Page 17 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

“Write a song that doesn’t suck, Gabriel, and I’ll think about it.”

His eyes narrowed and I waited for him to retaliate but was disappointed when he didn’t.

It would have evened the playing field, and made me feel less bitchy, but he pressed his lips together, shook his head, and said nothing.

When we emerged from the flower shop with a blush and cream extravaganza suitable for a June bride, Gabriel strode up the street, bouquet in hand while I lagged behind, in no rush to catch up.

I cursed my sharp tongue for lashing out like that.

I knew I’d been too harsh but wasn’t sure how to get out of it now, so I strolled through the Village while he soldiered on, running his hands through his hair and shaking his head like he was having an argument with himself.

We had to get all the way across town to the hinterlands of Chelsea, and since it washisidea to walk, I was forced to keep up.

“Hey, baby, what’s a pretty girl like you doing all by yourself?” I tried to sidestep the two drunk frat boys, but thebeefy blond in a Kappa Sigma sweatshirt blocked my path. “You want some company?”

“She’s with me, dickhead,” Gabriel growled.

My brows shot up. I’d never heard himgrowlbefore.

“Yeah? Well, maybe she’d rather hang out with me.” The guy looked me up and down and leaned in close. I could smell the liquor on his breath. “I know I’d love to hang out withyou. Those are some sexy boots you got there. Do they go all the way?—"

“Fuck off,” Gabriel and I said in unison as he grabbed my arm and dragged me up the street. I had to jog a little to keep up.

“You don’t know what you’re missing. Your loss!” the guy yelled at our retreating backs.

I laughed because that was ridiculous. He looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t know how to find a girl’s clit if you drew him a map.

Gabriel wasn’t as amused. His jaw was clenched and the little muscle in his cheek was working overtime.

On the next block, he released my arm and scowled at my thigh-high boots. “This is exactly why it’s not safe for you to walk around on your own.”

I rolled my eyes. “He was harmless.”And you were the one who charged ahead.“Besides, I’m a New Yorker. I know how to take care of myself.”

He mumbled something I didn’t catch, and we walked the rest of the way in stony silence while I snuck sidelong glances at him, trying to gauge his mood.

I don’t know why I’d attacked his music. It was a low blow and really shitty of me.

As we crossed Tenth Avenue, with the wind whipping up a cyclone of garbage, I pushed my hair out of my face and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. You were just being honest.” He let out a derisive laugh. “That’s one thing I can always count on with you.”

It didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Your music is good.” He gave me a skeptical look, but I ignored it and forged on. “Your voice is incredible. Your guitar skills are top-tier?—"

“But my songwriting skills leave something to be desired.” He blew out a frustrated breath when we stopped in front of the performance venue, an old warehouse just off the West Side Highway.

Gabriel looked so tortured that I put my hand on his arm to comfort him but quickly withdrew it and stuffed it in my coat pocket.

He swallowed and we both stared at the bouquet clenched in his fist.

“We should go in,” I said, glancing at the steel doors where people were filtering in for tonight’s performance.

He nodded. “Yeah.” He nodded again and bit the inside of his cheek while I finger-combed my hair, untangling the knots, and smoothed a palm over my bangs, trying to make myself presentable.

Gabriel opened his mouth but shut it again. He did this a few more times before tipping his head back and staring up at the sky like he might find the answers there.

In the shadow of the streetlight, his cheekbones looked even more pronounced, his beauty more haunting. He looked like a sexy Victorian painting.