The Sound of Us

Chapter Eight. “Don’t Stop the Music” by Rihanna

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Don’t Stop the Music” by Rihanna

SKYE

Haley and Isla were more than happy to dance with me, and we rocked the dance floor for the next half an hour. Who could leave when the DJ was killing it with his sick beats? Aaron found me again and offered us shots of something sickly sweet, then did his best to dance by wrapping his arms around me and swaying to Shakira’s “The One.”

“Let me go.” I tried to push him away, but he squeezed me tighter. My pulse kicked up a notch and I looked around for Isla or Haley. “Aaron. I can’t br—”

“I’m cutting in,” a familiar voice said from behind Aaron’s massive bulk.

I peeked around Aaron’s shoulder and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of Dante’s glowering face. For a moment I couldn’t speak. I was shocked, surprised, embarrassed, humiliated, mortified, and thrilled all at once. I closed my eyes and prayed that when I opened them, I wouldn’t be in Kansas.

“The hell you are.” Aaron had to physically turn us so he could look Dante in the eye because his neck didn’t twist that far. I took the opportunity to pull away so I could see Dante in the flesh. Aaron slung a possessive arm over my shoulder, and my back bowed slightly from the extra weight.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I know him.”

“You know me,” Aaron said, tightening his grip. “We’re spending the night together.”

“Do you mean we’re spending the night together partying or you think we’re going to spend the night together in be—?”

“She’s with me.” Dante’s voice was calm and controlled but his clenched jaw hinted at anger, barely restrained.

“What the fuck?” Aaron scowled and released me to get up into Dante’s face. He was taller and wider than Dante, and thick with muscle, but Dante dominated the space with the force of his presence alone. A few of Aaron’s rugby buddies looked over with interest, and my pulse kicked up a notch.

“We’re together,” I said quickly. “Dante and me. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.”

“You? With him?” Aaron laughed. “You think I’d believe that? He’s a NARP. We”—he gestured back and forth between us with a thick finger—“don’t do NARPs.”

NARP was short for Non-Athletic Regular Person, and Aaron was right. Elite college athletes usually dated each other because it was hard for NARPs to understand our strict diets, limited alcohol intake, early bedtimes, and pre-dawn morning practices. Not that they didn’t sometimes cut loose like Aaron and his rugby buddies had done tonight, especially after a big game, but they would suffer for it at practice tomorrow.

“I’m a NARP, too,” I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I’m not on the basketball team anymore.”

“It’s okay. You’re still hot as fuck.” His arm slid down my back and he slapped my ass.

“Hey…” I turned to give him a piece of my mind, but Dante swooped in so fast I didn’t see him move. He shoved Aaron in the chest with two hands, sending him stumbling back into two girls who were dancing behind him.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Aaron’s face darkened and tension crackled in the air. I’m not sure what would have happened if another rugby guy hadn’t come up and clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “Dude. Not worth it. Beer funnel in the kitchen. Let’s go.”

I waited until Aaron had disappeared into the kitchen to do a little shouting of my own. “What the hell was that? Were you going to start a fight? Because he slapped my ass? I can bench press a hundred twenty pounds…”

Shut up, Skye.

“… and in high school I held the team record in the squat, bench press, and power clean.”

Oh God. Stop.

“I can look after myself.” I flexed my biceps for him, the small ripple barely visible on my bare arm.

Shoot me now.

“Understood.” Dante nodded. “I’ll be sure not to get on your bad side.”

“Why are you here?” I asked as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that he had actually come to the party.

“You invited me to party with the bad kids. How could I turn down that kind of invitation?”

My face flamed. “I was drunk. It was a drunk dial. You weren’t supposed to take it seriously.”

“How could I not take it seriously? Aside from the fact that you told me you were at a frat known for double-shotting to get women drunk, yours is the first booty call I’ve ever received.”

I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “That’s hard to believe. Haley told me your show gets more call-ins than any other at the station. I can’t imagine you don’t get the occasional booty call. In fact, I’d be shocked if you didn’t because I’ve heard your show and your voice…” I trailed off when he smiled. “What?”

“You listened to my show.”

Unable to meet his gaze, I stared down at the beer-and-mud-covered floor. “Maybe once or twice. Just to see if you played any decent music.”

“Did you listen on Monday night?” He slid one hand around my waist and every nerve in my body fired at once as the soft jazz notes of Peder’s “The Sour” played over the speakers.

“Yes, and if you’re going to play songs about getting over fear, then you have no business leaving out Rachel Platten’s ‘Fight Song’ and Coldplay’s ‘Magic.’”

“Coldplay?” He snorted his derision. “They could have been the next Radiohead, but instead they cashed in on a mass-appeal pop styling and became U2 wannabes.”

“I loved Parachutes and Rush of Blood .” I slid my hands over his broad shoulders and breathed in the scent of him, leather and citrus and masculine warmth.

“Hmm.” He pulled me closer, his lips brushing over my hair. “There might possibly be one or two good tracks on those albums.” Dante tightened his arm around me, and I softened against him. “Maybe three.”

I pressed my cheek to his chest and caught a glimpse of us in the mirror over the makeshift bar. We looked good together, my body tucked perfectly against his, except for my ridiculous Cheshire cat smile.

Dante spun me around and my stomach heaved.

“I’m not feeling so good.” I pulled away as bile rose in my throat. “I think I had too many shots. I need some air.” Pushing my way through the crowd, I stumbled down the stairs and threw up in the bushes beside the house.

Dante held my hair until I was done and then left to let Isla and Haley know where I’d gone. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water and helped me over to the lawn, where we leaned against the trunk of a massive oak tree.

“I don’t usually drink,” I said, sipping the water.

He watched me, his eyes dark and warm, his smile cool and faintly amused. “I figured when you drunk-dialed me.”

“It was my last hurrah,” I continued. “I didn’t make the team and I haven’t been able to find any other funding options, so I’ll be leaving next week. I’m hoping to get into one of the local colleges in Denver. It should be affordable if I live at home and work for the next year. There are some DIII teams at local colleges in Denver… I think one of them even has a journalism course. It doesn’t have the prestige of Havencrest’s journalism program…”

My throat tightened and I sighed. Some of the country’s top journalists had graduated from Havencrest’s journalism program—people I deeply admired. I’d never get the same opportunities anywhere else—or the connections. But I had to let it go. If I got onto a DIII team, I might still be able to make it to the WNBA. It was highly unlikely, but it was a chance I had to take.

“I’m sorry, Skye.”

“It’s better this way,” I said, looking up at him. “I won’t have to rely on money that comes with strings and obligations. People can take away things they’ve given you, but they can’t take away something you’ve earned.” I’d learned that lesson early in life after being shuttled from foster home to foster home, having to leave toys and clothes behind.

“So, this is your farewell to Havencrest.” He rubbed his hand up and down my back in a soothing motion. “Drunk dials and partying with the worst frat on campus?”

“I haven’t had much practice with self-pity. I thought alcohol would be a good way to fill the new void in my life.”

“I can tell you from experience it’s not a good idea,” he said quietly.

I leaned back, resting against the tree beside him. “What was your poison?”

“Whiskey. It was the only alcohol in our house growing up. When that didn’t do the trick, I moved on to harder stuff. Zero out of ten. Don’t recommend. If I didn’t have my music…”

“Wait! Aren’t you supposed to be doing your show?”

“When you said you were here, I got the station manager to take over,” he said. “I was worried about you, and he was happy to have a chance to showcase some of his favorite tracks. He used to be a DJ, too, and I think he misses that personal connection.”

Another wave of nausea rolled through me, and I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself yet again. “Why do you care?” I asked bluntly. “You didn’t come by the coffee shop to ask about the tryout. For all you knew, I was already gone.”

“I knew you were still around.” He tipped his head back, looking up at the night sky through the branches and curling leaves. “I pass by the building every day on my way to class, and I could see you through the glass.”

“Why didn’t you come in and say hi?” I followed his gaze, but the sudden motion of my head made my vision swim and my stomach roil.

“I was kind of a dick before your tryout. I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

Something bright bloomed in my chest. “You gave away my lemon squares.”

His head dropped and he caught my gaze. “There was only one kind of sweet I wanted.”

Wanted. I never got a chance to fully process his words.

One moment we were staring into each other’s eyes. The next, I was puking on the grass.