Page 65 of Resonance
“Briefly. A year and a half. Brief and intense. Just a match strike in the big ol’ bonfire of life. We were friends for years before that, though. It was the pressure that made everything seem bigger, and because it was just us on the road, everyone outside and the two us inside.” Dan’s gaze went distant. “I’ve given it a lot of thought. I don’t know that we ever would have lasted long run.”
We’d stopped with the footwork and were just swaying together. I rested my head on his shoulder, and that ache opened up in me again. It was quiet and sweet this time instead of a pang like hunger or for something I didn’t have and wanted. This was the pang of being exactly where you wanted to be.
Dan ran his hand up and down my spine, then tipped my chin to meet his gaze. His thumb caressed along my jaw and lower lip, eyes dark and deep.
“You nervous about the tour?” I blurted, edgy with the idealized, sappy projections my mind had thrown against the back of my eyelids when they’d been closed a second ago. Of long walks that could happen every night. Of dancing together just like this without end. Of Dan looking at me just the way he was at that moment.
His lips parted in thought. “Not nervous as in anxious, nah. It’s more that I wonder if I’m gonna get out there and remember immediately why I left in the first place and then have to live with that feeling the entire time. Or feel the difference all the years have made because I’m not arrogant enough to think a shit ton hasn’t changed, or that it’ll be effortless the way it used to be.”
“But you also might get out there and be reminded of why you used to love it.”
“That could happen, yeah, I guess. But that’s not why I’m doing this. This is a financial decision, pure and simple.”
I scrutinized the lines on his face. The open, patient expression. “Well, I hope you like it more than you think you will. It’d kinda be a waste if you didn’t.”
“How’s that?”
“Don’t you want to get some joy out of what you’re doing?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s okay for something to just be a job, too.”
“Hmm.” The record had long stopped playing, leaving only the soft susurration of the needle scratching over empty grooves.
Dan reached behind himself, flipped the switch off, and the den went quiet. “And about you and me…”
God, I didn’t want to have this conversation. Didn’t want concrete or finite. I didn’t want to be something left behind.
I stepped around him, lifting the record to slide it back into the sleeve.
Dan whistled low. “Damn, the one time you don’t have anything to say, huh?” He took the record sleeve from my hand and tossed it on the table, then turned me around to face him, eyes amused but such warmth in them that my next inhale hitched.
“It’s just that… um… well, I figure we’ve been messing around, you know. Filling holes and stuff. Oh god, bad analogy, even though… yeah.” I snorted awkwardly at myself, and Dan’s eyes twinkled with what I figured was restrained laughter. It was enough to loosen the tightness in my shoulders, though. “I just mean that maybe we don’t need to label or categorize or set expectations. That seems like… not a good idea right now.”
Dan’s brows pinched together, and then he slid his hands up my shoulders and rested them on either side of my neck, callouses rough and fingertips radiating heat against my pulse. “You’re saying… you want to see what’s what when I get back?”
“Yeah.” I nodded rapidly for emphasis. I wasn’t an idiot, and I wasn’t an idealist. I knew how seductive music could be: a legion of fans calling your name, temptation in a hundred adoring eyes. I may have witnessed it from the sidelines, but I’d witnessed it all the same.
I caught the hard-edged flash in his eyes, but after a beat, he said, “All right,” and with one last featherlight caress of his thumbs across my throat, he let his hands fall away. “We should eat.” He spoke quietly and I nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I can make something quick.”
“I made a pasta thing earlier. From a box in your pantry.”
“Oh, good. We’ll eat that, then.”
“Your pantry is a disaster by the way.”
He stared at me. “It’s a pantry. Pretty sureHouse Beautifulisn’t gonna come calling for a pantry.”
“You’re clearly not a Pinterest fan.” I grinned as I followed him into the kitchen, lungs filling with all the air that’d eluded me moments before. “I found this movie I thought we could watch after dinner. It’s calledCreatures of Chernobyl. Have you heard of it? Because Ivy was saying it’s—”
Dan stopped in the doorway and I nearly ran into him as he fixed me with a sharp look over his shoulder that knocked the breath right out of my lungs all over again. “After dinner, I’m taking you to bed.”
* * *
Dan’s handdrifted lightly up and down my thigh, lifting the fine hairs there and sending a warm tremble coursing through me. I’d woken an hour earlier, half-hard, and lay in the soft blur of morning light filtering through the curtains watching the rise and fall of Dan’s back, how the muscles shifted with his slow, steady breaths. Powerful even at rest. He’d had one large hand boxing in his head, and I’d studied the wide knuckles, short nails, and thick veins. On the underside were the callouses I loved moving over my skin, these points of firmness among the surrounding softness. They’d gotten even tougher since he’d been practicing for the tour.
I’d definitely be missing this. I hadn’t slept next to anyone in forever, and it caught me off guard how starved for it I was, how comfortable it was being nestled up against him and feeling cradled by him.
Dan cracked open an eye and peered at me. “How long’ve you been awake?”