by Mimi Strong
I have my shower and get dressed for work. This time, I choose gray clothes. Gray will blend with the dust.
My roommate Amanda’s door is open a crack. Standing in the hallway, I listen for a minute. She snores. Really loud. Is that a guy? I’ve never heard a girl snore so loud.
The snoring gets even louder.
I push the door in to see if it’s really her.
Suddenly the snoring stops.
I say softly, “Amanda? Are you awake?”
There’s no sound.
Pushing the door, I take a step in. “Amanda?”
No answer.
There’s only one body under her covers. I let out a breath of relief. Caleb seemed nice, but I don’t want to live with a guy.
I whisper, “Breakfast? Or coffee?”
Last night, she said she wanted to go for coffee with me in the morning. She looks too sleepy now.
Why is her face so red? I take a step closer. She’s not breathing.
“Amanda!”
I grab her shoulders and shake her.
What’s happening? Why isn’t she breathing? She was drinking last night, but not much.
Her eyes fly open. They’re all red and bloodshot around her blue irises.
She gasps for breath. It’s a horrible sound.
After a few breaths, she’s breathing normally. She sits up in bed. Her camisole strap slips off her shoulder. She yawns and smacks her lips together.
“Good morning, Jess. Breakfast?”
“What happened?” I gasp. “You were snoring. And then you stopped. You stopped breathing.”
She pulls a strand of bleached blonde hair out of her mouth. “I don’t snore.”
“You were snoring.”
“And then I died, but now I’m alive!” She tosses the duvet aside, revealing her black camisole and matching panties.
I look away. Doesn’t she have any modesty?
“You really want breakfast?” she asks. “Give me a sec to get dressed and I’ll take you to Riley’s favorite place.”
“Riley?” The name sounds familiar, but I’m trying to keep my eyes off Amanda while she gets dressed. She just strips off her camisole like I’m not even in the room.
I look around at the walls of Amanda’s bedroom. The walls are plain light brown, like mine. Everything in the house is light brown or tan, from the carpets to the walls and the doors.
Amanda has a few framed pictures on her walls. None of them are of people or family. Just trees. I like these black and white photographs of trees. They remind me of the country, but they also feel lonely.
“That’s right, you haven’t met Riley,” says Amanda. She grunts and mutters something about her jeans being too tight.
I keep looking at the trees. “Oops,” I say when I remember who Riley is. I laugh lightly. “Don’t tell our other roommate I forgot all about her.”
“Our dear Riley will be back from her holiday soon.” Amanda lets out a laugh that sounds like a cackle.
“I thought she was on a business trip.”
“Riley likes to mix business and pleasure.”
“Okay.” I can tell Amanda is dying to gossip about our other roommate, but I’m not going to ask.
Instead, I walk out of her bedroom. “Hurry up. I’ve only got an hour.”
She chases after me, huffing with excitement.
“You’ll like Riley,” she gushes. “Don’t worry about her.”
“I’m not worried.”
We stop by the front door, where I put my shoes on. Amanda wears her shoes in the house, but I was raised to leave my shoes by the door.
“You should wear the blue ones,” she says.
“They don’t go with this gray suit.”
“You look boring. Don’t you want to get promoted out of the basement?”
Groaning, I kick off the shoes I’m wearing and put on the blue shoes. I was wearing these when I met Dylan Wolf. He wrote a whole song about these shoes. And about me. I haven’t told Amanda about any of that.
She claps her hands and says, “Gorgeous.”
I give her a smile. This outfit isn’t gorgeous, but compliments feel good.
“Your boots are really original,” I say.
“Feel free to borrow them.”
She leads the way out the door and down the street. There’s no way I would borrow Amanda’s boots. They are definitely skank boots. I sure hope my roommate doesn’t rub off on me.
We walk down the street together in the early morning sunshine. Life is good on a sunny day like this. I’m not even dreading the archives.
“This little cafe is great,” Amanda says. “Just three more blocks. So, tell me about yourself, Jess. What’s your biggest fear?”
“The dark.”
She laughs. “Weirdo. Okay. What would you buy if you won a million dollars?”
“A new house for Nan. That’s my grandma.”
“What about your parents?”
I try to stuff my hands in my pockets, but the skirt of this suit doesn’t have any. I’m carrying my wallet in the laptop bag on my shoulder. My laptop is at the house, and all I have in here besides my wallet is a sandwich for lunch.
Amanda doesn’t wait for my answer. She’s babbling about buying a bar and renovating it to be perfect. Then all her friends can hang out at her bar.
“Sounds cool,” I say.
We reach the end of the block and turn the corner.
I stop in my tracks.
Amanda stops beside me. “What’s up?”
How can he be here? It’s early on a Tuesday morning. Are my eyes playing tricks on me?
I blink a few times and squint. My eyesight is almost perfect. It’s definitely him.
Standing with his guitar, only half a block away from me, is Dylan Wolf.
“I know that guy,” I whisper to Amanda.
She shrugs. “Great. Let’s go say hi. Maybe he wants to come to breakfast.”
“No.”
She gets a knowing look. “Ex boyfriend? I’ve got a lot of those. They’re always popping up when you don’t want them.”
“No. Actually, I don’t really know him. Ugh. This is so embarrassing. Remember how I got mugged on Sunday?”
“Yeah. Hey, your eye is hardly swollen today.”
“When I got mugged, I was listening to that guy up there playing. And then yesterday, I found out there’s a video of the whole thing.”
Amanda pries her phone out of her tight jeans pocket. “A video? I need to see this! What’s the name of the video?”
“Do a search for Dylan Wolf.”
She laughs. “That name is so fake.”
We haven’t moved any closer to him, but I think he sees us. He keeps looking over.
Amanda finds the video and watches it. Her face gets really serious. Finally, she looks up and says, “This video is getting popular. It’s not viral yet, but there are a lot of comments.”
“Don’t read the comments. Those people are crazy.”
She holds the phone up to her face, smiling. “He’s cute. That smile. Wow. Come on, you’ve got to introduce me to him.”
I glare at Amanda. “What about your friend? Caleb?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to jump this Dylan guy. Roommate rules. You just have to call dibs.”
“Dibs?”
She gets a devious grin. “Just say it. Say you call dibs on him, and he’s all yours.”
“I don’t even know the guy. And I don’t know if I even want to know him. He’s definitely cute, but when I told him where I worked, he seemed mad at me.”
Amanda shakes her head, her messy blonde hair whipping around. “Why would he be mad at you?”
“I don’t know. After the whole mugging thing, he got really weird.” I bite my lower lip. I don’t want to tell her about the money thing, but I feel like the mystery is driving me crazy. “Amanda, something weird happened with my wallet.”
Her eyes grow wide and interested. “Besides getting it stolen?”
She turns her head, whipping her bleached blonde hair. She stares at Dylan for a long time. He’s finished tuning his guitar, and he’s playing a song now. I can’t quite hear it over the street noise, but some of the notes reach my ears. A shiver runs through my body.
Amanda whips her head back. Her blue eyes are now bright and alert. “He gave you his own money? He must have felt bad about you getting mugged. How much money?”
“A lot.”
“We have to go thank him. And you should give him your number.” She winks at me. “Or call in sick to work today.”
“No, I can’t talk to him. I can’t explain it, but there’s something going on with him and Morris Music. My boss accused me of being part of some setup. If I get seen talking to him, something might happen. I could get fired.”
Amanda shakes her head again, her blue eyes wide. “You are so paranoid.”
I let out a nervous chuckle. “It does sound crazy.”
“He’s just a wannabe rock star. I don’t think there’s a big conspiracy.”
As we’re talking, two really big guys walk by slowly. Both of them look right at me and Amanda, looking us up and down with suspicion.
Another chill runs through me.
The guys don’t get very far before they turn around and walk past us again.
Amanda is looking at Dylan’s video on her phone again, and doesn’t seem to notice the guys. One of them pulls out his phone and holds it up like he’s taking a video of us while he’s walking away.
I’ve got a bad feeling now. The last time I saw Dylan Wolf, I got hurt. I’m probably being paranoid, but my heart is pounding. My heart is telling me something bad is going to happen.
“Standing here is boring,” Amanda says. “We’re going to walk by and say hi to your friend. And you have to officially call dibs on him.”
She grabs my arm and yanks me to come with her.
Quietly, I say, “Fine, I call dibs.”
“That’s not enough,” she says, laughing. “You also have to touch him, or it doesn’t count.”
“Touch him? You’re crazy.”
“Just touch his hand. Or kick him. Anything counts. Those are the Roommate Rules.”
We get closer and closer. My heart beats faster.
Chapter 10
Dylan Wolf looks even more attractive in the flesh than he does in the video. He’s wearing the same beat-up old boots as on Sunday, only with black jeans. The jeans are tight and show off the thick muscles in his legs.
He’s wearing a plain gray T-shirt today. It might have once been a white shirt, but it looks like it’s old and been washed a million times. The fabric is thin and clings to his muscles. I can’t see his abs behind the guitar, but his chest is broad and impressive. The shirt is tight across his shoulders.
My breathing gets shallow. My eyes wander up to his face, stopping at his mouth. He’s singing a cover of an older rock song. I think it’s a Bon Jovi song, but he’s put a twist on it.
That gritty voice snakes into me. He’s got control over me, with just his voice.
Amanda stops walking and I bump into her. Like a dork. My cheeks burn with embarrassment.
She nudges me and leans over to whisper, “Just touch him.”
I take half a step away and pretend I don’t know her.
Dylan keeps playing and singing. He nods at some other people who stop to listen. It’s so early, but I guess people on their way to work enjoy music. A few guys reach into their pockets and toss change into the open guitar case.
“Blue shoes,” Dylan says between lines of the song.
It’s more of a greeting than lyrics.
He keeps playing the Bon Jovi song, but he stops singing.
My eyes are reluctant to go all the way up to meet his gaze.
He tries to get my attention again. “Hey. How are you doing, blue shoes?”
I look up at him finally. A thunderbolt goes through me as I make eye contact with his dark brown eyes.
“Pretty good,” I say, smiling bravely. “How are you?”
“Getting by. Blue shoes, did you know you’re going to be famous?”
His eyes are mocking me now.
“You shouldn’t film people like that,” I say.
“Wasn’t me. My hands were on my guitar.” He gives me an intense look. “I’m not responsible for what other people do.” He grins, melting my heart. “I’m glad you saw the video.”
Amanda reaches her hand out to him. I completely forgot she was standing right beside me.
“Hi Dylan. I’m Amanda, and this is Jess.”
She’s holding her hand out like she’s offering a handshake. Dylan looks amused, because he’s strumming the guitar with his right hand. He stops for a moment and shakes her hand.
“Nice to meet you.” He looks right at me. “And I know Jess already. Don’t I, Jess? Or should I say… Miss Jessica Lynn Rivera.”
My eyes narrow to give him a dirty look. “You got a good look at my wallet, didn’t you?”
He lets go of Amanda’s hand and strums the gleaming strings of the guitar. He’s so talented, he makes it look easy.
“Just a glance.” He winks at me. “That’s a cute photo on your driver’s license.”
“Did you put anything into my wallet?”
“Just one of these.” He pulls his strumming hand up, puckers his lips, and blows me a kiss.
I’m pissed at him for not answering my question, but the kiss throws me off. He looks down at his guitar for a moment and frowns as he plucks one string then adjusts the tuning.
Now what do I do? Just stand here? Watch him sing? I guess that’s what I’ll do.
He nods at the gathering crowd. Another dozen people have joined us in a half-circle.
The crowd puts me on edge.
There’s nobody in a hoodie lurking, but I can’t let my guard down. The two big guys I saw before are standing at the edge of the group, recording with their phones.
Dylan glances over at them. There’s something about his expression that makes me think he knows the guys. Are they security for him? That’s crazy. Street buskers don’t have security.
What’s he up to?
The curiosity is overwhelming. I want to pull the guitar from Dylan’s hands and demand to know what’s going on.
Amanda steps in close and turns to the side to take a selfie with him. Her cheek touches his cheek.
Oh, no. She’s already touched him twice now. She was probably joking about the Roommate Rules, but my stomach hurts to see her so close to him.
I want to be close to him. My cheek touching his. Those full lips of his pressing down on mine. His breath hot on my face. His hands firm on my back. Pulling me into his embrace.
Amanda steps back to stand beside me, so I have to focus my jealousy on Dylan’s guitar. I laugh inside my head at myself. Yes, I’m jealous of a guitar.
The way his hands move up and down the fretboard…
I’d love to feel his fingers walk up and down my neck. Caress my curves. Tuck a strand of my brown hair behind my ear. He’s got the most amazing hands I’ve ever seen on a guy. I could stand here all day and watch those hands.
He sings, “Blue shoes, shouldn’t you be off to work?”
“Great. You’re writing another song about me? Do I get some of the royalties?”
He strums hard, the loudness startling me.
“Baby, what’s half of nothing?” he sings.
“I never said I wanted half.”
His upper lip curves up in a sneer. He growls, “You won’t stop until you take it all.”
I hurl my words at him. “Then don’t make your songs about me.”
My harsh tone surprises me, but he was asking for it. He reminds me of the boys who used to pull my hair to get a reaction. They never expect you to dish it right back.
In a speaking voice, he says over th
e music, “My songs are about all girls. Because you’re all the same. With your cold, cold hearts.”
“If that’s what you think, you don’t know girls. And you definitely don’t know me.”
His eyebrows raise, drawing me deeper into his hypnotic gaze. “I don’t? Jessica Lynn Rivera?”
“Don’t say my name.”
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“You haven’t seen me mad.”
His eyebrows raise even higher. “I’d like to see that.”
“Don’t count on it. You’ll never…” I stop myself mid-sentence. I was about to tell him he’ll never get close enough to hurt me. But that’s not true.
He might get close.
I get all these overwhelming feelings when I hear him sing. He could get very close to me, if he wanted.
As friends.
Close friends.
Friends who kiss?
He looks over at the two big guys, then turns to Amanda. She’s staring up at him with a dumb look on her face. Her eyes dart around, taking in his shiny dark hair, and the powerful muscles pulsing along his arms. She looks like she’s fallen in love at first sight. I really wish I hadn’t brought her with me this morning.
Dylan turns his head to the side suddenly. He keeps playing, standing up on his toes like he’s watching for someone.
I turn and follow his gaze, but see nothing in particular.
When I turn back, he’s staring right at me. His eyes are so intense. There’s a fire in his soul. Danger.
It’s strange that his name didn’t exist before a month ago.
He’s definitely more than a month old. Maybe twenty-five? Or older? He seems way more worldly than anyone I know who’s my age.
So who is he, really?
I want to know, but my instincts tell me not to dig. If you dig, you might not like what you find.
Amanda elbows me, breaking my concentration.
“Food?” she asks. “Unless you want to stay here.”
Dylan starts singing another cover song, this one a Rolling Stones classic, Satisfaction. I’m pretty sure it’s the most famous song about sexual frustration.
The grit in his voice sounds sexier than ever with this song. Everything about him is just pure sex right now. The other women in the crowd put away their phones and focus completely on him.
“Good song choice,” Amanda says to me.
