He nods. “Sure. Not Harry Potter magic, but magic nonetheless. I mean, look at this ...” He extends his finger then gently and slowly trails it from my elbow to my wrist. His touch is so light, it’s barely there, and yet I can feel the thrum of his energy in every part of my body. All of my hair stands on end, and I notice there are goosebumps forming on his skin, too.
“I’m barely touching you, and yet, we’re making electricity. It’s firing in every inch of skin.” He drags his fingers back down, watching it the whole way. “Edison and Tesla worked for years to harness something this powerful, and we just created it out of thin air.” His voice gets softer, and he looks at me with a hint of awe. “If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.”
He pulls back, but he’s still too close. If he was any other man right now, sitting that close and looking at me with seventeen shades of sex-eyes, I’d be crawling into his lap and tearing off his shirt. But he’s not another man. He’s the one guy I need to keep my distance from, for personal and professional reasons.
He keeps eye contact as he takes a sip of beer then glances down my body. “Sorry. I kind of hijacked the conversation there. We were talking about tattoos. How about you? Got any ink you’d like to show me?”
I lean back and say, “Can you see any?”
“No, but you strike me as the kind of woman who might have something hidden.” His voice gets quiet. “You wouldn’t feel the need to show it off. It would be just for you.”
He’s not wrong, and for a few seconds I sit there and consider what to do.
“You don’t have to show me,” he says. “I mean, we’ve just met, and I’m basically asking you to take off your clothes, but ... I’d love to see it.”
He’s looking at me so earnestly, it’s disarming. I’ve never shown someone my tattoo before. People have seen it, of course; after all, I’ve been naked with my fair share of men. But none of them knew me.
Is that why I’m hesitating? Because on some level, I think this man, who’s sitting there pretending to be another man, sees through the person I’m pretending to be?
Throwing caution to the wind, I put my beer on the table and kneel on the couch next to Max. Then I take a breath and pull up my shirt.
Max leans forward to study the two lines of cursive letters that stretch up the right side of my ribcage from my hip to the band of my bra.
He looks up at me. “May I?”
When I give him a tight nod, he grazes his fingers over the elegant lettering. Stupid move, letting him touch me. My physical reactions are insane. There’s no way a man should affect me like this. Any man. But especially not a man about whom I’m trying to remain objective.
He trails over the letters again, and I close my eyes and clench my teeth.
“‘Screw you and all the ways you didn’t love me.’” When I open my eyes, I find him looking up at me. “Bad relationship?”
“You could say that.” I can’t stand the contact anymore, so I drop my shirt, sit down, and take a large swig of beer to try and calm my runaway heart.
“Did he hurt you?” There’s an edge to his tone, and when I glance over, I’m surprised he’s wearing a hard expression.
I blink as old memories roll and stir, threatening to wake. “It was a long time ago.”
He tightens his hold on his beer bottle. “Do you still think about him?”
“I do my best not to.” The less I think about him, the easier it is to ignore how angry I am all of the time.
When the thudding bass of live music starts up, Max drains his beer and sighs. “Sounds like the Stoners have finally made it to the stage.”
Almost at the same time, my phone buzzes with a message.
<Edie, where are you?! The band is on. We’re waiting at the door.>
I stand and push my phone into my back pocket. “Well, thanks for the beer.”
Max stands, too. “Where are you going?”
“My sister’s waiting.”
When I grab the door handle, he covers my hand with his, and for the second time tonight my back tingles where his chest presses against it.
“Don’t go,” he says quietly. “Come with me instead.”
I look down at where he’s lazily stroking my fingers with his. “Where to?”
“My place.”
“I thought you didn’t do the groupie thing.”
“I don’t. You think all musicians just want women for free, easy sex?”
“Seems to be a perk of the job.”
“Do you think that’s what I want from you?”
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
He looks down at our hands. “Neither do I. That’s why you should come with me. I’d really like to find out.”
He reaches behind me and slides my phone out of my pocket. “Text your sister. She’ll survive without you for one night.”
I take the phone from him, and I’m surprised how tight my breathing is as he watches me type out a message.
<You and Joanna go have a good time. I’ve run into a friend. I’ll see you at home.>
I press send.
No doubt Asha will interpret my words to mean I’ve hooked up and won’t be home until morning. Let her believe that.
I’m more comfortable with her assuming I’m sleeping with a stranger than staying fully clothed with Max, and I have no idea why.
Max steps back and grabs his duffle and guitar case. “Come on, pretty Eden. Let’s get out of here.”
TEN
Interlude
Forty minutes in the back seat of a cab with Max feels like an eternity, and I’m relieved when we climb out into the cool night air in front of an impressive industrial building.
“The old Brooklyn Pencil Factory?” I say, looking up at the iconic facade.
“You know it?”
“Yeah. my grandmother lives a few blocks away, so I’ve seen it heaps of times. Just never been inside.”
“Well, then, now’s your chance.” He holds the door open for me. “After you.”
We climb up to the top floor, where Max slides open a huge metal door to reveal his apartment. Well, an apartment. God knows who it belongs to, but it’s everything and nothing like what I’d expect from a musician. It’s a large industrial space, but even with the concrete floors and exposed brick, the way it’s been decorated makes it seem warm and elegant. There are several different areas defined by furniture, a large kitchen, and at the back is what seems to be an enclosed bedroom and bathroom.
“You live here by yourself?”
He nods as he dumps his bags and opens the fridge. “Used to belong to a friend of mine. When he moved out to L.A., he passed it along to me.”
In the corner of the room is an impressive studio setup, complete with an array of instruments including a violin, saxophone, clarinet, trumpet, full drum kit, tuba, and a well-worn baby grand piano.
“Do you play all of those?” I ask, pointing at the musical collection.
He nods. “Not well, but yeah. That’s what comes from having musical A.D.D as a kid. I could never figure out which instrument I liked the best, so I gave them all a try.”
“Is there much call for a rock-n-roll tuba these days?”
He laughs. “Not as much as I’d like. Nothing better than getting down with some phat brass.”