Chapter Four
RAVEN
LEANING INTO the heavy exterior door on the first floor, it swings open.
To the right is the venue’s back parking lot, and to the left is a short alleyway that leads out onto the main road.
The sun has long disappeared behind the mountains, but I can still see the outline of the peaks between the city lights and the clear sky, complete with a full moon and a sky full of stars.
It’s loud out here. The city is far from asleep.
But the frantic tempo that comes with daytime traffic, mainly cars and busy professionals, has passed, now filled with more foot traffic and people seeking nighttime entertainment.
It’s a shift in the quality of the sound, fewer heavy trucks, more music spilling from open car windows with the heat of the day passed.
And more importantly, it’s more slow-paced than inside.
The band has finished, which means it’s now the DJ’s turn to carry the party vibes for the rest of the night.
“…you tomorrow,” I hear a male voice saying after a short blast from a passing car’s horn.
“Have a good one, Knox,” a second male voice says.
“You too, Zeke. Love you, cousin.”
Leaning over the railing of the steps, I look down the alleyway.
A small van is parked in the loading zone, and I see the Nightshades packing their instruments.
The door behind me opens, and several people come out, all headed towards the parking lot.
I catch several snippets of conversation, all speaking positivity about Dove and RJ’s reception.
I feel the buzz of pride run through me at a job well done. Or maybe it’s just all the liquor.
Damn, those Jamo and Gingers are hitting hard.
When I turn my attention back to the alleyway, the van is gone, but the lead singer, Knox, still stands there alone.
Something about him draws my attention. It’s been happening all night through their set.
I was less than impressed by his guitar playing.
Most of the guests likely didn’t even notice that he sometimes fell out of sync with Octavia and Zeke, but I did.
Each time, they would follow his lead, keeping the sound tight overall.
His instrument playing notwithstanding, his singing voice has a quality that I can only describe as orchestral.
It is layered and dynamic. Even though most of what they played tonight were covers, he still managed to surprise me with his musical choices.
Singing harmony when I thought he would stay on the melody; choosing a minor key with more upbeat songs to make them appropriate for slow dancing.
Pushing and dragging the rhythm to make the songs more interesting than some of the originals.
It was the kind of chaotic music-making that leads to amazing performances.
Without even realizing I’m doing it, I leave the steps and make my way into the alleyway.
He looks up from his phone as I approach, his eyes this soulful color of amber I hadn’t noticed when he was up on stage.
The bright streetlight gives his hair a subtle shine, his beard and hair the same shade of chocolate brown.
It’s only as I near him that I notice the few strands of his hair that gradient into silver in his otherwise dark brown beard.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello,” he says, dropping his phone into his leather jacket. With the jacket on, I can’t see his arm tattoos I glimpsed as he played. It’s far too hot out here in my opinion for that kind of fashion choice, but it fits his athletic build well. The material is worn and soft-looking.
I freeze in thought, realizing I approached him with no plan for conversation topics. I lean on what I hope will be the safest conversation, business.
“I confirmed with Octavia that the remainder of the band’s playing fee has already gone through.”
He nods, “Yeah, thanks. She let me know.”
I pause, realizing I’ve already run out of conversation. I’ve been speaking to people all day long, familiar and unfamiliar to me, with no issues. But now, suddenly, in front of him, I feel like I short-circuited.
“You sang well,” I say.
“Nice wedding,” he says simultaneously.
“Thanks,” we both say at the same time.
The shared gaff sends us both into light-hearted chuckles, the minor tension I was feeling breaking.
“It’s actually their reception,” I explain. “They decided to elope a few weeks ago.”
“Smart,” he nods, “Skip all the pressure that comes from planning for a year or more for a one-hour event, and skip over the pretense that it’s not about the party.”
“Speaking from personal experience?” I ask, curious. He’s definitely a good-looking man, and the lack of a wedding ring means nothing, especially for people working in the music industry.
“No, but I’ve been to plenty of weddings. And to the divorce parties too.”
“Ouch.”
“Most everyone is only there for the party, including the bride and groom sometimes.”
“Hmm…” I tap my chin in thought.
“What?”
“I can’t decide if that’s extremely cynical or just plain ol’ astute observation on your part.”
Knox smiles, his full lips pulling back to reveal straight, gleaming white teeth. He has a small gap between two of his teeth, giving him a more boyish look.
“Two things can be true at once.” He pauses before saying, “But you shouldn’t listen to me. I’m out here sounding like a regular old killjoy. Weddings are happy occasions.”
“They are…”
Knox’s expression changes, his eyebrows drawing together.
“You sound like you need a little convincing yourself.”
“No, they are,” I say quickly. “And I am so happy for Dove. She and RJ have been through a lot, and I’m thrilled they are starting their lives together.”
“But…” Knox prompts.
Maybe it’s the liquor. Maybe it’s that after that conversation with Eve and Jeremy, I’m feeling strangely vulnerable in the moment, and this man seems to want to listen.
Maybe because sometimes it’s actually easier to tell the unvarnished truth to a total stranger.
Whatever the reason, I let my thoughts and emotions gather into words and come out.
“It’s odd being the older sister at a wedding reception I planned.
Everyone seems to want to know when I’m getting married.
Like now that Dove has done it, I should be doing it too.
Never mind the happily single part, never mind the focused on my career part.
Never mind half of them told me all my life to wait until I was at least thirty to ever consider any of that stuff.
It’s all marriages, mortgages and baby making in there. ”
“Funny enough, I remember the same wait till you’re thirty speech. There is nothing magical between 29 and 30 that makes you more ready for marriage, I promise you. You’re just as likely to choose the wrong person.”
“Can confirm,” I say.
“And being with the wrong person…well, as long as musicians have been writing songs about falling in love with the right person, they’ve been writing songs about what it feels like falling for the wrong one.
It’s like you’re always almost where you want to be.
Always waiting for that exhausting contradiction of being with them to resolve. ”
I look at him, feeling suddenly exposed under his gaze but not at all uncomfortable. It’s like he peeked into my past and knew exactly what to say.
“Yeah. Not unhappy, at least not at first. But already frozen by something. Unable to grow in some fundamental way. Guarding your words, sometimes guarding your own thoughts and needs.”
Knox pauses, his gaze seemingly intensifying for a moment.
“Yeah.”
My observation brings on a long silence. The air remains full of sounds, yet between us it feels quiet.
Wanting to lighten the mood, I say, “So it’s official, the new marriage age is no longer thirty. It’s now and forevermore forty.”
The intensity in his eyes subsides as he chuckles.
The sound of it laces itself around my body, pulling me further into his space.
“Finally, something positive to look forward to at forty.”
“You are not forty!” I say, amused by his expression.
“No,” he admits, “but one day I woke up, and I realized I was older than I’d like to be and every joint was more rickety than I remember.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s just the human condition.”
Knox keeps speaking, responding to my comment, but my focus shifts from his words to the shape of his lips. They are bottom-heavy, with a slight downturn; his lower lip is fuller and more pinkish-red than his top lip. I suddenly want to bite his lip to see if they are as plush as they appear.
He’s tall enough that even in my heels I need to stretch up.
When our lips meet, his are immediately pliant against my own, the taste of his mint gum sharp, as if he’d just chewed a piece.
I nibble at his lip, and he responds by spearing my mouth with his tongue.
Another heartbeat later, Knox has wrapped his arms around me, gluing our fronts together.
The logic center of my brain is telling me that making out with a total stranger is probably an unwise choice.
But then he’s grabbing my ass and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, and those thoughts are blown clean away.
A rush of desire and adrenaline hits my system, reminding me it’s been months since anyone has touched me like this.
I run my hands under his jacket, feeling the ridges of his chest, shoulders, and abs.
Our noses bump into each other, pushing my glasses slightly askew.
Knox moans against my mouth, the sound alone making my pussy start to clench around nothing.
His right hand leaves my ass and finds my clit through the fabric of my panties, my dress rising high up on my body as I lift my leg to rest on his hip.
“Goddamn, you’re soaked.”
Any twinge of embarrassment at how fast I seemed to have gone from zero to sixty is almost immediately overwritten by the potent combination that is liquor and lust. Knox begins to rub my clit, and after only a few strokes against that nub, he slips two fingers into my heat.
The pressure sends a spasm up my spine, my groan loud.
At the same time, I reach down and find him as hard as I am wet.
The growing hardness under the fabric of his jeans makes me shiver.
The outline of his cock is obvious. His lips seal back over mine as Knox’s digits curl inside me, sending me straight into the stratosphere.
The orgasm blasts through my lower body with enough force to startle me and turn my legs into jelly temporarily.
I’ve never come so fast in my life, with or without a partner.
I’m already chasing after a second orgasm when a flash of light crosses my vision and interrupts my spirally lust-filled thoughts.
I open my eyes in time to see a car pulling into the alleyway.
Hit by the sudden realization of where we are, I pull back from Knox like he’s on fire.
The car pulls past us, but the windows are too dark for me to see if the occupants saw that I had half my body wrapped around him while his fingers were buried deep inside me not fifteen seconds ago.
What the actual fuck, Raven? Were you really just riding this guy’s fingers in the alleyway?
All at once, I feel dizzy from the summer heat and the heat still wanting to fuse us back together. Knox takes a step towards me, but I shake my head. It’s hard to ignore the ravenous look in his eyes, but I do my best as I straighten my outfit.
“I should be getting back inside,” I say to fill the sudden silence between us.
I cannot read his expression, but it’s a mix of emotions.
“I like you.”
I scoff. “You don’t know me.”
“Fair. But I’d like to get the chance.”
“You can’t. I’m going home to California tomorrow morning,” I burst out, finding the easiest out for this entire situation.
He grins mischievously, “Then there are no strings attached for you. You’re leaving town.”
He takes another step towards me, his hand wrapping around my waist. He presses his lips into the soft side of my neck, the hairs of his beard pressing into my skin and adding to the sensations I’m feeling.
I hate that I’m tempted, but I shake my head again, taking several purposeful steps away from him.
“Drive home safe, Knox. Thanks for your work tonight.”
I force myself to turn fully from him. I’ve made it to the bottom of the steps back into the venue when he calls, “Look me up if you’re ever back in town, Raven. We can have a drink.”
I’m not ten steps back into the building when I see Amore walking down the ramp to this level. I’m suddenly reminded that I was thinking of making out with him not thirty minutes ago.
Good God, how messy and impulsive can you get, girl? You are officially cut off.