I couldn’t make out the rest of the words. The noise inside the auditorium was hell on earth as Dante strode across the stage, waving at the crowd and smiling. A guitar was placed over his neck. Watching the three of them together was something out of this world. In a way, they were all beaten and broken by whatever life had thrown at them, but the music they made was just the opposite—healing and powerful, and I could feel each note, each pitch, and each harmony in my bones as the melody saturated the cool air with its rebellious bliss.
Stunned, I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity. It was only hours later when we were finally ready to leave that I could finally let the cool air settle into my lungs.
Frank and I were standing outside, near the idling truck that the crew was loading with gear, when he asked, “Do you want to go for a ride?”
“Sure.”
I didn’t know where the limo was taking us, nor did I care. The streets we passed were peaceful and void of nightlife, just what I needed after endless minutes of shaking hands, smiling, and occasional mini-panic attacks in the restroom.
Remnants of adrenaline still rushed through my blood, but the high of the accomplishment had dissipated. I was crashing. And I was crashing hard. My emotions were like apples, pears, and celery sticks tossed into a blender. A juice cocktail the taste of which one wasn’t able to tell anymore. Too many ingredients.
Frank stayed quiet. A light touch of exhaustion clouded his eyes. I could almost see it taking shape in the slack of his jaw, the flutter of his lashes, and the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath his layers of clothes. Tonight wasn’t easy for him. He hid his fears well, better than most, but I felt them. I recognized them in his every word and his every move.
Spent and wrapped in the purr of the engine, we sat next to each other. Thigh to thigh. Dangerously close yet not close enough. The invisible line of unuttered questions that separated us grew thinner. Our hands lay on my lap, locked together. The privacy screen was up and no music played.
I broke the silence first, needing to express some of the things that raced through my mind. “You did the right thing.” My eyes swept over the elegant shape of his face, admiring. “For Dante.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance.” Frank chuckled softly. “Or a hundred and second in his case.”
“I really do think he means well. He just doesn’t know the right way to do it.”
“You did notice”—Frank dropped his voice to a whisper as if he was about to say a blasphemous thing—“he fucked up an acoustic solo.”
“The crowd didn’t care.” I pulled out my phone and checked the livestream stats Levi had messaged me a while ago. “We hit over a hundred thousand views.”
Frank took a deep, controlled breath and stared at the empty space in front of him. “He won’t be able to keep this a secret unless he doesn’t plan on picking up a guitar at all.”
“You’re worried about him.” Biting back a smile, I spun to see him better and studied his expression.
“In all of the twenty years I’ve known Dante, he’s never actually apologized for anything. Not even for…” His words faltered and remained unsaid. He shifted and rolled his shoulder. “Actually, I don’t think it matters anymore.” His gaze returned to me. “I think maybe he did me a solid by fucking my ex-wife.”
“Is that so?” An inaudible laugh escaped my lungs.
“Yes.” Frank’s hand reached for my cheek to cup it. “I met you, doll.”
Blood surged to my cheeks. But I wasn’t blushing. I was burning. The entire world felt like it’d been lit on fire. “You were amazing today. It takes courage to do what you did for Isabella and for Dante.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Cassy Evans.” A tired smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “You want to know what I like about you the most?”
“Enlighten me.” I slipped my hand in his hair and raked my fingers through its thickness.
“Your goodness,” he whispered, his lips near my ear. “Wanting to make this shitty world we live in a better place without asking for anything in return.”
My heart pounded. “Not quite accurate.” I brought my face to meet his. Our soft breaths mingled between our mouths and the gap separating us was suddenly filled with invisible energy. Supercharged. “I do want something in return.”
His brow arched in silent question.
“You,” I said. “And some sleep.”
“You have me, doll. I’m here.” He paused. A twinkle lit his eyes. “I can’t guarantee any sleep just yet.”
“What can you guarantee, Frank?” I brushed my lips against his.
“I can guarantee an orgasm,” he teased back.
“You think the promise of an orgasm is going to get you in my good graces?”
“I hope so.”
He was smiling. My eyes were closed and I didn’t see it, but I felt it in the slight lilt of his voice. His hands slipped down the curves of my body, slowly and carefully. A deft touch. A prelude. I shifted and pressed my body to his.
“You’re still on probation, Frank Wallace,” I murmured.
“As long as I have to report to you.”
We drove in silence for a while longer, until the limo began a slow climb through a dark Hollywood Hills neighborhood.
“Where are we going?” I asked, staring out at the sparsely spaced houses we passed on the way up.
“Just wanted to show you something.”
“Didn’t you take me here once before?”
“Yes, I did.” He nodded.
A few minutes later, the limo came to a stop in front of a vaguely familiar property sitting near the cliff overlooking the city.
“This was our second dinner date spot,” I gasped, stepping outside. The house had been finished and gated.
“Yes.” Frank slid from the car, grabbed my hand, and drew me toward the property. “It’s where I kissed you for the first time.”
“Are you sure it’s okay we’re here? I don’t want to be arrested for trespassing.”
“It’s totally fine.” Laughing, he punched in a code and the gate lock clicked open. “The place is mine.”
Shocked, I tripped over my own feet, but Frank grabbed me before I fell.
“I bought the property a few months ago.”
“What for?”
He shrugged. “Sentimental value. This was the site of our first kiss.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Come on.” He pushed the gate open and led me inside.
We walked down the stone path to the opposite side of the house. The bench was still there and the city still shone bright.
“What are we really doing here, Frank?” I looked up at him, my heart thundering.
“I want to start over, Cassy,” he said, moving closer. His voice was sweet and low with a lick of fear. Was he afraid of rejection? “Clean slate?”
“I don’t know if clean slate is possible. You’re aware we’re a GIF?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You hurt me.”
“And I’m sorry.”
“Multiple times.”