chapter 19

THE MOMENT HE SAYS IT, Sebastian and Lucas go quiet, and even though I can't see them behind me, I can feel their eyes on my back. I get the sensation that I'm onstage, just without my violin.

"Um, yeah. Sure." I try not to sound too eager, but my heart is pounding in my chest. "Where do you wanna go?"

Dex flicks his lip ring and regards me for a moment, and the silence in the room builds.

The guys are still staring at us, their eyes burning holes into my back. What are they thinking right now?

On second thought, I'm not so sure I want to know.

"How 'bout my place?"

His place. As in his house .

My first thought is, Oh my god, he just invited me home with him. My second is to briefly wonder if Dex is embarrassed to be seen with me in public and that's why he doesn't want to go out. It would make sense after that scathing article. But I push that thought down and focus instead on the quirk of his lips and the lazy way he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Sounds good." I somehow achieve a casual tone, but I'm not so sure it convinces Dex, because his smile is nettling.

"Sweet." His gaze shifts to the guys over my shoulder. "Later." Then he's pulling the door open and stepping aside so I can walk through first.

"Bye, guys," I say, turning to give them a wave.

Sebastian waves back, still looking a bit shell-shocked, Michael smiles in that mature way of his, and Lucas just crosses his arms and stares from behind his dark shades.

"Bye, Nora," I hear Sebastian say as I step through the doorway and out into the hall.

Dex follows close behind me, and the door closes with an audible click. Morgan isn't anywhere to be seen, which I'm pretty grateful for. Earlier, when she walked in on me kissing Dex, the look on her face made me feel dangerous and powerful. But now I'm just hoping we don't bump into her on the way out. Thankfully, she's not behind her desk, and we step out of the studio and into the balmy air without running into anyone else.

"Wanna ride with me?" Dex asks, already pulling the Rover fob from his pocket.

It's tempting, but I don't want to leave my car here again overnight.

"No, I think I'll just follow you."

He tips his head a bit, as if that's not the answer he was expecting, then shrugs. "Cool. Think you can keep up?" He flashes me a grin, and my stomach sinks a little.

No, I most certainly cannot keep up with his Range Rover in my beloved 2013 Civic. And besides, there's bumper-to-bumper traffic, so it's not like we'll be flying down the freeway.

Dex heads for his sleek black Rover, and I hop into my Civic. My phone dings a second later with a text. It's his address, and when I put it into my phone, my eyes widen.

I don't know much about the wealthy parts of LA, but even I've heard of the Hollywood Hills. I'm not so sure they'll even let my car in there.

Dex pulls out of the lot, and I stick close to his Rover. Sure, I have his address, but I'd prefer not to lose sight of him.

Of course, that doesn't happen. He speeds off at the first opportunity, leaving me glaring out my windshield with a furrowed brow, sitting at yet another red light while his taillights get swallowed up by the traffic in the distance.

Twenty minutes later, I pull off Santa Monica Boulevard and head north, and the homes are already growing exponentially in size. I spot a Range Rover pulled over with its lights on, and as soon as I get close, it pulls out in front of me.

He waited for me after all.

For some reason, that makes me smile.

Dex leads the way through the winding roads, and I try not to rubberneck at all the luxury vehicles and sprawling mansions. We have to go through a gated security stop, and Dex chats with the man in the booth, gesturing back at me. They both turn to look at me, then smile and shake hands. When it's my turn to pull up, I grip the wheel a little harder, my anxiety kicking in. Are they even going to let me into this place? What if —

"Good evening, Ms. Miller," the security guard says. He's huge, and looking at his arms, I'm pretty sure he could bench-press me with one hand tied behind his back. But his smile is quick and bright against his dark skin, and it puts me immediately at ease. "Identification please."

"S-sure," I say, reaching into my purse to pull my wallet out. I fumble a bit, hands shaking with nerves, but the man waits patiently as I dig my ID out of the plastic sleeve. "Here you go."

The man steps back into the security booth, types my information into his computer, and then returns with my ID and some sort of number to hang from my rearview mirror.

"Keep that on your mirror for the duration of your stay. If you expect to be here longer than twenty-four hours, come on back, and we'll get you a new one. All right?"

"All right." I take the items from his hands, and he pats the top of my car.

"Have a good night, Ms. Miller."

"Th-thank you." I hurriedly slide my ID back into my wallet and hang the numbered placard from my mirror, then continue into the illustrious neighborhood, where I once again find Dex waiting for me.

He drives slower now, coasting along the sweeping roads. The neighborhood is surprisingly populated. I would've expected the properties to have a bit more space between them, given they'd all easily go for over a million dollars, but the houses are tight together, as if they all want to keep an eye on one another.

Dex takes a right into a driveway surrounded by tall trees and shrubs, and I pull in after him. There's no garage, just a modern-looking carport, and he pulls the Rover in on the left. Hesitating, I search the driveway for somewhere else to park my car, but it's a tight space. Dex walks out of the carport and points to the spot next to his Rover.

I do not want to park there. The last thing I need is to ding his midnight-black paint job. But he's staring at me with that lazy smirk, waiting for me to pull in.

Fine.

I inch the Civic carefully— very carefully—into the spot next to his Range Rover, then open my door the tiniest amount possible to slip out without getting my car door anywhere near his.

Taking a deep breath, I step out of the carport, and Dex is there waiting for me.

"You left me behind," I say, a bit of grumpiness in my tone.

"I knew you'd catch up."

His smile is easy, unhindered. I imagine his heart isn't beating near as hard as mine as he leads the way to the ten-foot wrought iron gate surrounding the property. After keying in a code, he swings the gate open and lets me step through first, then brushes past me to unlock the glass door.

"Welcome home," he says, and I'm quite certain he said it in that breathy voice just to get a rise out of me.

As soon as I step into the house, my jaw opens in shock.

We're standing in a small entryway, with a closet to my right and a modern minimal staircase to my left. Straight ahead, through the luxurious open-concept kitchen and living space, are two massive glass doors looking out over Downtown LA. The sun is still setting early, and the city is already coming to life, bright lights cutting through the purple-pink haze of dusk to illuminate the sky .

"Can I...?" I ask, gesturing to the balcony. I'm not sure how particular he is about having people wander through his home, but he sweeps his arm out in a welcoming gesture.

"Please."

I slip out of my Vans and leave them in the entryway with my purse, then venture deeper into the house. The furnishings are tasteful but... sparse. There are only a few pictures on the walls, but they feel like something a designer would pick out rather than something Dex would choose for himself. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe minimalistic modern ink splotches are his vibe.

The living room rug is plush and soft under my bare feet, and then I'm walking across the temperate concrete floor and reaching to push the button on the panel for the fourteen-foot-tall sliding glass doors. They open slowly, whisper quiet, and a moment later, the evening air pushes my hair back from my cheeks.

Slowly, I step out of the house and onto the sprawling back patio. The concrete is cold under my bare feet, and the air makes goose bumps rise on my bare legs. Two couches and a low table provide ample outdoor dining space, and there are two lounge chairs beside the crystal clear pool. The water looks like it disappears over the edge and vanishes into space. As I put my toes up to the very edge, curling them until they touch the warm water, the view of DTLA takes my breath away.

The city is sprawling, a burst of vibrant light against the darkening evening, and from here, everything looks like it's twinkling. This high above the city, surrounded by mansions and palm trees that whisper in the soft breeze, I swear the air smells sweeter .

There's a movement of fabric behind me, and then Dex's arms wrap around my waist. If I hadn't already lost my breath at the view, his touch certainly would've stolen it away.

"What do you think?" he asks, his chin resting softly atop my head. His body is warm behind me, and I lean back just slightly, relishing the security of his touch.

"I've never seen LA like this. I think..." I narrow my eyes a bit, consider my next words. "I think it makes me love the city a little more."

Dex's arms tighten around me, and as I watch the water falling over the edge of the pool and disappearing into space, I get the distinct feeling I'm doing the exact same thing. Dex is the edge, and I'm slipping over it, oblivious as to what awaits me.

"You wanna see the rest of the house?" His voice is quiet, gentle in a way that reminds me of the night we spent curled up next to each other in my small bedroom.

I nod, and Dex slips his hand into mine. As he leads me back into the house, my thumb finds one of the rings he wears on his fingers, and I trace my fingertip across it, feeling it's personal somehow. Kind of like being in his house.

He lets go of my hand once we're back inside. "Go ahead," he says, gesturing vaguely to the house.

"You don't mind?"

He just shakes his head, and it makes the chain he wears around his neck flash in the overhead light.

Feeling slightly giddy, I start to explore, drifting from room to room, taking in the minimal opulence. The TV in the living room looks familiar, and I realize it was in the background of the photo he sent me of the PS5 controller. It's weird seeing something in real life that felt so far away on my phone screen, but it's weird in a good way.

After perusing the first floor, I climb the staircase to the second floor, Dex drifting along quietly behind me. He's not trying to tour me around, isn't pointing out all the thousand-dollar fixtures. Instead, he's silent, and every time I look back at him, he's wearing a vague sort of smile, looking perfectly at ease.

I step through a doorway on the second floor, and a bedroom suite opens up in front of me, complete with its own contemporary fireplace and large sitting area. A private balcony is visible through another set of sliding doors, and a large darkened bathroom lurks at the other side of the room.

Unlike downstairs, this space feels like Dex. There are a few guitars on stands in the sitting area, and a thin bookshelf is stuffed to the brim with vinyl records. A record player stands on a tall black table next to the bookshelf, piquing my curiosity. I drift over to see what Dex was last listening to.

"Miles Davis," I say, brow furrowing, and he nods from his spot leaning against the bedroom doorframe. I turn to look at him. "You like jazz?"

He drifts over, and I make room for him beside the record player. The rings on his fingers wink as he flips the disc onto the opposite side and moves the needle. A moment later, the sound of a mournful trumpet bleeds out of the speakers. The album has that pure, raw sound that's impossible to reproduce digitally, like the music itself is alive and breathing. I close my eyes, taking it in.

"I wouldn't have guessed," I say softly, opening my eyes and directing my gaze to Dex. He's standing close to me, fingertips perched on the table, gaze faraway. At my words, his blue eyes shift to look at me.

"What? You think I just listen to '80s rock or something?"

Shrugging, I give him a shy smile.

One of his sandy brows arches playfully. "I've got a bit more depth than that, Little Monster."

Hearing his nickname for me, my insides squeeze. There's something about the way he says it that makes me want to curl up on his tongue and feel the way it glides around each syllable.

Reaching out, he lifts the needle off the record, and the music cuts off abruptly, leaving the room feeling emptier somehow.

"You ready to eat?" he asks.

God, yes. I'm starving.

"Yeah. What do you have?"

His only response is a small laugh.

We head back down to the kitchen, and I see that Dex turned the fireplace on while I was drifting around the house. It's not cold in here, but the sliding doors are still open, so there's a light chill to the air. The flames flicker silently, casting gentle firelight onto the plush carpet, and I'm momentarily distracted by the idea of straddling Dex on that rug, so I don't hear what he says until he calls my name.

"Nora?"

"Hmm?"

Turning, I find him standing next to the refrigerator, both doors open wide. Bare feet plodding quietly across the floor, I move closer and look into the fridge only to find it...

"It's empty," I say .

There's a half-full bottle of red wine, some past-prime heads of lettuce, and a collection of condiments in the doors. I couldn't even scrounge something together if my life depended on it.

Quirking an eyebrow, I whip around to look at him. "Is this all you have?"

"There's pasta in the cabinet," he says, running one hand through his blond hair and pointing with the other. At my look, he shrugs. "I don't cook much."

I may be irritated if it were anyone else, but it's him , and I can only shake my head and laugh. "All right, well, we'll need to pick something up, then. Unless you wanna get takeout?"

He shakes his head. "Can you make pancakes again?"

My eyes widen, and something in my chest grows warm. "Y-yeah," I say, closing the refrigerator doors. "That's easy. Are you sure you don't want something else?"

"I'm sure." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the Rover's key fob. It dangles from his finger, looking sleek and expensive and intimidating. Dex's smile is playful as he holds it out to me. "You can drive."