When Darkness Falls(5)

A blast of frigid air came through the window casements. Devon shivered, left the window. In the shower, he turned the spray full blast, letting the hot water sluice away his thoughts. Tonight he was seeing Haley again, the third time this week. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen someone three times at all.

His loft apartment was right above The Underground. He rented a parking spot in a condo complex two blocks away. He waved to Al as he passed. In his hurry, he’d forgotten his gloves, but, despite the frigid temperature, he didn’t feel cold. He cracked the window of his compact SUV as he drove toward Congress Parkway. He thought of Haley’s gray eyes, her long, dark hair, the feel of her thin body against his. When Congress turned into the Eisenhower Expressway, he accelerated. Icy air rushed across his face. Something about hurtling through the night made his mind catch at…something. From the dream.

But whatever it was didn’t seem important, and he went back to thinking of Haley.

? ? ?

Haley’s steps slowed as they reached the top of the creaking wooden stairs that led to Devon’s apartment. It was the first time she’d been to his place. For the month they’d been seeing each other, she’d thought of him constantly. His mouth, his hands, his eyes. But the only man she’d had sex with was Brian, and in all the years they’d been together sex had at best been all right. Mostly, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Sometimes she’d enjoyed the closeness, but it was nothing like how her friends or books described it. When she found out about Brian’s philandering, she didn’t blame herself for his dishonesty. She knew that wasn’t her fault. But she couldn’t help fearing she’d been doing something wrong, that she simply didn’t know how to make him or anyone else happy.

Like The Underground, Devon’s loft had worn hardwood floors and high ceilings with exposed ductwork. His laptop, recording equipment, and guitars stood along the far wall. The sofa sagged a bit when Haley sat. Devon disappeared for a moment and came back with two glasses of Merlot he set on the battered trunk he used as a coffee table.

“I hope this’s all right,” he said. “I don’t usually drink wine.”

“Any red works for me.” She’d never gotten to like the taste of beer, but alcohol was so much part of the music business she’d learned to like wine.

“What’d you think of the guys?” Devon struck a match to light the candles he’d set between the wine glasses.

“They said they liked my voice.”

Devon had introduced her to some friends who were looking for a female singer for their wedding band. She’d tried out the night before and been surprised she projected well enough to be heard over the electric instruments and drums. Her mother, who was a music teacher, always said Haley’s voice was too soft and sweet to work with a band, and Brian had agreed. But it turned out it wasn’t much different from singing in the musicals she’d been in during high school. Plus mikes were better now, giving her voice more of a boost. Devon had told her all of that, but she hadn’t believed him until she got through the first couple songs of the audition.

“That was a given,” Devon said. “You think you’re going to do it?”

“If I’m asked.”

“You’ll be asked.”

Haley smiled. “I’m glad you’re sure. It’s a good way to keep in practice while I figure out what I want to do. If I can get used to being on stage without holding onto my guitar.”

“A wedding band’s a good place to learn that. Most people aren’t really watching the band.” He hit his remote, and a song from John Fogarty’s Blue Moon Swamp album started. Devon adjusted the volume and gestured toward all the open floor space and bare walls. “Eight years and I’ve never quite gotten around to decorating.”

“It’s fine.”

The tiny studio Haley lived in barely fit a daybed, a desk, some bookcases, and her guitar. Her bathroom wasn’t connected to the rest of the place. She had to walk across the hall and past her neighbor’s apartment to reach it. But she liked that the studio belonged to her alone. She and Brian had lived practically on top of one another, and because she’d moved into his home, there hadn’t been much chance for her to put her own stamp on it. But other times, her small space felt like a cage. So she wasn’t about to criticize anyone else’s apartment.

Devon kissed her and, in moments, she was lost in the feel of his lips on hers and his hands moving over her. She ought to tell him they needed to slow down, but she couldn’t. She’d never felt this drawn to anyone. With Brian, kissing hadn’t clicked. She’d always been too conscious of his razor stubble, or the way her neck cramped if he bent her head back too far, or his body weighing on her when they were lying on the bed. And he stretched his mouth so wide it had been like kissing his teeth. When she suggested he close his mouth a little more, he stopped kissing her.

She let Devon ease her sweater over her head. The sofa, worn with age, felt soft against her bare shoulders. Her skin flushed despite the draft from the front window.

“It’s not too cold?” His breath in her ear made her skin tingle.

“No.”

He slid his fingers down her bare stomach, unbuttoned her jeans, and took them off of her. “You’re beautiful.”

He started at her toes, the arch of her right foot, the curve of her calf muscles, her inner thigh. Then stopped.