re having second thoughts about what we’re doing”—he pointed to himself and to me—“trust that you’re making the right choice. Rob or me, whomever you choose, you won’t regret it. The other way lies heartbreak.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
“I appreciate that,” I said. “Thanks. And whatever you thought you saw, don’t worry about it. I’m clearheaded about what we’re doing. I want commitment, and I’m not someone who acts without thinking or makes foolish choices based on lust or id or whatever you want to call it.”
Darius gave me a quick hug and said he’d call me soon, and I left the car.
I dragged my body up the front steps and yanked off my shoes as soon as I entered the house. Joanne ran to greet me, and I wrapped my arms around her. “Hi, friend.” I sighed. I was beat. This having-to-take-care-of-a-dog thing was nice until it wasn’t. “I bet you need to go out.”
I changed into my pajamas, washed my face, and took Joanne for a very quick stroll around the block. I kept thinking about what Darius had said. I should probably listen to him. He spoke from experience. I’d seen his face in those pictures with Monica Feathers—it looked a lot like my expression as I’d caught my reflection in the window when I was with Dax.
But that was just a goofy crush, my silly body reacting to Dax in a way that made my very responsible mind howl with laughter. Him being a musician aside, he was way too young for me, and he was going through a divorce. He was just a nice distraction for me, as I probably was for him. I knew that. Nothing was actually going to happen—at least beyond what had happened already.
We’d had our little fun, and now it was over.
By the time Joanne and I got back from our walk, it was after one thirty—way past my bedtime for a Monday night. Dax still wasn’t home, meaning he was probably out with that shiny-haired girl. Good for him. He could do what he wanted.
And I would do what I wanted. I settled onto the couch with Joanne and turned on The Great British Baking Show.
“You’re really going to like this, Joanne,” I said, wrapping one arm around her big, furry body. “It’s very soothing.”
This was nice. This was a mature, reasonable way for a woman my age to end her evening—on the couch with a dog and Paul Hollywood.
I yawned and tried to let the calming British accents wash over me, but I kept finding myself glancing toward the front hallway every so often, thinking I heard a key in the door.
“This show is making me hungry. We’ve got to get ourselves some doughnuts tomorrow,” I told Joanne.
I wondered if Dax would be here tomorrow for the doughnuts. Or…if he’d be alone. Again I glanced toward the door.
Stop it. Dax was a young, single guy who was allowed to go off with a cute girl he met backstage and do the kind of stuff we’d attempted to do on the piano bench the other night. He had his life, and I had mine. He had sexy girls with shiny hair. I had twelve Brits trying to make scones. Not to mention, I’d committed myself to a mature, pragmatic relationship with either Rob or Darius. They were in the same place I was. Dax, divorced at twenty-seven, was smack in the middle of his prime mistake-making years.
I hugged Joanne and wiped my eye. “Maybe I’m allergic to you.” A lone tear splashed against her back.
A few minutes later, the front door finally opened, and Joanne jumped, barking, from the couch. I cautiously stood and stepped toward the door, bracing myself for what I’d find there. Dax had crouched down and was rubbing Joanne behind the ears, nuzzling his nose against hers. He was alone.
“Hey,” I said, standing there with my arms folded behind my back. He was home, and he hadn’t brought anyone with him.
My body immediately flooded with relief and then immediate annoyance that I’d feel any sort of way about Dax coming home alone.
He looked up, surprised. “What are you still doing awake?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” I paused. I should just say good night and go to bed. Instead I said, “You’re alone.”
He stood. “What are you talking about?”
I shrugged, my shoulders staying up near my ears. “That
shiny-haired girl you were talking to…”
“Michelle?” He laughed heartily. “That’s Kat the bassist’s girlfriend.”
“Oh.” My insides warmed. The shiny-haired girl had just been a friend.
He stepped closer to me. “Were you jealous?”
“No.” I shook my head, chuckling. “Just curious.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He took another step toward me, and suddenly the hallway felt way too small. I could practically feel the heat emanating from his body a few feet away. “And what about you and the Man on Main Street?”
“He went home.” I paused. “Are you jealous?” My chest heaved, and suddenly I became acutely aware of my lips.
“Fuck yeah, I’m jealous.” He crossed to me in two strides and cupped his hands on my cheeks. His lips crashed against mine, claiming me. My legs turned to jelly as I melted into him. My brain kept screaming at me to stop, while my body arched into him.
Finally, my mind won out. I pulled away, pressing my fingers to my lips. I needed a moment to figure out what this was.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” I shook my head.
He frowned, his eyes watching me intently.
Damn it. I wanted this. I wanted him. I was seriously considering settling down—forever—with two very nice, very respectable men, and it hit me that I still had an oat or two to sow. I had been nothing but utterly responsible my entire life. Darius could warn me against Dax as a serious potential partner, but not as a fling. “If—if—we do…anything…it’s just for tonight,” I said. “You understand my situation, and I know you just got out of a marriage. This would be you and me finishing what we started the other night and nothing more than that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“We’ll have our fun”—I wiped my hands together, easy-peasy, ignoring the flush creeping up my back—“and then we’ll go our separate ways, to our own bedrooms, no muss, no fuss.”
“Well, maybe a little muss.” He flashed me a crooked grin that nearly sent me into a tailspin. I was a goner.
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