I was soothed by the trademark dance of humor in his hazel irises.
“First strawberries, now cherries,” he murmured, glancing down at my summer dress. “I’m picking up on a theme.”
“Summer is for fruit.”
The L train loudly rolled into the station, clanking and screeching with comforting familiarity.
“I love The Strokes,” I said, nodding at his shirt. “Have you seen them live?”
We hopped on the car and stood facing each other, each gripping the metal stanchion between us.
Wes nodded. “A few times. I wish I’d been in the city when they were first taking off.”
“Me too,” I said. “We missed a sick time in indie music history. I hope we see something like that happen again.”
The doors closed with a ding, and we lurched toward Bedford Avenue. The car was crowded, which meant that, despite the air conditioning, I was sweating through my cherry-laden navy dress.
Wes grinned. “I really enjoy hearing you use the wordsick.Maybe you are old at heart.”
“It all comes back around.”
He nodded. “Which is why an indie music golden era is bound to strike the city again. And this time, we’ll be here.”
I stared up at him, his height putting him almost a foot taller than me. There was something about Wes that was so disarmingly earnest. He didn’t seem like the same person in the real world as he was in The Circle. He was less guarded—still intense, but without the same severity.
I wondered again why he’d sworn off domming. Did that have anything to do with his mercurial demeanor around kink? A crowded subway car while sweat dripped down our backs didn’t seem like the best place to ask.
“Music saved me growing up,” Wes said.
I angled toward him, then stilled and kept my face neutral, as if one wrong move would discourage him from sharing more.
Me too,I wanted to say, but I remained silent instead.
After a few beats, he finally continued. “Especially as a teenager. When you don’t understand your own emotions, let alone how to communicate them, art can do it for you.”
I nodded in complete understanding. In addition to the dark corners of the Internet Lorelei and I had traversed under our domineering families’ noses, we’d also sneakily consumed forbidden media. For me, it was mainly books, music, and movies. Lorelei spent a lot more time on social media, pirated TV, blogs, and magazine contraband.
“Music helped me escape,” I said. “Books too.”
“Speaking of…” Wes said as the car doors opened again at Bedford. “I read your books.”
“Like, all of them?” I asked incredulously. It had only been six days.
“No, I’m on the fourth one. I read quickly.”
I guess without modern technology, that speed made sense. But still. Part of me hadn’t fully believed he would read any of my writing. It was common for friends, acquaintances, or men from dating apps to claim they were going to buy or read my books. Very few actually followed through on either. It was just a polite thing people said.
“They don’t suck,” he said.
My ears popped as we headed under the East River. “Oh, good,” I said sarcastically. “I’d been anxiously awaiting your verdict.”
Wes smiled. “They’re witty and smart and heartfelt. The prose is beautiful, lyrical even. And they’reyou.I like seeing inside you like that.”
The words scrambled my brain. The praise was one thing, but that last sentence… How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? My body responded with a dull ache between my thighs and a shiver of erotic fear down my spine at the idea of being bared before Wes.
My phone had vibrated in my hand when we were at Bedford. I took this opportunity to glance at the screen.
Maisy
