Page 38 of Shattered Chords

“You let me know when and I’ll try to make it.” He nodded eagerly.

I rounded the car and checked on Harper while they continued to discuss guitars. My heart was beating faster than usual as I watched them slap palms and bump fists. Ally had never made friends so quickly. It was twice as hard for her because of how she chose to dress and behave. These days, very few girls were into metal music. It’d become underground and outdated.

“Thank you for the pizza,” Dante said, moving in my direction. He stood close and I could smell him, his subtle masculine scent that I’d almost forgotten.

“You didn’t eat any.”

“Your kid didn’t let me.” He chuckled, his dark, fiery eyes meeting mine.

“Yes, she’s a curious young lady.” I glanced at Ally over my shoulder. She was nose deep in her phone. God forbid she was texting that Braden guy who didn’t even try to give a decent smile.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” Dante asked out of the blue, elusive flames dancing in his gaze.

My throat tightened. There it was. The offer I didn’t want to refuse but had to. The man had a reputation and I wasn’t sure how I fit into the decadent picture that his life was. “I can’t make that decision after witnessing a teenage screamfest for three hours straight,” I said quietly, hoping my daughter couldn’t hear us.

He didn’t seem surprised. On the contrary, he continued to push forward. “When will be a good time to ask you then?” A cocky smile touched his lips.

“How about Sunday? Ten a.m. Meet me at Sixty-seven hundred Topanga Canyon Boulevard.” I pulled the door open and slipped into my seat.

“Sixty-seven hundred Topanga Canyon?” Dante repeated, his brows pulling together.

I started the car and shouted over the purr of the engine. “Ten a.m. Don’t be late and don’t dress up.” Then I closed the door and pulled out of the parking space.

“Did you just say no to a date with Dante Martinez?” Ally’s accusatory voice crept up on me as we drove off. “Out of all the men who’ve asked you out, you had to shut down the one I actually like. What’s wrong with you, Mom?”

A thousand warning bells went off in my head. I could already see how it would all end. She would fall hard and then he would disappear. Just like every other man before him. “Let’s see what he’s made of first, Bug.”

The best way to avoid heartbreak was simply to avoid getting involved with anyone who’d broken hearts before. And Dante Martinez had broken millions.

5 Dante

Sure, I didn’t always get what I wanted, but Camille’s rejection stung. Perhaps it was because she was the first woman I’d asked out...in over a decade. Or perhaps she was the first woman who’d found a way to put a dent in my ego.

I hadn’t had the need to lift a fucking finger to get someone into my bed since I was of legal age. Back in the early Hall Affinity days—when almost every club in the Valley, L.A., and even Orange County had begun to book the band—rivers of booze and dozens of horny girls had accompanied us after each show to wherever we’d taken the party.

We were young, hot, and talented. You’d had to get in line to fuck us.

I couldn’t understand why Camille had said no to a dinner. I’d done what any gentleman would. Food before blowjob. Walking before running.

“Yo!” Malik’s fingers snapped in front of my nose. “You with me, brother?” He sputtered out a laugh.

I flipped him the finger and lifted my face to the sky. “Fuck you.” A lonely cloud drifted across the endless canvas of bleakness above my head. We’d left earlier than usual today, but the heat was ruthless, even at this hour.

“Something on your mind?” Malik punched the air and continued to sprint in place. Puffs of dust slapped across his running shoes. Sometimes, I couldn’t figure out how he didn’t get tired. It was like his battery never ran out. No matter how long the hike was and no matter how little he’d slept the night before. Dude was a fucking machine.

“I asked someone to dinner last night,” I said, screwing the cap off my water bottle.

“Oh yeah?” Malik moved to stand opposite of me. His massive chest blocked my view of the Valley. “Who is she?”

“Someone I met a few days ago.”

“Good for you, brother.”

“She said no.”

“Her loss.”

“I’m going to ask her again,” I said as if I needed to voice my intentions to ensure I followed through. I’d been doing that a lot lately—telling my therapist about my plans and writing down the things I wanted to do. I hadn’t really understood the power of manifestation until one morning when I’d woken up in my room at Passages and realized my head felt like a blender. I’d had to learn how to compartmentalize my thoughts all over again.

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