Crazy Love, page 5
She shook her head.
“Look. Give me a chance. Please.” He lifted her hand, the hand that gripped her phone like she clutched the leash of a tiger, pried it free from her fingers, thumbed open the screen and typed in his number. “There. Dante Vega.” He started to hand it back to her, then pulled back, fiddling with the display. “Speed dial six.”
“Why six?”
“I figured one through five were taken.” He grinned.
“Actually, no. I only have two of them programmed.”
“Was one of them six?”
“It is now.” She smiled at him, letting down her guard for merely an instance, before zipping it up again.
He returned the smile, adding, “Six is the number of lovers. Erotic exploration. In the Tarot. Gia likes to mess with the cards.”
Oh, dear God, she thought, feeling the wetness between her legs. She felt out of control, something she desperately needed to maintain. Her eyes drifted shut, and her head fell against the wall.
“I want you naked. I’ve longed to see you naked since I first laid eyes on you.”
She opened her eyes, her insides experiencing a wicked heat wave. “Dante, stop. You’re fooling with me.”
“I’m not. Naked you will be. Beneath me. In my bed. I’m going to have you. And I’ll make you feel really, really good.”
“Dante,” she breathed, his brash declaration tearing away a scab or two, laying bare fresh wounds of feeling. “You’re making me...”
“I’m making you, what? Feel the same thing I’m feeling? You want it, too.”
“I don’t know. I...I’m not the same person I was in high school.”
“I’m not either.”
No, you’re far more deadly, she thought, turning from him. Something is unsettling about you.
“You keep looking at me like I’m a dangerous rock star. I expect that from the public, but not from people I care about. Give me a chance. Let me show you who I am. You have my number. It’s going to kill me, but I’m giving you control. I’ll wait for you to call, text, reach out, anything.” His fingers rubbed together nervously.
Touched by this display of restraint, she nodded. “All right. Okay. It might be a while. I...” She shook her head, not wanting to reveal anything about the last few years. She didn’t want to scare him away.
“Don’t let it be too long. Ten years has been a lifetime.”
She let her eyes linger on him before dropping them to her phone screen. “I’ve got, like, eleven minutes to get eight blocks. I’ve got to go.”
“Okay. You’re going to call me. Promise me you’ll call.”
“I don’t know, I...”
“Promise me.” He took her face between his palms, beseeching her to look at him.
“Okay, all right. I promise.”
He let out a long, deep breath before lowering his lips to hers. Moving his mouth in a slow, sensuous circle, he kissed her gently before releasing her. “That’s a pledge.”
“Of what?”
“Of how I’m going to start. Nice and easy.” His smile turned intensely seductive. “After that...” He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m going to make you scream my name.”
She blurted out a laugh, startled to feel lightness in her chest competing with the need to lock her emotions down tight.
He straightened, adjusting his trousers, and glanced toward the club. “I’m going to head out first, so your brother doesn’t think I’m doing naughty things with you. He’s pretty protective.”
“He is. I’ve been through a lot lately.”
The look he flashed her almost brought tears to her eyes. He looked at her like she mattered. He regarded her as if he cared. But then, glancing toward the noisy table full of friends, he gave her cheek one last stroke and strode purposefully down the hallway.
After texting her sponsor she’d be around five or ten minutes late, she stepped toward her brother, whispered her plans in his ear, and made her goodbyes, giving Dante one last searing glance.
Twelve minutes later, she entered Hot Shot. Nancy sat at a table in the corner of the warmly lit cafe, sipping coffee. How she could do that and still get to sleep at night amazed Kennedy.
“Hi,” Kennedy said, breathless from racing the city streets.
“Hey,” Nancy said, standing to give her a brief hug. “Sit.” She gestured at the opposite chair.
“Thanks.” Kennedy settled into the hard, wood seat.
“What’s going on? What can I help you with?”
“I really had a rough day. I wanted to drink something fierce.” She glanced at the male waiter who strode toward them. “A cup of hot cocoa, please.”
“You got it,” he said, swiftly pivoting to walk toward the counter.
“Tell me about it. You look fantastic by the way.” Her compassionate blue eyes swept up and down.
“Thanks. It was a mistake to dress like this. I had this fantasy that I could put this on like a costume, and pretend to be invincible and in control, and walk with a ‘fuck you’ attitude. Instead, it resulted in several men practically fighting over me, making me extremely uncomfortable.”
Nancy laughed. “That’s because you have no idea how gorgeous you are. I can picture it. Where did you go?”
“Crow & Wicket. It was my brother’s idea.” She rolled her eyes.
“Risky, but you have to learn how to socialize when there’s drink around. I did it. You can do it.”
“Yeah, but I felt like an idiot. You know how it is. Everyone gets buzzed, on the same wavelength, and you’re sitting there, alone, several waves back. I felt so self-conscious. I wanted to crawl under the table.”
“Baby steps, baby. One day at a time. So what else happened today?”
Kennedy poured out the whole story of Raja, Barnes, and Raul, while Nancy listened, nodding in all the right places.
The waiter brought her beverage, and she sipped it, enjoying the feeling of childlike innocence at drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream at night.
Nancy asked questions but mostly listened. After a time, she asked, “Finished with that topic?”
“Yes. I think so. Yes.” Kennedy slurped her cocoa.
“Let’s get on to the next topic. Why’d you feel the need to armor yourself this evening? You’ve been out with your brother before.”
“Not to a bar. Never to a bar. And...” She bit her lip. “Well. An old flame appeared in my life today. I had this mad, mad crush on him in high school. We never talked, not really. Hi’s, how are you’s, and hello’s next to our lockers. But, wow, I obsessed over him. We shared time for one night only—graduation night. And then. Poof! I never saw him again. But he saw the whole thing go down at the sanctuary today. Blew my mind to see him after all these years. And he was one of the friends Simon took me to meet. I didn’t know he’d be there but seeing him earlier made me feel vulnerable. At Crow & Wicket, I kind of felt ambushed. He’s a rock star. A fucking rock star. He wants me to call him. He wants to supposedly show me the man behind the mirror.”
“You have to get back on the horse sooner or later.”
“Am I? Am I even ready?”
“Only you know that answer. Do you like him?”
“Far too much. But. Dante broke my heart back in high school. Smashed it to smithereens. And nothing about him suggests he won’t do it again.” She winced at the painful memory.
“Well, you don’t have to make a commitment by sharing coffee or something. I know you’re lonely, Kennedy. Give him a chance. At the very least, it can be venturing into dating.” Nancy finished her cold coffee. “Or you don’t have to do it. Look at it as a near miss. An almost. And move on. If you decide to go forward, use the meetings for support. We’ve all been there, feeling like naked babes out of the womb when we get our sobriety and have to face the same worlds we left behind. But you can do it. You have amazing strength. To have gone through what you went through...” Nancy shook her head.
Tears pricked at Kennedy’s eyes. “I don’t want to go through losing someone again. I never want to experience that again.”
“Not the way you lost Mosi. No one should ever experience that.” She reached across to pat Kennedy’s hand. “Only you can decide what to do. No matter what, I’m always a phone call away.”
Chapter Seven - Dante
Three days later, Dante sat in his studio, strumming on his guitar, a Gibson Les Paul. A stunning blue lacquer beauty he called Cara, a nod to his late, beloved Italian grandmother, an opera singer, it bore a gorgeously figured top, pearl block inlays, and bound split-diamond headstock...all marketing words meaning it kicked some royal ass.
It had a tiny, silly cluster of hearts painted on the head between the pegs, courtesy of Madeline, taunting him to feel something, anything, besides the numb block of ice in his chest cavity. I’m trying, Maddy. I’m trying. He’d been working on a new song, ever since he saw Kennedy. What a cliché. Rockstar meets girl, pours out his heart in a song. Girl never calls, making it a sorrowful, minor-key majesty.
The chords came out wrong, his fingers fumbled with the frets, and he wanted to hurl the fucking guitar out the window. Only what a waste that would be. He’d be throwing over $6K away. His father would shit a brick at his total disregard of a solid investment.
The door to the soundproof room flew open, and Gia dragged in, looking like she’d been on a three-day bender. “Fuck me,” she mumbled. Her eyes were lined with dark circles, floating in her pale, grayish skin. “Why’d you have to call practice so early?”
“One in the afternoon isn’t early,” Dante practically yelled at her.
“Good fucking morning to you, too.” She sauntered across the room, picked up the constantly brewing coffee pot, and poured a mugful. Positioning her back to him, she reached in the cupboard, retrieved a glass bottle and poured a swig in her cup.
“Think I can’t see what you’re doing?”
“Merely hoped,” she said, taking a swallow. “Don’t need a lecture.”
“You’re killing yourself,” Dante muttered.
“And I’m mine to kill, not yours.”
“That’s a bullshit statement, and you know it. People care about you, Gia.”
She shrugged. “They’re not fighting my demons, so they can all shove it and mind their own business.” She chugged the entire mug, poured another, sans alcohol, and wandered to her drum kit. “Where’s Beavis and Butthead? Why aren’t they here yet?”
“Probably the same reason you’re late. Hungover, wasted and miserable.”
“Why, thank you for that assessment, oh, great leader. What’s got your ass in a sling? That Kennedy chick? You sure were acting goofy around her the other night. Never seen you in such a twist. Except for...”
“Don’t say her name. Please. I need to move on.”
“Oh, come on. If you truly wanted to move on, you’d paint over those stupid little hearts on your guitar, throw out the pictures you have all over your apartment and fucking let Madeline go. This place is a fucking shrine to her. I mean it, D. She’s been gone for well over two years. Move on. Make room for the new and fucking move on.”
Dante gave her a pained glare. “Yeah, you’re probably right. And yeah, I’m in a twist over Kennedy. I gave her control. I gave her my number and told her I’d let her make the first move. The second biggest mistake of my life.”
Gia let out a long, low whistle. “Damn, D. That’s serious. Sweet, but serious. I can see why you’re in a mood warp. What was the first mistake?”
“Letting her get away when I had a chance.”
Gia got up from her seat, strode to where he sat, and wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders, kissing his hair.
Dante returned the hug with one arm, his other balancing the guitar in his lap. “Thanks, Gia. You’re a sweet friend.”
“You got half right. I’m definitely your friend, but sweet, I ain’t.” She strode back to her drum kit, as the door burst open, and Heat and Keys stumbled in.
“Trying to punish us?” Heat asked. “We were both sandwiched between two fine shorties a couple hours ago. The only reason we dragged our asses out of bed was one of them began ragging at us to get out of her house before her boyfriend came home.”
“Maybe he did us a favor, Heat,” Keys said, yawning. “Don’t need a run in with a pissed off boyfriend.”
“You’re probably right,” Heat said.
The two males helped themselves to coffee before striding to their instruments.
“What shall we do today?” Heat asked.
“Let’s start with Wet,” Dante said, something he’d like to explore with Kennedy, in exactly the same manner as when he wrote the song. Why didn’t she call? Chicken?
Hours passed as they rehearsed song after song, making alterations here and there, playing to perfection. Two pizzas, an order of Chinese take-out and many beers later, they decided to call it a day.
“Let’s catch some rest then head back to Crow & Wicket,” Heat said, yawning. “Didn’t get much shut-eye last night.”
“You go,” Dante said. “I’ve got shit to deal with here.”
They all seemed to raise their eyebrows in unison.
“Don’t wallow, D,” Gia said.
“Not wallowing. Taking care of business, like you suggested.”
She nodded at him knowingly, then sauntered out the studio door with the two guys.
After they left, Dante strode into the living area of his penthouse apartment. The apartment wasn’t the biggest on the block, but it gave him spectacular views of the city, like right now. The sun made its sultry descent into early evening, casting a gorgeous wash of gold across the skyline. Dante turned away from the window and looked around the room.
A chrome and leather designer wonder, worthy of Architecture Digest, he could look out his windows from on high and feel remote from the chaos and drama on the streets of New York City, one of the most vibrant cities he’d ever walked. He loved the way he could be quiet or loud in his lofty perch, like an eagle, removed from city life.
Then an elevator away, he’d set foot on the sidewalk, plugged into the hustle and flow that vibrated all around him on the streets and in the buildings of Manhattan.
His eyes swept the walls and tables, all adorned with pictures of Madeline. He picked up his favorite, the one of him and Maddy at the top of the Empire State Building days before her death. “We looked so happy. You seemed like you’d conquered your addiction. I really thought you had it licked.” Twelve days, thirteen hours and forty-two minutes later, she overdosed in some sleaze bag, junkie apartment, rat hole complex. Dante wanted to die by her side, caught up in some maudlin Romeo and Juliet moment. He’d been utterly devastated.
He wandered into the kitchen, opening the pantry door in search of a garbage bag. Pulling one out of the box, he made a ritual of picking up a picture, kissing it goodbye, and placing it gently in the bag, frame and all. When finished, he made his way into the bedroom and repeated the process until every damn reminder of her lay in the bag. He got a little choked up when the last photo made its way between the sheets of plastic, his heart beginning to crack. “Don’t quit now,” he advised. “Keep going.”
An idea came to him. “Maybe Damien can help me. Think he’ll go for it?” he muttered. “May as well see.”
He pressed the button to the elevator in his private lobby and took it down to the first floor. There, he strode purposefully toward the doorman, a friendly older man named George White.
“Hey, George.”
“Mr. Vega,” George replied. “How are you this evening?”
“Lighter than I was a couple hours ago.” He held the plastic bag high. “This is a heavy load.”
“Housecleaning?” George asked, holding wide the door.
Dante sputtered a laugh. “You could say that.”
“Taxi?”
“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”
Inside the cab, the plastic bag full of memories by his side, he kept staring at his phone, wishing he could telepath Kennedy to call. Did I spook her? Come on too strong? Gia had it right. He’d been a brain-dead, hormone-crazed idiot around Kennedy. He typed her number into the display, murmuring, “She’s not stupid. She had to know I’d clock her number, right?”
“Excuse me, sir?” The cab driver’s eyes met his in the rearview.
“Nothing. I’m only talking to myself.” Sighing deeply, he switched screens so he could no longer view the tempting digits, pocketed the phone for the thousandth time, and stared out the window, watching the world go by.
Forty minutes later, he stepped from the cab, paid the driver and strode toward the plain brownstone building in the outer borough where his brother lived. He took the steps two at a time, holding the bag of photos in both arms like a precious bundle. At the top, he pressed the buzzer for number two-o-nine and waited.
“Dant!” His brother’s voice burst through the speaker. “Come up, Dant!”
“Hold on, Damien,” another voice said. “Are you Damien’s brother?”
Dante turned his face toward the tiny camera lens. “That’s me.”
“Let him in, let him in,” Damien said, excitedly.
“Okay, okay,” the male voice said.
The buzz of entry sounded, and Dante swung open the door, entering the clean, worn lobby.
Pounding footsteps echoed, and a few minutes later Damien appeared, breathless. “Come up, Dant. Come up.”
“Give me a hug, first.”
Damien jumped from the third stair, rushed to where Dante stood and hugged him briefly. “Come up, Dant,” he repeated. “Where’s Madeline?”
“She’s in here.” Dante lifted the glossy brown bag.
Damien frowned. “You have Madeline in the sack? Can she breathe in there?”
“She’s all right. You’re going to help me say goodbye to her.”
“Is she going on a trip?”
“Yes,” Dante said, following his brother up the stairs. “She’s going far, far away.”
“Will we ever see her again?”
“No, buddy. We’ll never see her again.”
