“Hey Ry,” I start, “it’s Jade…”
“I know,” he replies curtly. I see he is still winning in the greetings department.
“OK…well, I found a record player here, but no records. I was wondering if you might help a girl out? Do you own any?” I can almost feel his grin behind the phone. Thank God. I was beginning to think this call had been a mistake, given the way his nonexistent banter hinted heavily at his displeasure with my unexpected call.
“Be right over. Oh, and Jade? No tea this time, just the strong stuff.” His voice is sure and wanting now. He blows hot and cold, but when he is hot, I can feel it like a bolt of electricity through my system. I hang up, my stomach doing tiny flips in the process.
Feeling the excitement of his return to the estate, I quickly make use of the bar where there is indeed the strong stuff. It is clear my uncle loved his libations, and I am more than grateful for that unhealthy vice of his. I look over his collection earnestly until I find one that suits my fancy.
A cherry rum liquor labeled Havana Club sits on the bar cart in an oddly shaped bottle, begging to be tasted. It should know better than to beg, because I need little convincing. I reach to fill a small whisky glass that sits beside it and with one swig I am ready for a refill as I wait for my guest.
Within half an hour, Ry is at the front door with a handful of records. I snatch them out of his with excitement. The single eyebrow quirked at me, speaking volumes. I am beyond intrigued to know more about Ry, and nothing gives more insight into someone than the music they choose to fill their head with.
I look at the records in my hands. There are only about six, but I am shocked by what I’m holding. Ry’s records and the ones I left back in Detroit are essentially the same. Surprise eats up my words. The fact that this man listens to the same music makes me wonder if my attraction to him could be more than just surface level.
I put one on without thinking.Dancing in the Moonlightby King Harvest fills the room. Honestly, it seems fitting for this house with its entrancing, dark mood that has been pulsating throughout since the day after I arrived.
The cherry liquor hits fast, warming my limbs. I feel bold and sway to the music as I pour him a glass. The tune float through the room, adding the last needed touch of comfort. Ease reverberatesthrough me like the soft evening sound of the peeper frogs I hear reaching my bedroom window at night from the swamp below.
I turn around to hand Ry his drink, but his eyes are already on me. My cheeks redden, and my stomach dips. Will it always feel this way? I try to regroup as I head in his direction, his drink and my embarrassment to tag along.
“Believe it or not, we have similar music tastes.” I say dryly, handing him his drink. Our fingers brush, sending my nerve synapses into overdrive.
These types of moments, touches, reactions or whatever they are, are hard to ignore. Ry is good at hiding his, but I see the small things. The crease on his forehead when we accidentally touch. The way his eyes dip down as if not to be seen when we stare a little too long.
“I believe it.” He says, looking me square in the eye. “And to make this record roulette a little more interesting, I’ll pick the next one.”
I nod. His intensity pushes me into silence as our eyes link. His, the color of sea-foam, and mine, a purple grey. The way he looks through me is unnerving, like he can see me for more than just what he’s known of me in these few short meetings. It’s disarming and, admittedly, quite addictive.
“So, Ry Heart, would you call Racine your favorite place?” I ask partly because I’m curious, but also to break the silence that hangs heavy in the space between us.
“Uh, well, there have been many places I find appealing.” He seems uncomfortable with my question, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. His unease seems a bit out of character. Everything I’ve seen from him is sure, even if disagreeable. But he soon continues, “I move around quite a bit. But yes, I always come back. This town has always felt like a home base. Lots of memories here, you could say.”
“Good ones, I imagine,” I ask and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. An anxious habit I have when I don’t quite know what to say.
Ry looks up at me in that moment, like he is seeingme for the first time. He brings his hand up, pausing near my face as if questioning his next move, but drops it back down as he answers my question.
“Good and bad. There are always both wherever I am, unfortunately.” His eyes grow heavy with remorse. “But more good than bad here, I guess. Maybe that is why I keep coming back,” he says as he swirls his drink around in his tumbler. “OK, my turn.” He stands, and I can’t help being surprised by the openness of his answer.
Right Down the Lineby Gary Rafferty sounds off the player. This song has always been one of my favorites, but listening to it in this room with him hits differently. These are his records, full of songs that have called to my heart since the time I first heard them.
He surprises me, and I am even more surprised when he holdshis hand out to me. I take it, feeling the roughness of his in contrast to the softness of mine. My heart and body leading the way. He inches closer to me, wrapping his hand around my waist and resting it on my lower back. His seeking eyes feeding the fire between us, and I want nothing more but to burn in them. Be devoured by this moment.
I snake my arms around his neck and watch his face, inspecting for any hint of aversion. But the energy I am experiencing feels mutual. Even more so when I brush the back of his hairline with my thumb and he responds with the clench of his jaw.
“My dear, I find you quite dangerous to my wellbeing.” He looks down at my neck, his words all but a whisper in my ear.
“How so?” I ask boldly, although I can’t tell if it is the alcohol or the vibration humming around us that gives me my courage. The question gets lodged in my throat as I try to swallow and wait for his response.
“Dangerous, because I feel you unrooting parts of myself that should remain buried,” he swallows, his throat bobbing with the action. He then utters the last bit close to my ear, “for your sake.” I feel the words tickle my neck.
“Do you not think I will like those parts of you?” I ask, curious as I am now holding on to his bicep. I squeeze slightly as he tightens his arm around my waist, and brings me closer still. I’m pressed to him, flush with his scent—earthy and safe.
I bring my head back to look into his eyes. They hold so much familiarity, feeling so thoroughly absorbed in them that his next comment leaves only a slight shock.
“Oh, I think you would love those parts of me, so much so that it might destroy us.” He looks at me, his gaze dark and unwavering.
“I don’t understand.” I inquire, looking at him intently for the answer, while thinking his comment strange. But also deep down, I know what he is referring to. I can easily see myself coming apart for this man.
