Some Kind of Magic Page 4

  When the front door slammed shut, I was stark naked on the floor of Adam’s bedroom with my ear against the door.

  Without any better plan, I climbed under the covers, wishing I’d put on some clothes. It was one of the more awkward moments in my life.

  Adam peeked around the door frame. “Are you hungry? I’m going to make some pancakes.”

  “Starving. But do you mind if I use your shower?”

  “One sec.” He left and came back carrying my backpack and purse. “How did Micah miss seeing these?” He pushed open the bathroom door. “The towels are clean. Let me know if you need anything.”

  When he’d left, I dumped the contents of my backpack onto the bathroom floor and surveyed the clothes I had to choose from. I could wear the black rayon knee-length stewardess skirt I’d worn to work the day before or jeans that smelled like an ashtray after a night out with Micah. I opted for the skirt.

  I lifted my dirty T-shirt off the floor and sniffed. It also reeked of cigarettes. But my pin-striped button-up shirt reeked of corporate America. Besides, I’d balled it up before shoving it into my bag, and it was wrinkled beyond recognition. I breathed in the fabric of the T-shirt. It was smoky, but I’d been wearing it when Adam first kissed me, so it couldn’t be that bad.

  I flashed back to that first kiss and sucked in my breath. My eyes rolled back in my head at the memory of his lips on my arms and neck. More to the point, Adam had said he liked the perfume I had on. I dug through my purse and found the vial.

  When I finally emerged from the bathroom and took a seat at the kitchen table, Adam frowned. “You got dressed.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, good eye.”

  “And now I feel completely out of place.”

  He still wore only his boxers, but he didn’t make a move to go add more clothes. Instead, he flipped pancakes onto each of our plates and sat down kitty-corner to my right. While he scraped butter onto his stack, I passed him through my analysis scanner.

  His messy hair was no better or worse than the day before, confirming my suspicion he did absolutely nothing to control it. His dark eyes gave off the impression he was always thinking, but the crinkles around them gave off the impression whatever he was thinking might make me laugh. He wasn’t terribly well built, but neither was he flabby or overly thin. It was apparent he used his muscles, though nowhere in the vicinity of a bench press. Maybe he ran long distance.

  And he was a musician. A musician living at his parents’. With tattoos.

  He pretty much failed to meet any criteria for someone I’d ever want to date.

  I shoved a forkful of pancake into my mouth, surprised at how delicious they tasted. I mentally added cooking to the pros list. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

  He pointed at the star on his left shoulder. “I got this one when I started my first band, Dark Star. We were going to be together forever, as those things go. We actually managed to get a paying gig before we broke up.” He pointed at letters spelling Zoso on his right shoulder. “This one here . . . yeah, I was kind of obsessed with Led Zeppelin for a while. And drunk.”

  “What’s that one mean?” I pointed my fork at the kanji over his heart.

  He looked down, as if he had to remind himself what was permanently etched on his own skin. He laid a finger across the symbol and tapped. “It means ‘faith.’”

  “Faith in what?” It didn’t matter how cute he was. If he turned out to be a religious zealot or a pretentious fake Buddhist, I was out of there.

  “More like ‘faith in who?’” His playful expression had been replaced by a dark shadow. He looked at me with penetrating eyes, and I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell me anything more. He sucked on his upper lip for half a second, as though he were weighing me in a balance. He must have let me pass through some mysterious filter since he finally explained. “This one started out as a reminder to have faith in myself at a time when I’d lost it. But as I tackled that demon, I saw it as a reminder to have faith in others. That’s always been a lot harder for me.”

  “Oh. That’s actually really nice.” Adam was full of surprises.

  “What about you? Any hidden tattoos?”

  “Oh, no. I’m terrified of needles.” Not to mention my complete snobbery regarding the class of people who got tattoos.

  He stretched, and the muscles on his torso grew taut. His hip bones peeked out of the waistband of his boxers. “What do you want to do today?”

  I wanted to push down the waistband of his boxers, but instead, I pushed the plate back and looked into the living room to check on the whereabouts of my purse. “I’m going to need to go over to the club pretty soon. I left my phone there.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “I should call Micah before he starts looking for me.”

  He slid his phone toward me. “You can use mine.”

  “Then he’d know for sure I spent the night here.”

  He yawned and scratched his side. “So?”

  “Wouldn’t that be a bad foot for you to start on with him?”

  He cut his yawn short and sat up. “What do you mean?”

  Maybe I’d jumped to conclusions. “Aren’t you going to be working for him? Is he hiring you to replace his bass player?”

  Based on his burst of laughter, I concluded I was way off. I frowned in displeasure at his reaction. “What?”

  “I don’t even play bass.”

  “What do you play?”

  “Come with me.” He took my hand and led me down the hall to a closed door. “Hold on.” He left me standing in the hallway as he took a few quick steps and ducked into his bedroom.

  I followed him out of curiosity and collided with him as he was pulling a shirt over his head just inside the doorway. When his head popped out the neck hole, he grabbed my wrist and lifted my arm up and back, forcing me against the wall. He caught me in a deep kiss. My body instantly ignited, and I responded to him exactly as I had the night before. My free hand grabbed for his, and our fingers intertwined. He pushed that arm against the wall next to my other, above my head.

  He broke the kiss, and his eyes slowly regained focus. “Mmm. There’s something about you.” He looked at the room and laughed. “You’ve devirginized my parents’ bedroom.”

  I swallowed. “You don’t mean . . . You’re not a—?”

  “Me?” He stepped back and raked his hands through his hair. “I mean, I’ve never had a girl in here.”

  “You’ve never—?”

  “I have, yes. The room hasn’t.” He blushed. “Not that I—”

  “You don’t—?”

  “I mean, I have but—”

  I bit my lip. “You have?”

  “I don’t usually.”

  “No, me either.”

  “I don’t want you to think—”

  “Or you.”

  He exhaled. “Follow me.”

  He led me from his bedroom and opened the door to a room I hadn’t been in yet. The walls were sound-proofed. Several guitars—acoustic and electric—leaned against stands. Another framed gold record sat in the corner. Micah used to have one of those hanging on his bedroom wall at my parents’. I guess it gave him something to dream about. Nice to see Adam had ambition, too, no matter how unrealistic.

  He picked up a beautiful mahogany guitar and sat down on a stool, one foot propped on the lowest rung. I took a stool across from him and rested my back against the wall as he strummed and tuned the guitar. Then he plucked out a delicate arpeggio and sang. He had a beautiful voice, and I closed my eyes to better focus in on the sounds. I started humming, and when the chorus repeated, I harmonized along with him. I opened my eyes when he finished and found him smiling.

  I smiled back. “That was beautiful. One of yours?”

  He nodded. “Do you play?”

  “I do, but only classical. I’m spoiled for nylon strings.”

  He jumped up and grabbed another guitar. “Show me?”

  I thought about playing something famili
ar he would know, but decided to play one of my own instead. I rarely had the opportunity to perform my own songs for anyone. As I played, I watched him. He closed his eyes as I’d done and sought the tune. He came in with the harmony, making my song sound far lovelier. Honestly, it was turning me on like nothing else.

  When the song ended, there was silence, and we held each other’s gaze a moment. Then he jumped up and took the guitar, placing it on its stand. He sat down again. “We should duet.”

  “You mean like Joy Williams and John Paul White?”

  “Who?”

  “Um.” I searched my mind for something he’d recognize. “Like Robert Plant and Alison Krauss?”

  “Exactly.” His eyes lit up, and once again his face transformed from cute to beautiful. “I’m serious. We should record some songs together. It would be fun.”

  “Fun, yes. And expensive.” Studio time wasn’t something you paid for, for the fun of it.

  He scooted his stool close to mine and grabbed my hands. “We should do it.”

  “Adam and Eden?” I snorted. I was beginning to think maybe he suffered from mania or delusions of grandeur.

  “Adam in the Garden of Eden.” A wicked smile crept up his face.

  I had to admit it sounded exciting. From the tent forming in his boxers, it was clear he felt the same way. My own pulse hadn’t slowed since he’d sung with me. My eyes fell on his lips, his luscious lips, and I wanted to taste them again. I loosed a hand from his grip and reached up to run my finger across his mouth.

  He grabbed my hand with both of his and kissed my palm. He breathed in deep. Then, as though my arm were a rope, he used his hold to draw me toward him. Our lips met and our hands became free agents again, exploring, exciting.

  My pulse throbbed between my thighs, and I groaned, “Unh. I want you so bad.”

  He stood between my knees and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. His hardness pressed into me, and I ground against him. His fingers dug into my hair, and he used the anchor to bring my mouth together with his. Out of my control, my hands found his neck, and I tightened my grip to bring us closer still. The attraction I had for him was overpowering.

  He reached under my skirt and slid my underwear down and off. I didn’t protest.

  “Wait here.”

  He disappeared around the corner and came back with Micah’s second stolen condom. “I guess I need to buy some of these.”

  “Why don’t you—?”

  He shook his head. “I told you. I don’t usually put myself in a position to be so unprepared. I just don’t—”

  As soon as he was within reach, I grabbed his wrist and reeled him into a kiss. I didn’t care to know any more about his history. I ached for him. I dragged on the elastic around his waistband. His skin prickled where my fingers touched. He slid the boxers off.

  When he entered me, his eyes rolled back and closed. He moved slowly, arms wrapped around me, kissing my neck. I let him hold me up as I arched my back and took him, faster. The stool wobbled precariously. Still, he didn’t slow. With my shoulders against the wall, the stool managed to stay upright. I heard a guttural moan escape my own lips as sheer bliss washed through me. I shuddered, and grabbed his arms. He thrust and let out his breath with a cry and then slowed again. He held me tight a few moments.

  My head spun with confused emotions. My feelings for him went deeper than the straightforward physical attraction. I felt as though I’d known him forever, not just one night.

  “Adam.” I bit my lip, unsure what to say.

  “I know. This is going too fast.” He tilted his head. “Not that I mind, but seriously, I don’t want you to think I’m like this. But there’s something, right? It’s not just me?”

  “No, there’s definitely something.”

  His eyes were soft. “I’m going to call you. Can I see you again?”

  “I hope so.”

  He looked at the clock on the wall. “I’m going to have to get ready to go soon. I have a gig later, and I have to meet up with my band.” He sighed, and twined his fingers through mine. “You could come with me.”

  I bit back the “That’s what she said” and the “I already did” comments I might have said under ordinary circumstances. As much as I loved to see his face light up with laughter, I was growing fond of his dark serious eyes, the desire lining his face.

  Instead, I considered his invitation. I already knew what it meant to spend a day at band practice. Waiting, ignored, pretending to pay attention when I’m feeling generous, searching for a sofa to nap on when I’m not—not my idea of a perfect Saturday. Also I knew firsthand how bandmates felt about loitering girlfriends.

  Besides, I still needed to go find my phone. “Maybe some other time. I should be going.”

  “Wait. Let me put your number in my contacts. I’m going to call you.”

  We went out to the kitchen, and I leaned back between the Aunt Jemima and the Land O’Lakes while he punched his phone.

  I didn’t hang around waiting for him to shower and change as much as I would’ve liked to. Another kiss, another brush of skin—like a drug, I wanted more. But I needed to leave, so we kissed good-bye, more than once. I struggled to walk away, but made it out the front door, down the steps to the street, and onto the subway, all the while fighting to keep my legs from shaking.

  Chapter 5

  My phone had been kicked under a table next to the outlet where I’d left it charging in the club’s green room. I knelt on the disgusting floor and tugged carefully on the cable to fish it out, cursing myself the entire time for my forgetfulness.

  Tobin stopped me on my way out the back door and asked, “How’d things go with Adam last night?”

  I blushed. “Um.”

  He didn’t seem to notice my hesitation and added, “I hope he and Micah hit it off.”

  “Oh. Right.” I exhaled. “They seem to have.”

  “Hey, you should perform with Micah more often. Or maybe come in and open by yourself?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  Why not?

  “I suppose I could. I’d never really thought about it. I mean, I work full-time and—”

  “Yeah, so do most of these guys. Anyway, think about it.”

  As I exited the dank, dark club into the clear, bright blue October morning, I dialed Micah’s number and woke him up. He kept the hours of a vampire, but in my urgency to cover up last night, I forgot I could’ve taken my time. It wasn’t even noon.

  With that task discharged, I immediately regretted turning Adam down on his offer to tag along with his band. I didn’t even know what kind of music they played. I had half a mind to jump on the A-C back to Brooklyn. But reluctantly, I headed downstairs to the uptown tracks toward Penn Station to catch a train home.

  Someone had left an empty Snapple bottle on the floor of the subway car. For the whole ride, I watched it careen back and forth slowly, changing direction midroll on the curves or speeding up and ping-ponging against the walls with a plunka-plunka-plunka-ponk. I hated being on that subway, alone, with a whole empty weekend stretching out before me. I wished I’d asked for Adam’s phone number. I wished I’d stayed with him. As it was, I’d have to wait for him to call or text me.

  I sat alone in a three-seater on the forty-minute NJ Transit ride to Metropark. With nothing to do but reread an Acoustic Guitar magazine, I stared out the window, watching Elizabeth and Linden pass by. The electrical wires above the train tracks loped up and down, hypnotizing. The events of the night before grew more distant as the sights out the window grew more familiar.

  What had that been? A one-night stand? I chided myself for my lack of self-control. I’d never done anything like that before. But the attraction I’d felt for Adam was potent. Irresistible. I wondered what he was doing right then. I wondered if he was thinking about me.

  When I got home, I took another shower and then lay down on the sofa, intending to take a quick nap. When the doorbell woke me, I
stretched and peered through the security hole, stunned to see Rick Whedon, DDS, standing on my stoop, wearing a white polo with a pair of knit sleeves draped over his shoulders like a sweater scarf.

  Oh shit.

  I threw open the door and babbled out an excuse. “Sorry, Rick. Come in. I’m almost ready,” I lied.

  As quick as I could, I threw on some date-night clothes and ran a brush through my hair. Frantic, I looked around to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything.

  Teeth!

  In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and sized up my appearance. I couldn’t put on makeup at the best of times, but I fashioned my hair into a barrette and rummaged around my purse for some lip gloss. My hand clutched a plastic tube, but when I took it out, I discovered the perfume Thanh had given me. It made me think of Adam, and a deep pang of desire nearly doubled me over.

  Right. No perfume.

  I dropped the vial in a drawer, grabbed a light sweater, and we were on our way.

  Rick walked me out to his Porsche and opened my door. He skipped around to the other side, started the engine, and backed out. He gave it one good loud rev before peeling off through the parking lot at an unnecessary speed. Once on the main road, he punched his radio and tuned to SiriusXM’s The Pulse. Pharrell’s “Happy” filled the car as Rick tapped his finger along—on the upbeat.

  Over the music, he asked, “How long has it been?”

  We’d gone to high school together years ago, but even then, our acquaintance was nebulous. Our moms were church friends now, which to them was a good enough reason to fix us up. Almost everything I knew about him I’d learned in the last five minutes.

  “I think I saw you at the Beer Room last year.” There were only so many places to hang out in central New Jersey without hopping on a train.

  He looked over at me. “I was surprised to find out you’re still single. You know, I had a bit of a crush on you in high school.” The way he said it, with no trace of awkward humility or blushing confession, it sounded like a come-on.

  For the first time, I gave him my serious consideration. I tried to picture what he’d looked like in high school. He could’ve played basketball or captained the debate team for all I remembered.