The Singles (71 page)

10:39 PM:
I’d meet you somewhere, but my roommate’s having a going away party tonight. This time, you come to me, Evelyn.

That last line—that’s the one that screws with me all the way there.

My GPS has me getting to his place in five minutes, and I realize pretty fast that he lives only a few blocks from Ippy’s, which is probably convenient for when he’s bartending. Thanks to the cars filling the driveway and parked along the street, it’s simple to determine which side of the duplex he lives on. I park my Hyundai about a hundred feet down the street, hoping I’m not taking someone else’s usual spot as I walk up the sidewalk to the brick two-story building.

Although the door is wide open and I can see right in through the screen door, I can hear my mother’s voice yelling how impolite it is for me to just prance right in someone’s home without an invitation. I ring the doorbell. A few seconds later, a huge guy built like an offensive lineman answers.

“Damn, I don’t know you either.” He looks behind him at a dark-haired woman with bright red lipstick who’s just as tall as him and model thin. “Another one of your friends?” he asks, and she pokes her head out the door to stare at me inquisitively.

“Nope, not this time,” she informs him in a surprisingly sexy, deep voice. “You lost, honey?”

I move my head to either side, trying to get a peek inside. “I’m actually here to see Rhys. He’s expecting me.”

“Ahhh, Delane. Why didn’t you say that?” The big guy moves aside so I can come in and turns his attention on the ruby-lipped woman. “Do me a favor, babe, and tell Rhys there’s someone here for him.” He looks me over carefully and then shakes his head, changing his mind. “You know what, just take her directly to him.”

“Come on.” She motions for me to follow her, and I stay as close as possible to her skinny body as we maneuver through all the bodies packed inside the small apartment. “I saw him go into his bedroom a couple minutes ago, so he’s probably still in there.” She looks over her shoulder, leans her head to the side to size me up and then smiles at me. “I’m Daisy, for what it’s worth.”

“Evelyn.” For some reason it feels right to use my whole name when it comes to anything dealing with Rhys. When we shuffle past a face I recognize—the strawberry blond guitarist from Ippy’s, Rhys’ ex-girlfriend—before entering a short hallway, my back straightens. Daisy’s eyebrow jerks up.

“Are you and Delane together?” Then she squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and shakes her head quickly. “Shit, sorry. That was nosy, wasn’t it?”

“No ... he’s just my voice instructor.”

Stopping outside a closed door at the very back of the hallway, she releases a low whistle and rests her hand against the wall to stare down at me. “First time I’ve ever heard him referred to as a
just
anything in the four years I’ve known him.” She bites the corner of her lip, flashing me a smile that’s surprisingly not covered in lipstick a second later. “But if that’s the case, nice to see someone not here just to throw pussy at him.”

Ignoring the fact that my mouth drop opens, she turns and bangs hard on his door. “There’s someone to see you, Rhys,” she shouts, pronouncing his name like “Rice.” When the door opens, and he greets us there in the doorway, he’s shirtless with his jeans hanging low on his hips and his black hair is disheveled.

Daisy bobs her head at me. “Good to meet you, Just-A-Voice-Student.”

Once she’s gone, he and I stand on either side of the threshold staring back at each other. It’s a struggle to keep my gaze from drifting down over his chest.
Really, Rhys ... really? 
He’s all hard, lean muscle, with one of those delicious “V’s” that I’ve only seen in magazines up until now, and I can’t help but wonder when he has time for working out, what with the music and bartending.

And then, I also can’t resist wondering how his chest would feel under my lips.

“I came for my books,” I tell him.
But I’m totally cool with ogling you.

He walks backward inside the room, which is dimly lit by a single lamp standing in the corner. It’s sparsely furnished—a queen size bed, dresser, and a nightstand, and there’s a guitar propped up on a stand in the far right corner—so it’s nice and tidy.

“No you didn’t.” He crooks his finger, moving it slowly, motioning me to him. “I promise you’re perfectly safe.”

I don’t doubt for a second that I’m safe—at least physically—but I still stand close to the door after it’s shut behind me. “Of course that’s what I came for,” I say when I finally find my voice.

“There you go.”  He gestures to the dresser a few feet away from where I’m standing. My books and sheet music are sitting in a neat pile beside a stack of unopened mail. “It’s all there.”

“Perfect.” But I don’t move. “Thanks.”

Turning away from me, he gets on his bed and rests his back against the plain oak headboard. Shooting me a cocky smile, he nods to the door behind me. “Now that you’ve got what you came for, I’ll see you tomorrow, Evelyn.”

Dammit.

Why does he have to look at me like
that
? Peer pressure is the biggest bitch I’ve ever met.

Dragging in a deep breath, I hesitantly walk over to the bed where I sit on the edge to keep a safe amount of distance between myself and his partially nude, and very distracting, body. “I’m sorry I took off like that yesterday.”

“It could have been worse,” he says, and at my raised eyebrow, he drawls, “You could’ve done it after we were naked.”

Ugh. The images that comment brings to my mind, especially when he’s already halfway there and I’m in his bed. Fussing with my bottom lip, I weigh my next words carefully. “I don’t think I would’ve had the willpower to leave if we were that far.”

He glances down at the bed beside him before grinning. “Normally I’d suggest we try it, but I don’t think my pride can take it if you run out on me with so many people here.”

“Normally?”

“Are you gonna overanalyze everything I say while you’re here tonight?” he challenges.

I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, so I stand up with my back to him. “Your roommate’s the big guy, right? Daisy’s boyfriend?” When he confirms with a murmur, I steal a peek over my shoulder at him. “Where’s he moving to?”

“Jase is leaving for a five month gig in Brazil as a freelance interpreter in a couple weeks.”

Impressed, I nod. Silently, I pace his bedroom, feeling his gaze hot on my back. Out the corner of my eye, I spot the only photo in the entire room. It’s sitting a few inches from my books on his dresser, and I lean down to study it. Rhys is smiling with a couple that look to be in their late 50s, early 60s, and wedged between them is a little girl with short dark hair. Her lips are smooshed up against Rhys’ cheek.

“My parents,” he says from behind me.

Although I stand upright, my eyes are still drawn to the smiling faces staring back at me. “This your sister?”

“My niece, Stacey. My mom takes care of her.”

“She’s gorgeous.” When it hits me that I’m more than likely looking at Owen Delane’s daughter, a chill goes through me, and I hug myself tightly. “Y’all must be pretty close.”

“That was taken about a year ago, a couple months before my dad passed away. But yeah ... me and Stacey and my mom—we’re close. We’ve had no other choice because we’re all we’ve got.”

“Sorry to hear about your father.” I turn to face him. I can tell it’s a hard subject for him because of his pained expression. Clearing my throat, I kneel down beside the guitar in the corner of the room, running my fingertips gently along the smooth neck. “Can you actually play this thing or is it for looks?” I question, attempting to keep my voice light and teasing.

I hear him roll off his bed, and a second later, feel his body close to mine. When I stand, the back of my body glides up his until I can feel his lips touch my ear. I shiver. “Are you asking me to play?” he whispers against my skin, his breath blowing stray strands of my loose hair.

“Since I didn’t come here for my books.” I turn my face to the side to meet his vivid blue-green eyes. “And because all I keep hearing about is how amazing and incredible Rhys Delane is, and yet I’ve never actually heard you sing.”

Moving his body even closer to mine so that I feel every hard muscle and taut angle, he grabs the guitar and motions me over to the bed. He seems to think on what to play for a moment, before he positions his long fingers on the fretboard and strums the beginning of “Yesterday,” the same song he was playing the day I finally met him about working together.

“That song always rips me apart,” I say as his eyes find mine.

“I hated it when I was younger,” he admits with the tiniest hint of a smile. And then he starts to sing, softly, tentatively, and I’m unable to speak or move as I listen. He has one of those voices that slowly digs its way beneath my skin. It moves through my body and into my mind, making the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand to attention. His voice haunts me, hurts me, and I know this moment will mess with me long after I leave this room.

We’re quiet for a long time after he’s done, until I finally clear my throat. “You’re incredible.”

He lays the guitar face up on the other side of his bed and shrugs. “I probably should’ve told you I’m a shitty guitar player.”

“To be honest, I wasn’t listening to the guitar.”

He ducks his head, but I see the full smile teasing his mouth. “I took a few lessons here and there, but I was in high school then and all I wanted to do was play sports so my older brother wouldn’t give me shit and call me a pussy.” At the mention of his brother, his smile goes hard and so does the pain within my ribcage.

I move my palm back and forth over my chest, trying to rub away some of the hurt, but it doesn’t work. It never does. “And yet here you are, playing music.”

“Eventually I got smart and realized I wanted to be nothing like my brother.” He races the tip of his tongue over his teeth. “But enough about that. I want to know about you. I want to know why you came tonight. Most importantly, I want to know what we’re going to do about—”

“Our mutual attraction?”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” He moves his face close to mine. “So what are we gonna do about it, Evelyn?”

“We’re such different people.” At the amused jerk of his eyebrow, I continue. “And then there’s your job with Professor Cameron.” To my own ears it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself so I can’t imagine what I must sound like to him. I
want
to convince myself not to have anything to do with him—to convince my body to ignore him when he’s around.

“I should probably get back before my roommate starts freaking out and calling campus police,” I reply softly.

Before I move, he traces his knuckles over my cheekbone and locks his eyes to mine. “You didn’t come here just for your books. And if I was worried about Cameron, I wouldn’t have given you the address,” he reminds me. “But ... goodnight, Evelyn.”

With nothing else to say, I stand and walk slowly to the door. I give him one final look, and my heart clenches at the unreadable expression masking his strong features. I want to stay. I want to turn back around, climb onto that bed and make him give me more bad guitar playing and breath-catching, heartbreaking singing that tears my soul apart. And after that, I want to tear off the rest of his clothes and leave them in a pile on the floor with my own.

God, wouldn’t that be beautiful?

I press my lips together. Then, as much as I end up hating myself for it, I grab what I didn’t come here for off his dresser, keeping my gaze off the picture of his family, and leave.

––––––––

I
f I expect Rhys to give any further mention to anything that was said when we were alone in his bedroom, I quickly discover how very wrong I am. For the next week and a half, he’s the epitome of professionalism—no touching, no innuendo, and definitely no kissing. I make an effort to comply with his silly hat rule, but every time our eyes meet, whether it’s during Cameron’s sight singing class or while he’s giving me feedback at one of our lessons, I wonder what he’s thinking. If his mind is on me, or if he’d simply shrugged me off completely the second I left his apartment with my books and music.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I think of him—when I’m lying in bed at night; when I’m alone with my music; when I listen to “Yesterday” on repeat for no reason other than wanting to imagine Rhys’ voice wrapped around the lyrics; as I realize that in two weeks Lily will have been gone for exactly two years.

That’s the worst one. I think about Lily and my parents and then I think about him and the picture of him with his brother’s kid. I process just how many lives were scooped up and crushed into nothing but dust two years ago. Then I open my eyes, breathe in and out, and I still want more with him.

And every time I watch him, letting that want burn a little deeper within me, I get a little more frustrated.

“You can’t expect the guy to chase you around,” Kendra scolds me as I lay in bed talking to her on Sunday morning. There’s less than a week left before she comes to visit. After I woke up an hour ago and finished a paper on Voltaire’s
Candide
for English—which I’ve already read many times thanks to my obsession with the operetta—I’d called her to make sure she’s still coming.

She barely took a breath between assuring me that she is and asking me how things are going with Rhys.

“Evie ... you don’t blame him for Lily’s death, do you?”

“I don’t,” I say through my teeth. Hell, I blame myself more for my sister’s death than Rhys. I start to tell Kendra exactly that but then I glance over at Corinne. She came in late last night and is still passed out in bed in the clothes she went out in. Her brown and red ringlets cover her face, moving slightly as she snores. Her ear buds are connected to her phone, and I can hear Kacey Musgraves blasting—which makes me wonder how she can even sleep—but I don’t want to risk her hearing anything.

Flipping over on my side, I press my head up against my wall. “I just... I feel like I’m screwing up again by wanting to be around him,” I whisper.