Chapter 2
TWO
Monk
What the hell am I doing here?
But here I stand at Petra’s apartment door, debating whether I should knock or turn my ass right back around.
Not only did I pass on a paying gig for this party I probably won’t even enjoy, but the girl I came to see is taken.
And apparently a lesbian. I’m not one of those guys who thinks I can “turn” girls with my magical dick.
I respect everyone’s sexuality. And God knows I’ve witnessed enough infidelity in my family to respect other people’s relationships.
I would never go after someone else’s girl.
So again… what the hell am I doing here?
I’m here for Verity.
Not to make a play for her right under her girlfriend’s nose.
Of course not, but she intrigued me. I’ve never reacted to a woman the way I did to Verity.
I think I hid it well. My hands never stumbled, but my heart rattled in my rib cage like someone laid a defibrillator on my chest. A line of electricity ran between us when our eyes met.
It sounds like something from a cheesy rom-com, but the rest of the room faded into the background and for a few seconds all I saw was her.
And there was such an instant intimacy in the look we exchanged.
I wouldn’t even characterize it as sexual.
Not that I’m not attracted to her. Hell yeah, I am, but that wasn’t what that initial look was about.
It was a recognition unlike anything I’ve experienced.
I’m here to convince myself it wasn’t real, because if it was, then the universe hates me.
Feeling something like that with a woman who doesn’t even like men and is committed to someone else is some cosmic bullshit.
The way she stared back at me, though—her discomfited look at the zing of heat when we shook hands.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, turning to leave and head back to my car parked on the street. “And pointless.”
The door to the apartment swings open behind me. I look over my shoulder to find Petra standing on the threshold, arms folded across her chest. Beyond her shoulder, the living room is crammed with people. Janet Jackson’s “Someone to Call My Lover” drifts out to the hall.
“Where you going?” Petra asks with a quirked brow and her patented smirk.
I turn to face her and point a thumb toward my car. “Uh, I forgot… I didn’t bring anything.”
“Boy, nobody asked you to,” she scoffs, opening the door wider. “We got plenty. Come on in.”
“Plenty” turns out to be a spread of pizza and wings. The budget definitely went to the alcohol. A small window through to the kitchen reveals a large collection of liquor bottles and cans of beer crowding the counter.
I sweep the apartment in a glance, searching for Verity, but half glad when I don’t see her among the students crowding the apartment.
Some are seated on the couch, on the floor, on the small patio the sliding door opens to.
A few of them are dancing, laughing seemingly carefree.
I’ve been working my ass off the last four years, and I can count on one hand the number of parties I’ve been to.
Besides a demanding class schedule, I stay booked, playing all over the city.
Most students would kill to have the problem of too many gigs.
Me? I’m just tired and ready to graduate so I don’t have to balance school with everything else.
“You hungry?” Petra asks, gesturing toward the boxes of pizza and trays of wings.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“If you’re not hungry,” Petra says, “at least grab a drink.”
A petite girl with a close haircut dyed purple walks up, leans into Petra’s side, and takes her hand. Petra smiles down at her.
“What’s up, Randi?” she asks, her eyes wandering up and down the girl’s curvy figure. “Been a while.”
“Hmmm.” Randi offers a heavy-lidded grin and licks her lips. “Too long. Thanks for the invite.”
“Anytime, you know that,” Petra all but purrs. Her glance bounces from the pretty girl at her side to me. “I need to check on something, Monk, but Zeke’s in the kitchen making drinks. He’ll hook you up.”
“Alright, yeah.” I look from her to Randi, testing my instincts to figure out what’s up between them.
“Glad you could make it,” Petra tosses back as she and Randi walk away.
Is Verity not even here? Didn’t Petra say they’re dating? I never could keep up with Petra’s relationship revolving door. Seemed like she had a new girl on her arm every week when I knew her before.
I enter the kitchen to find Ezekiel minding the vast array of liquor bottles spread across the counter. He must be some kind of ad hoc bartender because he’s taking orders and mixing drinks.
“Hey! You made it,” he greets me with a wide grin. “We got a little of everything. What’ll you have?”
“Just a beer.” I reach for a Coors Light and pop it open. “What’s your major?”
“I’m premed.” He hands one girl two drinks and a smile before turning his attention back to me.
“Oh, so that’s how you and Petra know each other?” I sip my beer and lean against the counter.
“Mostly. Gillian and Petra actually met first, and we realized we were on the same track.”
“Where’s Gillian tonight?”
“Think she was helping Verity get ready.” He snorts. “Gillian begged to do her makeup for her.”
She doesn’t need it.
I’ve no sooner thought it, than through the small kitchen window, I see Verity and Gillian emerging from the bedroom.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have come.
I hoped my memory of her was distorted, exaggerated, but she’s as gorgeous and captivating as when I spotted her last night in the crowded club.
She has what I think people call a heart-shaped face, but that is a pitiful description for the chin that narrows to a point and the cheekbones so high and molded they flare into lines somehow bold and fragile.
Her almond-shaped eyes are chocolate and midnight, her brows silky and finely arched.
The curls, fluffed out and haloing around her last night, are more subdued tonight, stretched to her shoulders in deep waves.
Gillian’s cosmetic handiwork on her eyes and cheeks only highlights the beauty of her skin.
Jesus, this girl’s skin.
Her skin is medium brown, with reddish undertones that illuminate her complexion. She’s burnished sienna, emanating a glow that owes little to the overhead lighting. It’s something shining from inside that radiates through her pores. It’s just as hard to look away now as it was last night.
She wears a pink sweater cropped to flash glimpses of her toned stomach.
A skirt with layers of tulle shimmers silver and pink, falling just short of her knees.
She stands in the doorway to Petra’s bedroom and crosses one ballet flat–shod foot behind her ankle.
I look away before she catches me staring again.
“She’s something else, huh?” Ezekiel grins and wipes down the counter.
“Who?” I ask.
“Verity. That’s who you were looking at, right?”
“Oh, nah.” I clear my throat and straighten from the counter. “It’s not like that. She’s a beautiful girl, obviously, but she’s with Petra. I wouldn’t… I wasn’t. Nah.”
“They do have an open relationship,” he says, plopping a maraschino cherry into some fizzy drink. “But it hasn’t opened to me yet, if you know what I mean.”
I offer him a polite smile and toss the can in the garbage bag nearby.
“I can’t stay long,” I say instead of addressing his last comment. “I’mma get out there a little before I have to dip.”
“Yeah, okay. You playing any more around campus?”
“Some, yeah.”
A girl walks in wearing tight jeans and a Finley sweatshirt. “I need a refill, Zeke.”
“I got you,” he says, tipping his chin to me. “Good seeing you, Monk.”
I make my way back into the living room. There’s no sign of Verity now, and I can’t help but wonder where she disappeared to that fast.
Not my business.
The mingled scents of strong perfume, alcohol, and weed make me slightly nauseous.
Needing some air, I pick my way through the people toward the sliding doors to the postage-stamp patio.
It’s blessedly empty now. There are three folding lawn chairs, one set back a little into the shadows under a hanging fern.
“That’s my spot,” I mumble, closing the door and settling in to kill some time before I can respectably leave.
I wouldn’t put it past Petra to grab me by the collar on my way out the door.
I pull the small leather notebook I always carry from my back pocket.
One of my senior projects involves scoring a film.
I have to partner with another senior, a student filmmaker, and ever since he and I met about the project yesterday, notes and entire musical phrases have been flitting through my mind.
Just snippets, but I jot them down in my notebook as soon as they come to me.
I’ve been at it for maybe ten minutes when the sliding door opens.
My head snaps up, but I remain otherwise perfectly still.
Small talk with some stranger is the last thing I’m in the mood for.
The only thing worse would be someone asking me to play a song on some out-of-tune instrument they had stashed in a closet.
Once people realize I’m musical, it’s like I become their personal karaoke machine.
It’s not some stranger, though.
It’s her.
“Stupid, stupid girl,” she mumbles, pushing her hair back and dragging her hands over her face.
“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that,” I say.
Verity startles, jumping a little and turning wide eyes in my direction. I lean forward into the porch light so she can see my face.
“Oh. Sorry.” She looks away quickly, a handful of the frothy skirt clutched in her fist. “I didn’t know anyone was out here. I thought you were gone.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I didn’t even think she knew I was here.
“I’ll be leaving soon.” I tie the leather strap on my notebook and stand. “If you want to be left alone I can—”
“No, it’s fine.” She clears her throat and nods toward one of the other nearby lawn chairs. “You mind if I…?”