The conversation turned casual once more as we enjoyed a lengthy meal. Perhaps this date had been a good idea, after all. Not all relationships had to start with fireworks and rock stars. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about rock stars.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested as soon as we finished dessert.
Heat flared in Alan’s eyes. “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”
His hand slipped into mine on the short walk back to our cars. Alan had managed to get a park right behind me when we met at the restaurant. I stopped beside my car and he turned to face me. His smile might have been on the shy side, but it was his body that took the lead. Pressing me back against the car door, he leaned in to kiss the side of my neck. “Would you like to come back to my place?”
This was the part where I would say yes. Then, I would follow Alan back to his place and we would enjoy a good round between the sheets. That’s exactly what I needed right now, a satisfied smile and a limp dick. The combination wouldn’t stop me being attracted to Dante, but at least it would take the edge off.
“Sean,” Alan said, bringing my attention back to him. What the fuck? My date’s body was plastered against mine. His hands were on my hips and he was requesting permission to fuck me into oblivion. And all I could think about was Dante. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“I can’t tonight.” What the hell were these words coming out of my mouth? “Dante is up at the crack of dawn each day, which means so am I.” The second part of that sentence wasn’t even true. Now he’d settled in, Dante took care of himself in the mornings. Most of the time he’d eaten, caffeinated, and shut himself up in the recording studio before I even came through the door. He’d stay there for a couple of hours, giving his vocal folds a workout, before heading into the small home gym to do the same to the rest of his muscles. Then, he’d shower and eat lunch before wandering out to the patio where he spent the afternoon alternating between writing and destroying what he’d written.
Not that I ever caught myself watching him as he went about his daily routine. That would be spying, an act generally frowned upon as intrusive and rude. I would never do that—much.
“Maybe another time then?” Alan asked, watching me with a confused frown. I could hardly blame him. When I’d suggested we leave the restaurant, my tone implied I couldn’t wait to drag him to the nearest bed. Now, when he’d invited me to do exactly that, my mind kept straying… to Dante.
Fuck. It was Paul all over again. And I couldn’t even curse Dante for it, because it wasn’t his fault. This was all on me.
Alan took a step back, breaking the contact between us. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, “but if you’re not interested—”
“I am,” I assured him. “But I think it would be a good idea if we got to know each other first.” Yeah, because I always waited until the third date to sleep with a guy, except all those times I never, ever did that. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” The smile on Alan’s face was all kinds of charming. Maybe, if we’d gone on this date before Dante came back into my life, I would have responded to it. But now? There wasn’t enough smirk in it to tempt me.
When I arrived home, I wandered straight through my flat and out to the small back porch. The sound of Dante’s guitar reached out from his usual spot on the larger guest patio. I headed over to the wrought iron gate that separated my living space from the main house. Only one patio light was on, enough to illuminate the sun lounge Dante reclined on. His long legs were bent up in front of him, his ever-present guitar propped on his lap as he plucked absently at the strings.
I shouldn’t have gone out there. I was intruding on his privacy, something I never would have dreamed of doing with any other guest. But Dante played as if calling to me, willing me to join him. A fanciful idea, no doubt, but one I was helpless to resist.
His eyes were closed when I approached. The fingers of one hand caressed the strings, while the other darted along the fretboard. The simple melody was familiar somehow, but slower than usual. Then I realised, he was playing my song. Or at least, the song I’d always imagined he wrote for me. When I brought my gaze back to his face, he’d opened his eyes. He was watching me, watch him.
“Your date didn’t go well.” Perhaps he’d meant it as a question, but it didn’t come across as one.
My shoulders pulled back. “What makes you say so?”
His eyes trailed down the length of me. “You seem… tense.”
I should have been at Alan’s place getting laid. Instead, I was standing here, staring at the star of all my favourite fantasies and trying to remember why I’d given them up in the first place. Tense was entirely the wrong word. “I’m fine,” I managed to get out. “Alan and I had a lovely evening.”
“Alan,” he teased, as if there was something wrong with the simple name.
“Yes, Alan.” I had to stop talking about my date. The one that ended with me coming home alone. “How was your evening?”
“My guitar and I spent some quality time together.”
His male guitar. “I’m gladhekept you company,” I teased. The twist of Dante’s lips said he liked it when I teased, as he liked to tease me. “Anyway, I should go.”
After a short pause, he lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Good night, Sean.” There it was again—the slow drawl he liked to use on my name, as if he could taste it.
“Good night, Dante.” I’d avoided using his first name since the night he arrived. It felt too intimate, too familiar. But I used it now, and God help me I said his name the same way he said mine. I turned away before the satisfied smile could finish working its way onto his face.
