Page 97 of The Midnight Frequency

“I like how humans chase joy.”

“What do you mean?”

“No matter how dire the world is, how unstable they must feel, they always at least try to see the positive. They smell flowers, pet puppies, sing to themselves, kick their feet in the water, or turn their faces up to the sun. No matter what they are going through, they are always looking for some small way to feel better.

“I like how they care about a future they will never see. They plant trees they’ll never stand under, build cathedrals they will never pray in, tend gardens whose food they will never eat. It doesn’t matter how dire the circumstances of their lives, they always strive to make a better future for others.

“And, yes,” I said, finally dropping the needle on the record. “I love their art.”

The music drifted out from the speakers, warmer and rounder than from modern devices.

I’d heard this song before, but I was truly listening for the first time as I watched Maggie while she looked out the window, her gaze far away and unreadable.

It was a song about longing. Maybe even the kind of longing I might have called obsession just a few days ago. But I was hearing it differently, through the ears of a man who suddenly understood the words.

I’d been alive for a long time and undead much longer than that. I’d known many women—both human and paranormal. I’d enjoyed their company, even indulged in intimacy.

But I’d never felt anything like the pull I felt toward Maggie. The way she invaded my mind even in moments when I should have been fully immersed in what I was doing: when I was reading, listening to music, or doing my radio show. She was always there. One thought away.

And, since the kiss, one memory away.

Her soft body pressed to mine, her legs and arms around me, her soft, warm skin under my lips and tongue, her sweet whimpers and needy moans. The tangy richness of her blood on my tongue.

Yeah, I knew a thing or two about longing now.

And that tug in my chest I’d been feeling when around her, I was starting to suspect there might be more to that than I originally thought as well.

“Well?” she asked when it finished playing, the soft static filling the room.

“It’s a good song. I see why you picked it.”

To that, she rolled her eyes.

“Fine. I give up.” Her tone was light. She wouldn’t give up. What’s more, I didn’t want her to.

“I guess I should take these files back to the office before Mr. Lane has a conniption.”

She walked over to the folder, checked my signatures, then stuffed the folder into her purse before heading toward the door.