CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When the sound of Dustin’s knock echoes through the apartment, I instantly decide that I hate every piece of furniture I own, that the walls should be repainted, and that I should seriously consider hiring an interior decorator.
But that’s just a silly knee-jerk reaction.
I have to stop reacting to him that way.
He’s just a person. The person I invited over because it seems like we haven’t been able to sync our schedules up lately and it’s been a week since I saw him.
He finally has a free night, and I pushed pretty hard to get him to agree to spend it here, at my place. Just the two of us.
Well, he’s not going to wait in the hall forever.
I fling the door open with a wide smile to find him standing there with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
He looks perfectly mussed, his hair falling over one eye, the sleeves of his tight sweater pushed up to his elbows to reveal his tattooed forearms.
“Hey, gorgeous.” It’s practically a purr—or at least, that’s how it sounds to me.
Darn it, no matter how many times I tell myself not to react this way, there’s still part of me that wants to squeal and shriek and jump around in disbelief. He’s talking to me. I’m gorgeous.
“Hey, handsome.”
I step back to let him come in, and he rewards me with a deep, passionate kiss that leaves me panting and wanting more.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” he whispers, his face only inches from mine. “You have no idea.”
“I think I do.” I giggle.
If anything, he has no idea how much I’ve thought of him since I’ve spent the past week writing about a character based on him.
I leave him to look around a little while I find a vase for the flowers.
“This is beautiful. Really stunning. I love the color on the walls.”
Okay, so maybe my decorating instincts aren’t as terrible as I thought they were. “Thanks. I’ve always liked that shade of blue-green. Darker than a Tiffany box, but not too dark.”
“Exactly. It’s really striking. Bold.” He turns to me with a smile and accepts the wine key I hand him.
“Considering that this is the place I spend most of my time, I figured I might as well surround myself with things I like.” I watch as he wanders over toward the many, many books lined up along the walls.
They’re arranged by color now, though I might change that up soon.
Probably the next time I get stuck on a scene and look for a way to distract myself from the work I should be doing.
“Well-read too. I guess that goes with the territory.” He glances over his shoulder with a grin.
“I bet, in your apartment or your house, there’s all kinds of music.”
He pours wine into the two glasses I brought out from the kitchen. “I have a music room at my house, out in LA. I miss it right now—which is funny, when you think about it. I can listen to any music imaginable, thanks to the magic device in my pocket.”
“But it’s not the same as being home with your own collection.”
“Not even close.” He sits down next to me and touches his glass to mine. “And there is such a huge difference between the vinyl and the digitally remastered versions of so many really great albums. It’s like they suck all the soul out of the recording when they mess with it like that.”
“I’ve heard that argument before, but I’ve never owned a record player or any vinyl albums, so I can’t really offer my opinion.”
“You don’t own a turntable?” He looks downright stunned.
“No. I don’t own a girdle either.” When he sputters a little, I explain, “It’s just that, for most of my life, vinyl records were so old-fashioned. Now, like you said, everything is digital. I can listen to just about anything on my laptop. And I know that’s not the same.”
“We need to get you a turntable.”
“Do we really though?” I ask. All I want to do is spend time with this man, and it seems like he is always coming up with ways to change the subject. “I kind of thought we would spend tonight together …”
“I don’t mean right this very minute.” His gaze softens along with his voice, which drops into something barely louder than a whisper. “Trust me, I want to spend tonight with you too.”
“Good.”
This is happening. This is really happening.
I’m not going to play the good girl tonight. No way. Tonight is a night to be bad in the best way possible.
“What did you have in mind?” He settles in, draping an arm over my shoulders and pulling me in until my head is resting against him.
Honestly, this is enough for now. Sitting here, being together, relaxing.
I could almost fool myself into imagining that this is our life, the two of us.
Enjoying these brief moments together, focusing on each other when we have the chance to.
It’s all too easy, falling into reverie, a fantasy that will probably never come true.
“I thought maybe we would order something to eat, for starters? If you’re hungry, that is. We could watch a movie on my laptop.”
“You don’t have a TV?” He sounds surprised as he looks around. “I didn’t notice that at first.”
“I never got around to buying one.” I shrug. “Anything I want to watch, I can find online or stream it or whatever. If I had a TV around, I would leave it on all the time and get distracted. I know myself well enough.”
“I hate silence.” He laughs at himself a little, shrugging. “Little-known fact about me. A silent house or apartment freaks me out.”
“We can turn some music on if you want—even though it’ll only come from my laptop, and I know that’s not nearly good enough.” I finish with a wink, standing up from the couch. “Anything you want to hear?”
“I could go for some jazz,” he offers.
That’s unfortunate since, now, all I can think about is my grandmother’s warnings. Why couldn’t he have picked hip-hop or swing music or religious hymns or anything else, literally anything at all?
“I have to admit, I’m not well-versed in jazz. You might have to tell me a specific artist to look for.”
“It seems like I have a lot to teach you.”
Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about music anymore?
He comes to me, where I’m standing at my laptop, and takes me by the hips.
He presses me against the desk, our bodies flush against each other.
“I’d like to start teaching you now,” he murmurs, kissing the tip of my nose, my cheeks, my chin.
“I mean, I could go for something to eat, but you’re much tastier than anything I can imagine being delivered. ”
What is a girl supposed to say to that besides, “That sounds good to me.”
The next thing I know, his hands are under my butt, and he’s lifting me, carrying me to the couch with my legs locked around his hips. I can’t help giggling as he lowers me, lowering himself at the same time until he’s settled between my thighs.
“Lesson number one,” he growls, planting tiny kisses on my collarbone. “You are wearing way too much clothing right now.”
“We’ll have to do something about that,” I whisper, closing my eyes and succumbing to the bliss rolling through me in waves as he unbuttons my blouse with one hand while his mouth travels lower, lower …
He stops at the sound of scratching at the front door. I open my eyes to find him looking toward the door, confused.
“What’s that?”
Of all times for Phoebe to decide she wants to pay a visit.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” I manage to slide out from under him, buttoning my shirt and smoothing my hair into place as I go to the door. “She might’ve gotten out from the apartment across the hall.”
He mutters something I don’t quite understand, and I don’t need to know exactly what he’s saying to catch the general idea. Considering I’m throbbing like crazy between my legs, I understand the sentiment.
Sure enough, there’s a certain golden retriever sitting at the door.
“Hi, pretty girl.” I crouch in front of her, and laugh as she kisses my chin. She probably smells Dustin on me. “Where’s your daddy?”
Matt’s door is partly open, which is unlike him.
To my surprise, Phoebe starts to growl. I glance over my shoulder to find Dustin walking toward us.
“Don’t be rude,” I whisper, trying to chide her. “Be a nice girl.”
“Phoebe!” Matt throws his door open wide, looking disheveled, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He groans when he sees her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Did you leave the door open?” I sigh, shaking my head. “And you’re the one who gets on my case for doing things like that.”
Rather than argue with me, which is normally the way this would go, Matt looks into my apartment and finds Dustin standing behind me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Yeah, I guess I didn’t close the door all the way.
I was about to get in the shower, and I knew something was up when she didn’t follow me into the bathroom.
I don’t think I’ve taken a shower alone since I adopted her. ”
He then extends a hand toward Dustin, reaching over my shoulder. “Matt Ryder.”
“Dustin Grant.” He doesn’t sound thrilled, not even a little.
Even when he was in a bad mood and he met Hayley, he managed to sound upbeat and friendly. He knew he was talking to a fan and didn’t want to disappoint her.
After sizing Matt up, he’s probably decided it’s not worth it.
“Oh, right! You’re the musician! Kitty told me about you.”
The two of them hold each other’s gaze, and I might as well not even be present. Frankly, I sort of wish I weren’t because I’m getting the feeling they’re having a conversation far beyond anything they’ve said out loud.
“All good things, I hope.”
Is there a law that people have to say that? Because I swear, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that …
“Actually, she hasn’t had the chance to tell me too much. You two haven’t known each other for very long.”
I’m about to choke on all the testosterone.
“Anyway,” I interject probably a lot louder than I need to, “here’s the dog. Try to make sure your front door’s closed all the way next time, okay? I wouldn’t want to see you lose this sweet girl.” I reach down to pet her head, but she’s too busy growling softly at Dustin.
“Sorry.” Matt shrugs. “She’s not usually like this. She’s generally friendly to everybody.”
Is it my imagination, or did he look at Dustin when he said that?
“She’s just jealous that I’m hanging out with somebody who isn’t her.”
Honestly, if I were wearing a pair of tap shoes, I couldn’t dance any harder than I am right now. I’m trying desperately to keep things light and upbeat and to prevent these two from, I don’t know, pulling out their penises and measuring them. Or whatever men do in situations like this.
“Nice to meet you,” Matt offers through gritted teeth.
Dustin turns away, mumbling, and Matt’s eyes widen when they meet mine.
I don’t trust him, he mouths.
I didn’t ask you, I mouth back, and then I stick my tongue out at him because I am very mature. He’s used to that by now anyway.
When it’s all over and I close the door, all I can do is put a hand on my forehead. “I’m so sorry about that.” I laugh. Yes, it was just a silly detour. Nothing more serious than that.
Dustin doesn’t appear to share my opinion. “Who is that guy?” He jerks his chin toward the door.
“Just my neighbor. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry if he came off a little too …”
“Macho? Like a complete jerk-off?”
I know I shouldn’t come to Matt’s defense, but I can’t help it. “He’s not that bad. He’s like a brother. He drives me nuts, but I guess he feels like it’s his job to protect me.”
He snorts, picking up his wineglass and draining it before pouring more. “Yeah, like a brother. I’m sure that’s how he sees you.”
I feel like I’m joining a conversation already in progress, and I have no idea what I missed. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, get real. I know you’re a nice person and you have a great heart and you’re sweet, but let’s not kid ourselves. He’s obviously after you.”
“After me?” I can’t help it. I have to laugh. “Hardly. Please, let’s not even think about him. He’s just my neighbor.”
“Does your neighbor come to your door, wearing nothing but a towel all the time?”
“No. Only when he was in the middle of getting into the shower and his dog got out.”
Now is definitely not the time to describe our first real meeting—when I took off all my clothes and threw up on Matt’s carpet before passing out in his bed. There are certain things Dustin doesn’t need to know about, especially when he’s looking and sounding as angry as he does right now.
“It just seems a little too convenient to me.”
“Considering that you don’t know the first thing about my life or the way I live it, Dustin, I don’t think you have enough information to decide whether something is convenient or not.
And, if this is the way you’re going to act, I think tonight was a mistake.
I’m sorry things turned out this way, but life happens.
Either you can deal with that or you can’t. ”
He picks up the bottle, still half-full, and shrugs. “Whatever. If that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll be going.”
“I guess that’s for the best.”
I pull the door open for him, and he saunters out into the hallway, throwing a dirty look at Matt’s closed door before turning and walking toward the stairs.
Now, how did everything go from wonderful to terrible in no time flat? I mean, this has to be a record, even for me.