It had made him feel…well, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Like she could see him. Like it wouldn’t matter what he looked like or what he was wearing, that she could see right into his soul. It had spooked him. The way she looked at him had made him walk away. The way her eyes had burned into his had felt…dangerous, somehow.
“It’s this street.” Daria pulled him out of his thoughts to focus on the tidy row of houses in front of him, two-storied homes in varying shades of pink, green, or white.
“It’s nice.” He tried not to let the surprise show, but she heard it, of course.
“What did you expect, gangs running rampant and drugs being sold out of preschools? It’s Excelsior, not Tijuana. This is the one, by the way.”
She stopped in front of a pink house with brown brick steps leading up to a dark wood door. The bay window in front was hung with yellow curtains that had mirrors sewn onto the fabric, making the reflected light of the sun even brighter.
It reminded him of the first film he’d worked on. He had been fresh out of college with a degree in mathematics, working as a technical artist—ensuring that the illustrated light in the animations bounced around in a natural way, making sure that characters moved the way they should, and not like decapitated robots. There had been a window in that film a lot like this one, and he’d spent hours trying to get the light through the sixteen panes of glass exactly right. But his then-employer had ended up scrapping the entire scene without even looking at what he’d done. That’s when he’d gotten his first tattoo. Sixteen diamonds in a band around his bicep, to remind himself not to put himself in such a vulnerable position again.
“It already looks promising!” chirped Daria.
“Yeah, it—” He stopped abruptly as music reached his ears from inside the house. Someone was playing an electric…something. An electric violin, maybe? The song was wild. Dissonant, loud. But…
“That’s amazing.” He stood there, still staring at the curtains in the window, but no longer seeing them. He was imagining this music for the opening scene in The Accidental Prince—the film that they were in the process of wrapping up. Phantom Studio’s first film.
It would be perfect.
“Yeah, the girl I talked to about the apartment—Gali—mentioned that she’s a music therapist. Maybe it’s her.” She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Why? Are you thinking of your film score?”
For a second, Chris was quiet, considering, but then he nodded. “Yeah. Actually, I am.”
Daria barked out a surprised laugh, but then grabbed his hand. “Well, come on, then. Maybe it’s a sign.” She pulled him up the steps to ring the bell. As soon as the chime sounded inside, the music stopped. He heard footsteps coming closer to the door, the deadbolt slid back, the click of another lock sounded, and then the door swung open.
But that was where all expectations shut down, because at the sight of the woman standing on the other side of the threshold, his mind turned in on itself for a long, frantic cycle in which he imagined his neurons desperately trying to defibrillate the seizing muscles of his mouth so that it would close, already.
It was her. The girl from the Tiger Club.
Chapter Two
“You.”
Those were the first words any of them spoke. Actually, she sort of whispered them, the way one might do if they happened upon the ghost of a former lover one autumn night and the words were I thought you were dead instead of just You.
“Yeah, me.” He said it casually, but he didn’t miss how the words made her jump backward half a step and narrow her eyes, as though he’d threatened her.
Shit. Had he been wrong about her? Had she actually felt like he’d threatened her or was a total asshole? And this time she was standing too far away for him to feel her touch against his skin, softening any snarling words. He found himself wanting to close the distance, to find out whether he’d truly imagined their connection last night. He wanted to crowd her again, to feel those fantastically long fingers sliding down his body—
“Do you know each other?” he heard someone say.
Right. In that tiny space of time, he’d actually forgotten his little sister was standing next to him. That they were here because of Daria, not him.
“No.”
“Yes.”
He and the girl from last night both spoke at the same time, and Daria’s head moved back and forth between them, her face comically confused.
The mystery woman had said No. He clamped his jaw tight and folded his arms over his chest.
What did she mean, she didn’t know him? She sure as hell knew him! She’d better know him, because he knew her. He’d know her anywhere. And outside of the darkness of the club, her long, black hair down and shining in the sun, she looked softer. Sweet and simple and even more beautiful—