Page 28 of Pretty Black

“Presumptuous.” He leaned back enough to look into my eyes.

“Yes,” I agreed. It was. I assumed he had the world to offer after one look in his eyes.

“I like it.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” I took his hand as the band came out to do an encore, but suddenly, they mattered less than him.

“Have a drink with me.” He laced our fingers, lifting his chin.

“Before the show is over?”

His expression changed, but I couldn’t quite make it out in the low light, so I had to lift my head and shove my hair out of my face. It wasn’t pity. More like curiosity.

“If I say yes, will you think less of me?” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

“No. Maybe...” I laughed, dropping my face to break the eye contact, hair falling in my face.

“Maybe I’ve always thought you were one of those guys with a record player listening to music the way it was meant to be heard. Good to have that confirmed.”

My cheeks heated, and I still couldn’t look at him. “Is that a bad thing?”

“You know all the music exists in your phone. You can listen to it there.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Yes.” I shrugged, not elaborating. Most guys our age couldn’t comprehend the inability to afford not only a phone but the monthly payments. I didn’t have parents like most of the kids I went to school with. I’d been fending for myself and my brother longer than most of them had been tying their shoes.

“Then how do you listen?” He leaned closer, looking over my shoulder from behind. “Do you carry a record player with you?”

I laughed, but my words came smugly. “Not in these pants.”

“No, I don’t imagine you could fit anything in them without it being noticed.” His voice dropped, getting gravelly.

I felt the color in my face spread, and for the first time, I was thankful to be overheated. It covered the blush. “No.”

“Do you have a cassette player too, then?” His tenor was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“Do you think I’m hiding a cassette player in these jeans too?” I said, twisting around to get a better look at him.

“You didn’t answer the question.” He used my new position to drag his eyes down my body.

“I do have a cassette player. People throw away cassettes and CDs. They are free.” And I cherished every note of music.

“I have a single question,” he said, tilting his chin to mine and wearing a bit of a sly grin.

My brows pulled. I didn’t want him asking about the phone thing. “Sure.”

“Are you going to come have a drink with me, Iris Rose?” he said my name like he took ownership of it. A filthy possession.

“If you’re insisting.”

“I am.” He tugged my hand, making me realizing they were still joined.

I let him lead me out of the pit; it was slow going pressed between screaming fans, but we made it to the bar and fresh air. I gathered the hair that had fallen out of my makeshift man bun and refixed it in place with the pencil.

“What are you drinking?” Was he serious?

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