“I’m sorry,” I say again, uselessly.
“It’s OK,” Dex tells me. “Ancient history.”
I look at him with a new respect as he moves to clean up the kitchen. Growing up without his parents must have been unspeakably hard, but I can see in his eyes that he’s come to terms with his loss. It’s a part of him, and his story, but it doesn’t define his life—at least, not anymore.
He has a strength and courage I never imagined.
“So, what do you want to do today?” Dex changes the subject. “I thought we could take a drive, I’ll show you around the area, maybe hit the beach? Get that brain of yours to relax,” he adds with a grin.
“Sounds good to me,” I reply. Then I remember my hastily-packed bag. “Can we swing by a store? I left in such a hurry, I forgot to bring a bunch of things.” Like shampoo, and face cream, and mascara, and all the other things I need to look halfway human in the mornings. But Dex doesn’t seem to mind my bed-head and bare face. There’s an appreciation in his eyes that’s just as strong as last night, and the way his stare glides over my body as I hop down from the counter makes me feel a new thrill of awareness.
“I’ll jump in the shower, and then we can head out,” I say, putting my coffee cup in the sink. “I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” Dex says as I walk away. “And if you need someone to scrub your back, I’m right here, sweetheart.”
10.
The thought of Dex joining me in the huge marble shower waylays me for a while, but soon, I’m clean, dressed in a light print sundress, and strapped into the passenger seat of a low, silver sports car as we pull out of the driveway. I don’t know much about cars, but this one is a beauty: the engine growling low, driving smoother than I’ve ever felt before. Dex hits a couple of buttons, and just like that, the roof slides back and folds over onto itself, leaving us open to the sky with the breeze whipping in my hair.
“You want to go into town, or hit the open road?” he asks, pausing at the crossroads. I feel a tremor of nerves at the thought of going into Beachwood Bay. What if I run into Hunter and Brit?
“Open road,” I reply quickly. “If that’s OK?”
Dex rewards me with a devastating grin. “My kind of lady,” he says, and guns the engine, taking off with a roar. I stifle a squeal and hang on tight as the car speeds down the winding country roads, but after a moment, I start to relax. We may be pushing the speed limit, but Dex stays focused on the road ahead, driving smoothly and totally in control.
“Do you want some music?” I ask, reaching for the control console. “What do you like?”
“Whatever you want,” Dex replies, so I find an alt-rock station and settle back, enjoying the lush green woodland speeding past, and the distant glitter of the ocean waves. We fall into a companionable silence, and I realize just how quickly I’ve adjusted to his presence. Sure, there’s a tremor of desire and anticipation that doesn’t fade away, but sitting here beside him, I feel strangely relaxed, as if this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I sneak a look over at Dex under the cover of my sunglasses. He’s totally at ease: one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm draped over the open window. He’s wearing dark Ray-Ban shades, and with the black T-shirt stretching over the taut, tattooed muscles of his biceps, he looks good enough to lick.
Where did that come from?
He turns his head to look at me, and I glance away, blushing.
Down, girl.
A new song comes on the radio, and Dex groans, quickly reaching to change the station.
“What…?” I start to ask. He looks bashful. “Oh,” I realize, “it’s one of yours.”
“You don’t know our stuff?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.
“Sorry.” I feel embarrassed. “I mean, I’m sure I’ve heard a few songs on the radio, but I don’t really keep up with music. I like the oldies. Do you mind if we listen?” I add hesitantly. Dex clearly doesn’t like to hear himself, but I’m curious about his music now.
Dex looks reluctant, but he switches the station back, and suddenly the car is flooded with the driving sound of guitars and his voice, that irresistible low whiskey drawl.
I let the music wash over me, powerful and full of surging emotion. I can see it now, how his band became such huge stars. There’s an urgency to the music, and Dex’s voice is like nothing else I’ve heard before. Low and rasping, it’s intimate, heartfelt.
Sexy as hell.
I feel a shiver of goosebumps on my skin, imagining what he must look like up on stage with a mic in his hands. No wonder they sold out stadiums and won awards. They’re good. Really good.
I look over. Dex’s jaw is clenched, and he looks embarrassed, as if I’m flipping through his baby photos and not listening to his biggest achievement. I quickly reach and switch the channel again.
“Thanks,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath with tension.
“Is it really that bad?” I ask, curious. “I would be so proud, just turning on the radio and hearing myself like that.”
He gives a rueful smile. “In the beginning, yeah. The first time I heard our song play, I freaked the fuck out. But now…it’s like bad deja vu. I hear the song, and all I can remember is the fucked up shit that was going on behind the scenes. I’m not that guy anymore.”
There’s a bitterness in his voice: anger, and regret. I remember that I’m not the only one with secrets and shadows I’m hiding. Dex may be playing it casual ever since I arrived, but he’s got demons, too—demons that even a song on the radio can trigger.