Page 22 of The Beat Match

She pressed her hand to Duncan’s forearm. “Thanks. I’m glad Wes has you in his corner.”

Duncan’s eyes darted to her lips. He moved closer. She stepped back, needing distance from him and all that cologne. She sipped her drink, savored the kick of lime and salt, tried not to picture Wes at his late-night meeting, then home alone, sleepless, stressing over a million worries. Nothing she could do about it tonight.

“On a happier note,” she said, “you’re in for a treat. The last DJ is insane.”

“Can’t say dance music is my jam, but this place has atmosphere.” Duncan raised his voice. “And it’s loud.”

“It helps you feel the beat better. And if you don’t dig this, what music is your jam?”

“Whatever’s on the radio, I guess.”

Someone jostled her from behind. Her drink spilled a little. Hopefully the fumble distracted Duncan from her pinched “judgy” face, as Wes called it. She didn’t understand how people existed without music in their hearts. “What about hobbies? What makes you tick?”

“Golf, golf, and golf.” He grinned. “Got myself a new set of clubs that are smooth as silk.”

He talked over the music, droning on about the weight and balance of the clubs, the swanky courses he’d played and a trip he’d booked. She zoned out and scanned the room. A guy walked by wearing a beaded necklace similar to one Leo had owned, and her eyes stung again. She bit her cheek and checked the stage for Falcon.

“I also play racquetball,” Duncan said, yelling in her ear as people crowded them. “And I love talking with beautiful women.”

She snort-laughed. Yeah, no. She was feeling zero attraction to Duncan. The guy was all-American attractive, but her intellectual interest was falling faster than an under-baked soufflé. Hopefully he’d at least dance with her when Falcon played, and his concern over Wes had been sweet. They could say a friendly goodbye afterward, no future dates in store.

Another drink and more mundane chitchat later, the lights dimmed. The crowd roared. Annie’s heart beat wildly. Falcon.

“Let’s get closer to the stage.” Without waiting for his reply, she grabbed Duncan’s hand and dragged him as she elbowed her way closer. No points for kindness when her favorite DJ played, and she wasn’t the only one in pursuit. She lost Duncan’s hand in the crush. They got separated. She should turn and find him, but the first wave of violin trilled. Immediately, she was entranced, staring at the crimson curtain as lights danced and people cheered. The next segment of music was different. Melancholy. An emotional cello filling the space.

People quieted. Shivers sailed down her neck.

She closed her eyes, felt more than heard his transitions, gusts of sound breezing around the room. The soaring melody made her throat burn, as though the notes had been written for her, a soundtrack to that approaching anniversary. Sorrow bleeding into healing, coming out the other end hopeful, but still sad.

The bass cut in. She opened her eyes.

The curtain lifted and…wow.

As always, Falcon was a beast on stage, tall and commanding, a bird of prey surveying his domain. The stage was a different story. TV screens filled the space, different sizes at various heights arranged in a dramatic pattern. Images flashed to the beats: falcons swooping in slow motion, weather footage whipping through the sky—hail and wind and rain. The scenes moved from one monitor to the next, as though crashing through the room.

All went black. The music paused.

A new song exploded, sunshine beamed and flowers grew in a hypnotic time-lapse sequence, and…wait, was that? She whooped. He was playing the new song she’d heard at her DJ lesson. It was sensory overload.

Falcon pumped his hand in the air, head tipped up slightly, that stunning mask making him look like a feral king.

She tossed up her hands and danced. Let the rhythm slide through her bones, every troubling thought shaking out of her head. His gaze swept the floor as it often did, and her body loosened, moving just for him. She forgot about Leo’s anniversary, Vivian’s and Duncan’s tough questions. She didn’t worry about losing Falcon again tonight. She let everything go but the music. Until a hard body lined up behind her.

She tensed, ready to stomp on some dude’s foot, then she smelled that heavy, familiar cologne. Duncan. He was closer than she liked, but there wasn’t much room with this crowd, and it wasn’t fair to ditch him again. He danced with more rhythm than expected, his hips and torso rocking behind her. She matched his moves. Relaxed while maybe picturing Falcon behind her instead. She imagined turning, pressing closer to him, digging her fingers into his thick shoulders, licking a line up his neck, lifting his mask for a peek at his face. She closed her eyes, reveled in the fantasy…and saw Weston.

The wrong face. The wrong daydream.

A-freaking-gain.

She whipped her eyes open, searched the stage for the man she was allowed to crush on. Falcon was safe. He was infatuation material. His gaze suddenly locked on hers, and the song screeched to a stop.

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Weston’s vision went dark. Everything blackened except for one woman and the man behind her, the scene so wrong anger clouded his eyes and his finger snagged on the volume. Just a second. That was all it took to fuck up his set. Silence flared. A boulder lodged in his stomach. He realigned the music with the video feed, then normalized the volume.

There was nothing normal about the angry kick of his pulse.