Charlie got up and headed toward the bar, leaving me scowling at Layla.
“Revisionist history. We were two trains rushing in opposite directions.”
“Don’t you ever wonder what it might’ve been like, though, out on the road, living the life of a touring musician?”
“You’re free to date him if you want.”
She shook her head. “As much as I love a sexy song-writing guitar player, Dylan’s way too intense for me. Although I’m sure if he sticks around, the townies will try to set me up with him. At least Peter fled or I’m sure someone would’ve sniffed him out as a potential partner for me. They really have no concept of what’s appropriate at all.”
I had to laugh at that. “I’m surprised they never tried to set you up with your brother.”
“Right. But there’s no reason you can’t be.” She ducked to suck on her straw as if that topic of conversation had come to an end.
“That’s never going to happen.”
She frowned. “You know, I’m your friend first, but can you blame me if I’m still a little Team Max?”
She interpreted everything through the lens of fandom. Team Max indeed.
I scanned the crowd, waving at Letitia and her new boyfriend, Rico, who I only knew through her Instagram photos. Charlie chatted with them, and I hoped he might bring them over to our table. I turned my head and ended up staring directly at Max, who sat alone, typing furiously into his phone.
Who did he know who wasn’t here?
“Hey!” Dylan smacked the table with both hands, and I jumped out of my skin.
“Holy shit, Dylan.”
“How’s it going? I mean, honestly. Is it okay?”
Just like old times. “You’re en fuego, Dylan. But why are you out here. Everyone’s waiting for your next set.”
Ross Anderson slapped Dylan’s arm on his way past. “Great set, Dylan.”
Dylan said, “Thanks!” over his shoulder, then focused all his heat on me. “Saw you out here and wanted to catch you. Can you stick around after?”
Everyone at the table stared.
“I don’t know.”
He folded his hands together in supplication, bending slightly, like he might kneel before me. “Please, Mad?” He waved his hand out toward the rest of the club. “We’ll be right here in public. I just wanna talk.”
My curiosity was piqued “We’ll see.” I raised my eyebrows. “But you, you need to get on that stage.”
He took my hand. “Are you sure you can handle it? I’m gonna play my new song.”
Sweet Jesus.
“Bring it.” I went to snatch my hand away, but he gripped tight and pulled it up to his mouth. When he pressed his lips to my skin, I tugged hard and laughed. “Brat.”
Gentry scurried past. When he glanced over, he did a double take and his eyebrows rose. Scandalized.
Dylan winked and skipped back gracefully, turning to weave into the crowd. I followed him with my eyes and caught Max staring. I waved, and he turned to face the stage.
The lights dimmed, and Charlie appeared out of nowhere to slide into the booth beside me, handing me another beer. “Was that Dylan?”
Rather than answer, I took the proffered beer and downed half of it in one pull.
I didn’t think Charlie believed we were on a date, but maybe I shouldn’t have flirted with Dylan, even if he was technically flirting with me. But Charlie probably hadn’t even noticed the flush undoubtedly coloring my face without the help of the stage lights.
Dylan came out and settled onto his stool, one foot on a spindle so he could prop his guitar on a knee. “Thanks again for coming out, everyone. And for sticking around for this next set. I want to play you all a song I’ve been working on for the past several months. It’s a special song. I think you’ll see why.”
My cheeks flamed already. I considered getting up to leave, but it was dark enough to hide. As soon as Dylan began to play, my fears subsided. He slapped the body of the guitar in a syncopated rhythm and started singing the same song he’d sung to me, but in a Latin rhythm that made everyone bounce and move.
Then he hit the chorus.
Your body’s a supernova
Come, come back my lover
Come, come, come in my bed
Scream my name over and over
I looked at Layla, who immediately made an okay sign with one hand and started poking it with her finger. Charlie shifted slightly away, and I wasn’t sure he even knew he’d done it. Shawna waggled her eyebrows at me. I dropped my face into my hands.
The song was incredible, though. It had an amazing melody that worked with the acoustic guitar. I didn’t have to hear his Pro Tools version to know it would be even better with a backing track added.
But the entire town would have the song stuck in their heads and would be singing “Come, come back my lover” around me.
Mortified was an understatement. And yet, my pants were on fire. Hot, so hot.
I cursed Dylan. My body had been in suspended animation for the past few months, like it was in stasis on some spaceship, but now it was waking up too soon, before I’d reached my destination.
I didn’t necessarily need Dylan to take care of the need he’d kick-started, but it would be so easy to sink back into his familiar embrace. Dylan performed, eyes closed, sexy little sideburns, lips that could kiss a woman good and hard. I needed to be kissed good. I needed to be kissed hard. Could I get back with Dylan for a one-night stand?
Come, come, come in his bed?
Could I live with the emotions that would unleash?
His eyes opened, and like earlier, he pegged me, inviting me right in front of the whole room. The club became a furnace. I focused on my beer, and soon the song came to an end.
“Damn.” Layla’s jaw had dropped, and even Shawna was fanning herself.
As soon as Dylan finished the set, I pushed past Charlie and didn’t stop walking until I hit the street, abandoning both my friends and . . . whatever Dylan was to me.
Outside, I leaned against the box office window, a supernova exploding in my pants.
My body was well and good out of hibernation, and I wasn’t sure how best to deal with it. I pulled out my phone and DMed Silver Fox.
Guess who remembers what sexual frustration feels like?
I waited, hoping he’d respond so I could unload on someone who might have good advice, but my phone remained silent, and I felt increasingly foolish for sending it. What an embarrassing thing to message. That seemed to be the story of my relationship with Silver Fox.
“Hey, are you okay?” I looked up to find Shawna standing a few feet from me.
I side-eyed her. “Yeah. Maybe.”
She put a hand on my arm. “Life’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”
I hadn’t as yet found life to be particularly funny, unless she meant more funny strange. “How so?”
“It just seems like things tend to happen at the wrong time, in the wrong order. Do you ever get that feeling?”
“Yeah.” I hadn’t expected her to be so philosophical. “Seems sometimes like a haphazard mess that only makes sense when it’s too late.”
She stared up at the pale moon. “Right. That’s it exactly. But sometimes things fall right into place.”
Was she talking about Dylan? I rolled my eyes.
I wasn’t even thirty yet, but the freight train of time bore down on me. I was lucky in a lot of respects. I had a business. I was going to be published. Those were things that gave me a sense of accomplishment, but nothing was permanent. If even a relationship of years could go belly up over the course of a single day, what faith could I have in anything lasting?
And here I was starting from the beginning. Chapter one.
The doors opened, and Midge emerged. She tapped my shoulder. “Dylan was wonderful, Maddie.”
A few more people filed out, and then the trickle became a stream. I weighed my options. I could go back in and wait for Dylan, or I could go home.
>
Rebecca exited and slipped an arm around Shawna. “Tell Dylan he did a great job.”
“Tell him yourself,” I called as they moved with the crowd along the sidewalk. Dylan wasn’t an extension of me, for Christ’s sake.
Charlie flowed out with the crowd, and I pretended I’d been waiting for him. I owed him an apology for bailing on him, but I didn’t know exactly how to explain why I’d fled without making things worse. When we got to my front door, I faced him and said, “This was—”
I searched for a proper adjective to describe a night where he’d paid for my drinks and ended up abandoned in the club with my ex-boyfriend.
After one loaded moment, he said, “Well, thanks,” and bent forward. Assuming he was heading for my lips, I leaned toward him, only realizing halfway across the breach that his face was angled toward my ear rather than my mouth. Mortified that I’d mistaken a hug for a good-night kiss, I quickly adjusted my own trajectory to match his intent. Sadly, our movements ended up colliding, and he stepped away, confused, then took my hand to give it a good shake.
I wanted the shadows to swallow me.
“Uh, well. Goodnight, then.” He let go and backed down the sidewalk. “I’ll see you Monday?”
I wished I knew if Charlie had potential to be my romantic lead. The mountain overpass was turning out to be far more treacherous than I’d anticipated.
Once I was alone, I dropped onto my sofa, propping my feet on the coffee table beside the photo album I kept there. I flipped it open with my toe. On the first page, there was a picture of Layla and Max and me in front of their house. We sat on the steps, eating bright red Popsicles. The juice ran down our chins, making us look like very young vampires.
I leaned forward and turned the page. My mom fifteen years ago, when her hair was more yellow than white. I’d caught her asleep on the porch, a book lying open across her chest. She looked beautiful.
Pages devoted to Max and Layla gave way to pages of Dylan. Dylan on his motorbike. Dylan playing his guitar in the hayloft. Dylan boarding the bus to New York City.
I swallowed a lump as the vivid memory consumed me. I could hear the bus idling and smell the exhaust as we said our final farewells, and then he climbed the steps, and I watched his silhouette move through the aisle until he found a seat.
There he was waving from the window. If only he’d asked me to go with him, told me he loved me and needed me with him . . . I would have been tempted. I might have even boarded the bus with him, embraced the adventure, until my mom tracked me down and reminded me of my obligations. Still, if that had been our history, it would be easier to take a chance on him now. Instead, as always, he’d put his own needs before mine and left me, literally, on the curb.
As I looked at the picture now, a weird detail caught my eye: The logo on the side of the bus read SILVER FOX BUS LINES.
What the—?
My phone buzzed, and I marveled at the coincidence again before closing the photo album.
I reached over to grab my purse and fumbled until I found it. The phone buzzed twice more, and the Twitter notification number changed from one to three. I opened the app to find direct messages from Silver Fox. Was there black magic at work?
I curled up on the sofa in anticipation of a sudden improvement to my evening.
You can’t leave a message like that and then not clarify.
Is this your St. John guy?
Did he turn out to be Rochester after all?
Relieved I hadn’t scared him off completely, I started typing:
Different guy, old flame. More Rhett Butler than Rochester. He’s infuriatingly arrogant and sexy, and I’ve gotten myself into the kind of burning lust you encouraged. And I’m regretting it. So thank you.
He was fast to reply. Care to share?
I mulled it over. Flirting with him was a pale replacement for actual physical contact, but it was more fun than wallowing in self-pity. Shouldn’t I be saving it for my art? Fire of my loins yada yada.
Your loins are on fire?
Actually, yes.
So why are you messaging me? Why aren’t you quenching your loin fire with Rhett’s tumescence?
I snorted and had to sit up farther to type easier. Tumescence? Are you serious?
I’ve read a lot of historical romance, believe it or not. Romance, truly?
Pretty much anything I can get my hands on.
That’s a far cry from The Little Prince.
Ah, yeah. You’ve read my bio.
So where do things stand with your tumescence, Foxy? Any progress with yon vixen?
Setback—I suspect she’s interested in someone else.
Ah. So here we sit on a Saturday night engaging in literary dirty talk.
May I ask why you’re alone if you’ve managed to light the wick, so to speak?
I laughed again. Would you find me quaint if I told you I want more than passion?
Is that considered quaint these days?
I want someone I can talk to, someone who wants more than passion from me. I want sex but not without friendship and love and stability.
That’s exactly what I’m looking for.
Sigh. Really? I was starting to believe a man like that only exists in novels.
I exist. I want companionship, but would you consider me a caveman if I told you I want the passion, too?
Not at all. My problem is that I could have the passion right now. Or the companionship. But not together.
That leaves you in a state of unrest, I take it.
My bosom heaves with desire. I giggled as I waited to see if he’d volley.
Fair lady, you are clearly in distress. How may I be of service?
Bingo.
I cannot breathe for this bedeviled bodice.
A few seconds passed where I feared I may have crossed the line, but then he came through.
Shall I loosen these ties?
I couldn’t contain a stupid grin. Scandal. Good sir, you have caused me to swoon into your arms.
What’s a gentleman to do?
Gentleman or ne’er-do-well?
Ha. Ha. A little of both.
He was too cute.
Rhett Butler, then?
If only.
Who, then?
We already established I was Darcy.
Why did it always come back to Pride and Prejudice?
You’re not seriously so vain you think that book is about you?
See? So misunderstood.
But he’s a fan favorite. Everybody loves Darcy.
Everyone. Except Lizzie.
Arrow through the heart. So you wait?
Worth waiting.
Wow. I hope your Lizzie figures out how lucky she is.
And I hope your Rhett Butler finds a way to prove himself so you can satisfy your hot-blooded yearning.
You think I should take a risk on a ruffian with a heart of gold?
For your art . . .
I shook my head at his teasing. And maybe you should put some skin in the game. Tell Lizzie you ardently admire her?
Ha ha. I’m working up to it.
Good night and good luck, Darcy.
Strangely, flirting with Silver Fox hadn’t raised my blood pressure, and in fact, I felt less flustered, and more balanced than before. I’d missed that kind of simple fun.
My phone buzzed a minute later.
But you know, if you happen to write a scene in which your characters act on their attraction, I wouldn’t be opposed to taking a look.
I blinked rapidly. You want me to write you a sex scene....
A series of messages followed in rapid succession.
Only joking.
Unless you do write that, then I’m serious. He posted an emoticon of little praying hands.
Oh, God, scratch that. I’ve probably offended you. Have I offended you?
I giggled. Laughing.
Good. Then I was only joking. (Not really.) Good night, Jane. Or Scarlett?
As I snuggled ag
ainst my pillow, I wondered what Silver Fox was like in real life.
Suddenly my mind raced with a scene I’d already written for my second book that would have worked so much better if I’d taken it all the way. I snatched my phone up again and messaged Layla. You up?
Yep.
Have you reached the scene where Lira writes the rune on Rane’s back?
Yeah—hot.
What would you think if I turned that into a full-on sex scene?
Send that to me.
I’ll take that as approval.
I slid my laptop over and opened my writing software to the scene that began:
She lay in the wasted field under the wreckage of the portal. Exhausted, Lira crawled across debris, coughing up soot and blood, until she saw his twisted body. Somehow it had worked. She’d brought them both through, but at what cost?
I read to the point where she’d rolled him over and worked his shirt off far enough to begin using up the last of her stored magic to trace onto his back the rune that could restore him.
In the current version, Rane was only supposed to wake up and then declare his everlasting love for Lira. I couldn’t believe I’d never thought to make that statement more overt. I started writing a more physical demonstration of their love, thinking I could just extend the scene, but the characters fought me, and I ended up failing to make them even kiss properly.
Rane drew Lira to him. For a heartbeat, she held back. What would happen if any magic remained in reserve? But when she pressed her mouth against his, his lips parted, and in response, she deepened the kiss.
Ugh.
My book was becoming a proxy of my own frustrations.
Chapter 17
Preparing for the upcoming Fourth of July festivities called for all hands on deck. I’d sent out newsletters and spent Sunday with a group of elementary school kids, helping them decorate their bikes with streamers and foil. The older kids were working on small floats they could either drag, push, or pedal through the town during our obligatory parade. There was something kitschy and old-fashioned about our celebration.
Dating by the Book Page 14