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She settled back into the couch, her heart pounding at that familiar scratch of a needle against the record. It was like a drug to her ... this kind of music. It spoke to the very core of her in every way and made her feel like nothing else could.
As soon as the first song filtered through Dylan’s surround sound, she grinned.
Dylan settled onto the couch next to her, cradling his wine glass to his chest, and watched in bemusement as she mouthed the lyrics to the song.
“You really like this stuff, huh?”
She turned to him, tucked her other leg under her, and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. “Does that really surprise you?”
“Yes,” he laughed. “Not for any particular reason, though.”
“I can’t say I haven’t gotten that before.”
Dylan put his arm over the back of the couch, dangerously close to where she was. She couldn’t help the intrusive thought that crossed her mind ... if she tilted her head only slightly to the side, his fingers could caress her cheek.
“I know you’re a music teacher,” he went on. “But what really got you into music?”
Rose swirled her wine inside her glass in thought. It truly was a good question. Not many people, after finding out she liked punk rock or even that she could sing it, asked her that. They usually assumed she was someone who was a trend copier like so many others in the music industry.
Authenticity was a rare thing, even among the underground scene she was in.
“I guess I’ve always liked the edge it had. Punk has that kind of rawness to it that rock and pop don’t. I’ve always liked those that say ‘fuck it’ and stand out in a crowd regardless of the ridicule they get. It’s brave, in my opinion.”
He smiled at her with a bit of a melancholy tinge she wasn’t expecting. “I can see that.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I ah … had a friend who … thought a lot like that.”
She smiled softly, knowing that by his tone and his shift in demeanor that this friend was someone near and dear. She only hoped that the sadness Dylan felt was due to some falling out and not from something more tragic.
Though, in her heart, she could see the truth.
He shook himself out of it before he could fall deeper into whatever memory was surfacing and instead reached over to put a hand on her leg and squeeze gently.
“I admire people who think like you, Rose.”
She blinked. “You do?”
He nodded. “I do. You have an authenticity that not many people can match. It’s admirable.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Dylan.”
He mirrored her look. “No need to thank me.”
Rose felt her heart begin to pound. Her eyes glanced down at his lips. She could feel herself leaning in subconsciously.
Was she really going to give it up to someone she barely knew?
But don’t you know him?Her mind whispered.You’ve been talking to him for six straight hours. And longer before that.
It was a truth she couldn’t argue with. Her body wanted him, as well as her heart.
Damn it. Fuck it. I want him, and I’m going to have him.
When their lips crashed together, Rose couldn't even remember why she waited so long to give in.
SIX
