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Or perhaps the vodka had Dayton imagining things.
Yes, he wanted to watch her hips sway and for the edge in her voice to be real rather than imagined but one look at Kenna’s face reminded him of who they were,wherethey were.
“Mumford & Sons, right?” He pounded back the rest of his drink. “Fantastic performance, by the way, though I don’t think you need any affirmation from me after all of that fanfare.”
The shy smile she gave set his chest on fire and it was in that look, so pure and addictive, that Dayton knew for certain this woman held the power to destroy him.
That smile was like a shot of adrenaline in his veins.
It had him heedless.
He lowered his voice, private airwaves meant for them alone. “I’d offer to buy you a drink but this place is crawling with people from school.”
Dayton knew how to play this game and he played it well. She had invited him out to see her play but something more underlied this evening.
Her laugh came out timid yet artificial.
“It’s probably for the best.”
She wanted to accept. He saw it in the flash of crackling light in her eyes that had been snuffed out upon its ignition.
Elbow on the bar, he rested his head in the palm of his hand. A non-threatening pose. “Have you been to Purgatory? It’s a block up the street. The crowd’s generally older than this place.”
Hesitance secreted from her every pore, emanating off her skin and making it difficult to breathe in tandem with his expectancy for her to utter an agreement.
The loud voices carrying in the bar and clanking of glasses disappeared. The smell of liquor and stale cigarettes neutralized. Dayton could only see her, hear her.
Kenna batted her thick lashes. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t know the place, but she didn’t care.
This was precisely what she had expected to come of the evening and Dr. Merino did not disappoint.
Curiosity blanketed her brain like a fog. Fearful as she may have been to be more or less alone in a bar with him, her desire for answers to the thousands of questions throttling her ability to think was far greater. In spite of the inner erraticism, she understood what she was doing.
Lucidity was a requirement, not a suggestion.
Kenna was fully aware of the night’s parameters. She knew his history and yet dared him to repeat it, sacrificing herself as the next Charlee, Alex, or Erin.
The knowledge that those women were alive and well, not six feet under, was her lone consolation as she tailed Dr. Merino into the closet-sized Purgatory.
All of 12 seats lined the bar. Four two-person booths bordered the opposing wall. Half the seats at the bar were occupied, and a couple sat at one of the tables.
Overhead hung a pair of giant onyx crystal chandeliers, radiating the dimmest light known to mankind. Votive candles in frosted jars illuminated the bar as well as the tables. Black paint coated the interior: the floor, the walls, the ceiling.
No windows.
The space looked like a vampire's lair, not somewhere mortals gathered to socialize. Everything about the bar screamed alternative. Her and Dr. Merino’s shared academic vibe-killing aura should have gotten them kicked out.
“What can I get the two of you?” the blue-haired bartender inquired. Her coffin-shaped name tag read, ‘Olivia.’
A butterfly was tattooed on her middle finger.
Kenna reckoned she must have shot that finger off quite a bit if she’d deemed it necessary to give its viewers some art to browse.
“A vodka lime, and whatever she’s having.” Dr. Merino produced his card, imploring, “Leave the tab open.”
She wanted to offer to pay for her share of the bill, but she didn’t have much money to go around so she swallowed her pride and ordered a glass of riesling.
