Tori

I jump into Onyx’s van and immediately pull my phone back out of my pocket.

“What’s up?” he asks, starting the ignition.

“Just need to see something.”

I Google Serge’s name and find a thousand articles about him, about the end of Nuclear Kool-aid, about how he nearly died, his trip through rehab, the whole thing.

“Shit,” I say, blowing out a heavy breath. He really did almost die. Like, in a coma for a few days, almost died.

I guess I can see where he’s coming from. I’ve seen a lot of guys in this industry chewed up and spit out by the addiction monster. And I get that it’s scary to nearly die. I get that he’s turned his whole life around in order to put that kind of stuff behind him, but he can’t just quit.

A guy like Serge is too talented to just never play music again.

“What?” Onyx asks, his voice a little sharper now.

I shake my head.

“Ever heard of Nuclear Kool-aid?”

He gives me a look like I’m stupid. “I haven’t lived in a cave for the last fifteen years, so yeah. I’ve heard of them.”

“The guy that teaches the kid’s choir was their drummer.”

Onyx whistles, his eyebrows disappearing in his hairline. “Really? What the hell is he doing here?”

“Serge Davenport’s his name. Ring any bells?”

Onyx frowns. He hates when I give him riddles instead of answers. But he thinks about it for a minute. Then his brow furrows and he thinks for a minute more.

“Oh… shit, the drummer’s the one that—”

“Yeah,” I say with another heavy sigh.

“So, what’s the problem?” Onyx asks, knowing me too well.

I put my feet up on the dashboard, throwing the seat back, flicking through articles, watching clips of videos.

“Tori?” he asks after another few minutes of quiet on my end.

“I want him to play with us.”

“What?”

“Maybe this weekend. We have that show on Friday night and I still haven’t booked a drummer since Tad’s stuck on the east coast for who knows how long.”

Truth is, I’m pretty sure Tad’s not coming back. He’s have baby momma drama and she’s trying to get full custody. Tad’s not a great guy by any means, but he’s a good dad and he loves that little girl. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if he never comes back to the west coast. Which leaves us drummerless. But I haven’t officially told the band that. We’ve just been hiring randoms to fill the space, hoping Tad will be back with us in no time.

But like I said, I don’t think he’s coming back. And Serge presents a whole new opportunity.

“I dunno, Tor,” Onyx says, his mouth working on the problem like it’s a sourball.

“You don’t understand. When he plays… it’s transcendent. He needs to be back up on that stage. You’ll see.”

Onyx frowns, dragging his hand through his shaggy hair. “Didn’t he quit music to get sober?”

“Yeah, but that was like six years ago. I’m sure he’s over it by now.”

Onyx shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. You should know that. I think you’re playing with fire,” he says, his face grim, but I just wave him off.

“You’re being paranoid. It’ll be great, you’ll see.”

It’s practically all I can think about until Friday rolls around and it’s time for class. I don’t bring it up beforehand, obviously. Serge is preoccupied with collecting permission slips and consent forms, making sure everyone’s coordinated on what they’ll be wearing for the big performance.

Hardly any singing happens, and what does is kind of sloppy, but it’s Friday and the kids are rambunctious. I can tell that Serge is catching it too, having trouble focusing on any one subject for long while the kids flit from one thing to another. He’s in a great mood when everyone leaves, so I know it’s my best chance.

“You did good today,” he says smiling. For a minute, my mind goes blank, blinded by his smile and the hot trickle of desire between my legs. The man is unnaturally attractive on his worst days. When he’s in a good mood, feeling successful and invincible, he is magnetic.

“Thanks,” I say, suddenly bashful. “I’m having more fun with the kids than I thought I would.”

His grin just grows.

“So…” I say, stepping in closer to him, biting my bottom lip. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

His eyes go wide, darkening a shade as they flick down my body. He might have the wrong idea, but I’m not doing anything to correct it. There will be time for all of that after the show.

“Uh… I don’t have any plans, no. What did you have in mind?”

I nibble my lip more, suddenly nervous about my proposition. What if he says no? He’s really my only option at this point. Onyx told me not to put all my eggs in this one unstable basket, but I’ve never been good at listening to advice. Especially good advice.

“Well, I’ve got this show tonight.”

His eyes flick down my body again and he takes a step forward, the heat from his body radiating between us, making the air hot and thick, erasing thoughts from my mind before I can even try to grasp for them.

“You want me to come watch you play?” he asks, his voice low and husky. I think for a minute he might just lean down and kiss me right now, and I lick my lips on instinct, his gaze making me dizzy and unsteady on my feet.

“Not exactly…”

“So what is it you do want, Tori?” he asks, the rumble of his deep voice shaking me to my very core, making me shiver and shudder, aching for him to reach out and grab me roughly, pulling me into a fierce kiss.

I swallow. “We don’t have a drummer and I was hoping…”

The spell’s broken and Serge takes a step back from me, his eyes turning hard, the heat all but gone.

“I don’t do that anymore,” he says, turning away, starting toward his desk.

Panic wraps its fingers around my heart. He can’t say no. Not that quickly. I can’t take no for an answer.

“I know,” I say quickly, grabbing his arm. He freezes, his eyes going to the place where we connect, warming a fraction before some of the tension goes out of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed it. The guy’s a no-show and there’s no time to find a replacement. We’ll have to cancel otherwise. Please, Serge? Just this once?”

I can see the conflict playing out behind those expressive eyes and I hold my breath.

He sighs, shaking his head, and I think that I’ve failed, but then he says, “Okay, just this once,” and everything falls back into place.

I squeal happily and throw my arms around his neck, squeezing him in a fierce hug. He’s still, shocked frozen for a moment, but then his arms go around me and I like it way too much. Enough that the hug goes on longer than any normal hug should, me squeezing him tight, breathing in the manly leather and spice scent of him. I don’t know if it’s aftershave or cologne or just him, but it’s so good my eyes roll back in my head a little, pleasure going all the way to my toes with each inhale.

He finally pulls away, his eyes sparkling down into mine, and I’m struck again with the feeling that he’s going to kiss me. I know it’s probably crazy and I’m probably projecting how much I want him, but I swear it’s there for a moment.

“Sound check’s starting in twenty,” I say, my voice soft, whispered, still silently asking him to lean forward and do it. But he doesn’t.

“Where?”

“The Sound Hole,” I say, grinning at the name.

He snort-laughs and the last of the sexual tension between us disappears. “That’s a hell of a venue name.”

“You’ve been out of the game for a while,” I tease. “They’re all like that now.”

“All right. Let me run home for a quick shower and I’ll meet you there.”

I nod, feeling the urge to perch on my toes to kiss him before I leave, but I don’t. That would be ridiculous.

“Thanks, Serge. I owe you one.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You owe me more than that.”

I grin and head out of the room, already coming up with ways I could repay him.

“What are you so happy about?” Onyx asks the moment I’m in his van.

“He’s doing it! He’s going to play with us tonight!”

“You never booked a drummer? Jesus, Tori, the show’s tonight!”

I shrug. “I’ve got a drummer now, what does it matter?”

He growls, his hands twisting on the steering wheel. I know there’s a lot of things Onyx would like to say to me right now, but he doesn’t. He’ll never pick a fight before a show, and by the time the show’s over he’ll have forgotten what he was so pissed about. Win-win for me.

“I can’t believe you waited until two hours before the show to have someone. He doesn’t even know our songs. There’s not gonna be any time for a rehearsal. It’s going to be a total disaster. What were you thinking?”

“He’s coming to soundcheck. It’ll be fine. He’s a legend. He’ll pick the songs up no problem.”

Onyx glares at me. “And when was the last time the legend was on stage?”

I mutter under my breath.

“What was that?”

“Seven years, okay? But it’ll be fine. Better than fine. It’ll be great. You’ll see,” I say, still beaming from ear to ear as I put my feet up on the dash. “You’ll see.”

Onyx is still shaking his head as he drives off, headed straight for The Sound Hole, fingers drumming on the steering wheel the whole way there. I know he’s mad at me, but it’s far from the first time and it’s far from the last. That’s just the nature of the beast. When you’re the one heading the show, sometimes you’ve gotta make choices that the other people aren’t totally on board with. And if it all blows up in my face, well, I’m the one taking the heat, so he doesn’t need to sweat it.

Serge shows up only a few minutes after us, his hair still damp and dripping. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that does amazing things for his sculpted muscles and shows off the extent of ink he’s got snaking up and down both arms. He’s also wearing faded, fraying jeans with a pair of drumsticks tucked in his back pocket. The moment he walks in, the rest of the band on stage gets real quiet.

He’s got that kind of presence. The kind of power that makes you stop what you’re doing to pay attention to him. And he must be used to it, because he doesn’t seem to mind at all, all swaggering cocky confidence as he walks up to the stage, his smirk pure arrogance.

“You made it!” I say brightly, trying to ignore the surge of want at seeing him in his element. Because this is clearly where Serge feels at home. He’s not bothered at all by the big echoing space. He’s not gawking around, he’s walking right up to the stage, inspecting the equipment.

“Said I would.”

“Guys, this is Serge, he’s going to be filling in on drums for us tonight. Let’s run through soundcheck real fast and then run through the set list.”

Onyx gives Serge the ‘dude head nod’ of acknowledgment, and the other guys, Sam and Rock — actually his name, yes — nod at him too. He goes around the group once, shaking hands and reintroducing himself, but we really don’t have time to dwell on it too long, so I pick up my guitar, look at the guy in the booth, and shred out a riff until he gives me the thumbs up.

Onyx does the same with his bass, then Sam with his keyboard and Rock with the other guitar. We all turn to Serge and he gets behind the drum kit, whipping out his sticks, and he goes to town.

Sam and Rock are looking at each other wide-eyed, then they look at me and we’re all grinning together, because now they see what I see in him. Now they know why he’s here. And even Onyx looks a little annoyed that he’s gotta admit I was right in holding out for Serge.

“Vocals,” the booth-guy shouts, and Onyx and I move to mics to finish it out. The booth guy could do the levels on everything together while we run through the set with Serge. We don’t have time for doing things twice.

“So, we’ll just cut out the drum solos unless you’re really feeling one,” I say over my shoulder to Serge. He shrugs. “Cool, we’ll just start and you jump in when you’ve got it.”

“Not my first rodeo,” Serge says, twirling his sticks absently with a look out to the empty space in front of the stage. As confident and at home as he looks sitting there, I see something else. I don’t know Serge super well, but I know him well enough at this point to tell he’s apprehensive.

But of course he is. It’s his first show in seven years. Why wouldn’t he be a little nervous? It’ll be fine though, and I know it.

I look to the other guys and nod and then we launch right into the first song. Within two measures, Serge is on the beat, adding flourishes that make the song sound better than it does on the record.

Now I kind of hope Tad doesn’t come back.

From one song, we go right into the next, and as soon as Serge has found the rhythm of that one, I cut it short and go to the next. We work our way through the set list at breakneck speed and we’re clearing the stage right as the ushers are coming in to open the doors.

I let out a heavy breath, heading to my dressing room to unwind. I could really use a drink to calm my nerves but there’s no time. It’ll just have to wait.

It seems like I’m only in my dressing room for a minute when the assistant stage manager is telling me I need to get to the wings. I know it has to be longer than that, because when I get to the stage, the place is already packed. I don’t know where the time is going, but I’ve got a good feeling about the show, about Serge, so I’m ready to go.

And then we’re on stage, performing for a sold-out crowd. Serge fits in like he’s always been a part of DCoy, and having him on stage with us makes me wonder why he hasn’t. He’s a perfect fit. It’s hard to believe, but it’s true. And by the time we’re finishing our encore, the whole crowd screaming and cheering for us, I know it can’t be the last time he plays with us. It just can’t be.

But more than that, as we’re packing up everything and Sam and Rock head home to their significant others, I realize I’m not ready for the night to be over.

Normally, after a show, Onyx and I would go out, hit a string of bars, maybe wind up going home with strangers — more likely for him than me, but I’ve had my moments — and then do it all again the next night. But things can’t really be like that anymore, so I don’t know what to do with myself.

“Good show,” I say to Serge, searching for the words to keep this night going, so I’m not stuck with myself not knowing what to do.

“You too,” he says.

“How’d it feel to be back up there?” I ask, grinning.

He shrugs, his mouth slanted. “Weird.”

“Weird… good?”

He shrugs again. “Maybe? I don’t know. It was fun. Thanks for asking me.”

“Hey, do you want to come out with us? We normally get drinks or something after the show…”

He’s ready to say no, I can see it on the tip of his tongue and then I remember he’s sober.

“But I was actually thinking pizza sounds pretty fucking good right now.”

His uncertainty fades into an easy smile. “Pizza sounds great.”

“Awesome. Onyx! We’re going to Gino’s.”

He looks up from where he’s packing his bass away with loving care and gives me a quick nod.

“You know Gino’s on 47th?”

“It’s right around the corner from my place,” Serge says nodding. Normally, I’d make some joke about how he could get shitfaced and walk home with a pizzeria/bar that close, but I stop myself, remembering his sobriety again. Why is it so hard to remember that?

Probably because he seems so much like he has his shit together. Like he’s not some fuck up like me. But I know a little bit of his past and I know it’s not as simple and clear-cut as it seems.

“Meet you there?”

He nods on his way out, sweat from the show making his shirt cling to him, making him somehow even sexier. I suddenly wished that Onyx wasn’t going with us, that it could be more of an intimate get-together, but I’m not sure Serge would have agreed to it under those circumstances.

Onyx sidles up beside me, his brow arched in a knowing question. I just shove his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

His grin grows and I punch him in the arm now.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, rubbing his arm, though I know it didn’t hurt him even a little.

“You were thinking it.”

“Thinking what? That you’re hot for the drummer? I would never.”

I roll my eyes and huff. “You’re full of shit. Let’s go get some pizza.” Apparently, keeping my crush on Serge secret is no longer going to happen. That ship has sailed. And it’s only a matter of time until the rest of the guys are giving me non-stop shit about it too. Great.

But even that isn’t going to dampen my excitement. Serge and I haven’t had a lot of one-on-one time yet, and, even with Onyx there, I’m hoping to get to know him a little better. I need to dig a little deeper into who he is and find out why he’s got such a pull on me.

When we get to Gino’s, Serge is already there at a table, a glass of water in front of him, even though everyone at every other table has a beer or a cocktail, music playing loud in the low-lit space. Normally, Gino’s is your run of the mill Italian place with a bar, but on Friday and Saturday nights, they’re open two hours later than everyone else, so it gets a little crazy.

It’s not even that late yet, but the place is pretty crowded. I wave at Serge from the door, waiting for the crowd to give me an opening, and I see that he’s already got a number on the table, so I veer toward the counter to place my order too. No point in wading through the sea of people more than I need to.

Onyx is right behind me, but I leave him at the counter once I’ve got my number to put on the table next to Serge’s.

“It’s a little crazy in here, isn’t it?” he shouts over the crowd as I take a seat.

I grin. I love it. I love being surrounded by people and laughter and the whole thing. Growing up, my house was empty a lot, so it’s nice to not feel so alone.

“Friday night, what do you expect?” I holler back.

He shrugs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out for a post-show pie. Brings back memories.”

It’s the way he says that that makes me pause.

“Is that… okay?” I ask.

He laughs. “I’m not a baby bird, Tori. I can cope with my own demons. But for the record… yeah, it’s fine. Better than I expected to be honest. I thought it would be way harder to deal with everything, but it’s possible I might have enough distance from it at this point.”

“Does that mean you’ll play with us again next show?” I ask, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes go wide, but I see his brows narrow in suspicion.

“Is that why you asked me here?”

“No,” I laugh. “I asked you here because I wanted to hang out with you. If you haven’t noticed, I think you’re pretty fucking cool. But I’m not going to miss an opportunity to convince you that you need to be on stage with us. You felt it tonight. That place was electric.”

Something sparkles in the recesses of his eyes and I know he’s looking at my bait, considering taking a nibble.

“Come on… I’ll even make a donation to the music program. You could use some new stands and a professional piano tuning.”

He smirks and my stomach somersaults. “Are you trying to bribe me?” he asks, his voice laced with mock horror, though the husky playfulness kind of ruins the effect.

“Is it working?” I ask, leaning across the table, giving him my own sultry playful tone.

He leans a little closer and I forget all about the other people crowding into this restaurant, all the noise of conversations and cooks shouting orders over the roar of pizza ovens. I forget all of it, locked into Serge’s eyes, my tongue darting out to wet my lips.

“I got you a drink,” Onyx says, bursting through the crowd, glasses held aloft.

But that easily, the moment’s lost again.

“Thanks,” I say, smiling as I take the glass from him, looking at it dubiously as I stir it and bring the straw to my mouth.

Just cranberry juice and Sprite. Figures.

Onyx is watching me, waiting for me to react to the drink, but I just set it on a napkin in front of me and pull out a chair for him.

“Serge here was just getting ready to agree to play with us again,” I say, grinning to them both.

“Is that what I was doing?” he says, grinning right back.

I nod, a sly smile twisting the corners of my mouth. “We both know you’ll get there eventually and I’ll have my way with you. Why even put up a fight?”

“It’s true,” Onyx says, nodding sagely. “Tor’s particularly good at getting her way.”

But Serge doesn’t really react to Onyx, he’s still looking at me with that intense gaze that makes me wonder if I’m spontaneously naked or something. The hard set in his jaw, the intensity in his eyes that makes me question whether I should be worried about him fucking me or attacking me. But I’m pretty sure I know which one it is, and I think if I play my cards right, I might just get what I want in more ways than one.

“Throw in two classes’ worth of snacks and we’ve got a deal,” he says, the intensity never leaving his blue-green gaze.

“Done. Pleasure doing business with you,” I say, thrusting my hand out between us. Serge takes it, giving it a gentle squeeze, sizzling sparks shivering between us, up my arms, down my spine, straight to my pulsing clit.

Being around this guy this much is doing crazy things to my libido. Not to mention I’m always an eager beaver after a great show. But add in the all-day teasing before and after the show, the insanely sexy talent of Serge, and those glittering aquamarine eyes searching my very soul, and yeah, I’m a goner.

“Likewise,” he says, his voice a rough growl that sends another tremor through me.

The crowd near our table parts and a waitress breaks through, two pizzas held high above her head. Another person flutters through the throng of people behind her and puts down two pizza stands.

“Any parmesan or red pepper?” the waitress asks after setting the pies down. My stomach lurches, grumbling, my mouth watering already. She’s barely got her hand off the tray when I’m pulling a slice off, ooey gooey melty cheese stretching in long strings.

“I’m good,” I say, my mouth already full of molten sauce and cheese.

“Same,” says Serge.

“Tori, you didn’t,” Onyx grumbles, and I just grin into my next bite. “Should never let you order,” he mutters, still grousing as he picks a piece of my pizza like it’s covered in sewer slime.

“What did she— Oh, that’s just wrong,” Serge says, whipping away Onyx’s plate, offering him a slice of his own pizza.

“Fuck you guys,” I say, already on slice number two. “I don’t care what you haters say, pineapple on pizza is one of man’s greatest achievements.”

“You’re a monster,” Serge says, his eyes twinkling.

“You should try being on tour with her. Can’t trust her. Always poisoning the pizza with artichokes and shit,” says Onyx, graciously accepting a slice of Serge’s meat-covered pie.

I just flip him the bird. “More pizza for me.”

For a few minutes we’re just inhaling pizza, but I see Onyx’s eyes wandering and I follow them to the bar, to a cute little blonde on her tiptoes trying to read top shelf bottle labels, her ass all but hanging out of her short denim skirt.

I elbow him. “Go ahead.”

He jumps, then whips around to face me. “You sure?”

I shrug. “Knock yourself out, buddy.”

His eyes go to my glass, but I’ve hardly even touched the virgin cocktail he gave me earlier. “Go,” I encourage him with another nudge.

That does it. He’s on his feet, beer in hand, wading through the crowd toward the mystery girl.

Serge clucks his tongue and shakes his head and I wonder if he’s gotten the wrong idea about Onyx and me.

“What?”

He grins. “I still can’t believe you put pineapple on your pizza. It’s like I don’t even know you.”

I laugh. No, I giggle. It sounds kind of weird coming from me, but I like it. I like the way Serge makes me feel and giggling is part of that.

“Well, you don’t really,” I remind him.

“I know. It’s worrying. Next thing you know, I’ll find out you like the Yankees or you thought that blue-black dress was white and gold.”

“It was white and gold!”

Serge groans, dropping his head to his hands, silent laughter shaking his shoulders. “Oh god, why did I restart that debate?”

“I don’t know. You’re going to break the internet all over again. But for the record, I don’t care about the Yankees one way or another.”

He sighs, fake relief washing over his features. “Oh good. Not a complete monster then.”

“Depends on who you ask, obviously,” I say, waving a hand in Onyx’s general direction.

Serge shrugs, smiling. “I can tell that he cares about you a lot.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, but it’s pretty humorless. “He needs to keep me out of trouble to keep the band going is all.”

Serge frowns at that, his brows creasing, knitting together. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I say too quickly. I don’t want to ruin this good time by regaling my long list of fuck-ups.

I can tell that Serge isn’t buying it, but he doesn’t say anything to that effect.

“So, how did it feel to be back on stage in front of a crowd?” I ask. He seemed a little shell-shocked right after the show, but now he’s had time to unwind, to relax some.

He leans back in his chair, his arm stretching out over the back of the empty chair next to him, his legs spread in that easy, confident, dominant way that guys have. He drags his palm over his short hair, ruffling it back and forth a few times before he shrugs.

“I’m worried that it shouldn’t, but to be honest, it felt really good.”

My heart leaps and I’m trying not to grin like a total loon, but it’s not really working.

“I know there were some rough spots, but for a show we didn’t really get to practice for, we brought the fucking house down and it felt amazing,” he says, his eyes bright, his face flushed.

I knew that guy was in there.

“You belong on that stage, Serge. You’re too good not to be up there.”

“Hey, you already got me to agree to another show, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. One day at a time.”

I’m a little deflated, but I nod. I recognize that phrase, something to do with rehab, I’m pretty sure. I’ve gotta remember to be sensitive about that with him.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I can get a little ahead of myself when I’m excited.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, his voice picking up that low, husky quality again. “I like it.”

Now it’s my turn to feel flushed, and I try to hide my smile in my drink, but I’m pretty sure he knows exactly how much I like hearing how he likes me.

“Struck out,” Onyx says, slumping back into his seat without fanfare. I didn’t even see him coming up to our table, though to be honest, I wasn’t exactly looking for him either. I’ve been a little preoccupied with Serge.

“Bummer,” I say.

He shrugs. “It happens. You ready to head out?”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” I say, not really ready for the night to be over. I didn’t care if we left the pizzeria, but I didn’t want to go without Serge.

He lifts his brows in a question, looking from me to Serge. “You sure?”

“Positive,” I say with a reassuring smile.

He sighs. “If you say so. See you at practice tomorrow, bright and early?”

“You got it,” I answer, still waiting for him to actually leave.

Finally, Onyx stands and wades through the people to the front door.

“I’m actually pretty ready to get out of here too,” Serge says, and the tone of his voice makes my blood run hot. “I just walked, but if you need a ride…”

“I don’t,” I say too fast. I don’t know how much Serge knows about why I’m ‘volunteering’ at the community center, but I don’t want to give him any reason to go looking it up.

“I mean, I’m not too far from here. Fresh air sounds nice. Wanna walk together?”

He stands, offering me his hand. “Sounds good.”

We’re holding hands only as long as it takes for him to pull me through the crowds, but I’m grateful for even that because it’s gotten way rowdier in here in the last hour and I’m not entirely sure I could push my way through some of these big guys.

“Phew,” I say once we’re outside. “Maybe I won’t suggest Gino’s on a Friday night next time.”

Serge laughs, and the sound wraps around me, pulling me closer to him almost as effectively as his arms could. “Thanks for inviting me out, in any case.”

“Thanks for saying yes,” I answer, delighted by his quiet chuckle.

This is it. I’m pretty sure. Everything has gone perfectly, from class with the kids, to the show, to hanging out at Gino’s. And now I’m walking back to his place, making it all too clear what I want. I’m like a toddler hopped up on Pixi Stix, so excited to finally get what I want. It was just normal, easy to ignore attraction at first, but the more time I spend with him, the more I see Serge with those kids, see him play, hear him laugh, the more I need him. It’s gone way past mere want.

“I never thought I could do it again,” he says.

“Go to Gino’s?” I ask, confused.

“Perform,” he says, laughing.

“Oh, of course,” I answer, my face heating up. My mind was in another place, so sue me. “Well, I’m glad you did. I know it must’ve been hard.”

He stops in front of a building, facing me, and I hold my breath for him to invite me up to his apartment.

“It wasn’t as hard as you think,” he says, his voice holding a hint of gentle surprise.

“No?” I ask, moving a little closer, his magnetic pull working its magic on me.

He shakes his head. “I had this crazy woman telling me I basically didn’t have a choice—”

“You had a choice.”

“—But I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have said no to her anyway,” he says, closing a bit more of the distance. I swallow, tilting my head back to look at him now.

“Why not?”

“Did I mention she’s crazy?” he says with a big grin.

“Crazy hot, maybe.” I smack his shoulder and he laughs, still taking another step toward me. We’re basically pressed up against each other on the sidewalk and my eyes flick up to the apartments above, hoping again for an invitation in.

“Okay, you’re not wrong about that.” His voice is back in that register that makes my toes curl inside my shoes. Then he’s reaching up, sweeping his hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear as his thumb trails down each of the eight or so piercings along the shell of my ear. Then his hand slides down to the side of my neck, his fingers rough and callused as they slip around the back of my neck, sending shivers straight down my spine. Making me breathless. Making every bit of my awareness focus in on this pinpoint: his intense gaze all I can see, his rough-yet-gentle touch all I can feel.

And then we’re crashing together. It happens like that, a big crash where our lips finally meet like magnets, but then it’s slow and exploratory, like once we’ve made contact, all we can think to do is this. There’s no rush to go to anything else, no hurry to break apart. It’s just Serge, me, and this soul-deep kiss.

His other arm goes around me and pulls me so tight against him that it hurts. I yelp, his fingers digging into me, but Serge just growls, the kiss deepening, our teeth clashing together, our tongues dancing, my knees absolutely useless buckled under me, my only support Serge’s shoulders.

And then it’s over. We break apart panting, flushed, still clinging to one another. His eyes are blazing hot fire, his jaw clenched tight, and I hold my breath again.

This is when he invites me up, right?

But he’s just staring at me with that same intense look and I don’t know what it means.

“How are you getting back to your place?” he finally asks, and all my hopes sag, drooping like deflated balloons.

“I’ll just get an Uber,” I say, pulling out my phone.

“I’ll wait with you,” he says, sitting on the front steps of the building behind us.

I order the car and tuck my phone back in my pocket, standing awkwardly with my arms crossed, only now realizing how chilly the wind is without Serge next to me to block it.

He pats the spot next to him on the stairs and then chuckles when I look wary.

“Come on, you already know I don’t bite.”

I don’t know what his endgame is, but I sit down on the stoop next to him and he slings an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer.

“Unless you ask for it, of course.”

I swear, those few words alone reignite the inferno blazing inside of me. If I ask him right now to invite me up to his apartment, would he?

I don’t test it. If Serge wanted to invite me up, he would have. I don’t know why he didn’t, but the fact that he’s still holding me like this and making sex jokes seems pretty promising so I’m not going to freak out about it just yet.

It’s only a couple of minutes before the blue Honda Fit driven by James arrives, and Serge stands with me, walking me to the curb and opening the back door for me. Right before I climb in, he gives me another quick kiss, his eyes smiling.

“I’ll see you Monday?” he asks.

I nod, my heart aching knowing it’s going to be almost three days before I see him again. “Monday.”

“Try to stay out of trouble!” he says, closing the door and sending me off. I frown at that, left wondering again just how much he knows about my past.