Dissonance by Erica O’Rourke Page A

quieter?”
    I choked on my drink. “That’s kind of fast,” I said. “Even for you.”
    â€œFor coffee, Del.” He laughed, his eyes full of mischief. “What did you think I meant?”
    â€œNothing.” I felt the blush spread along my cheeks and hoped he wouldn’t notice. He offered me his arm, and I took it, the muscles like iron under my hand. He sounded the same as he had in front of the bakery—dissonant but stable, a steady rhythm that matched my pulse. Already his frequency was etched in my mind. “Coffee?”
    The corner of his mouth curved up. “For starters.”
    I punched him lightly, but didn’t let go. “Was there a basketball game tonight?”
    â€œNo idea.” I thought I saw a momentary sadness in his expression—but then it was gone, a trick of the light. “Not my thing these days.”
    He shrugged into his coat, the black leather well-worn and supple, his shoulders broad and straight. When his hand found mine, I didn’t pull away.
    The rain fell steadily, silver against the streetlights. The cold air felt good after the overwarm room, and I breathed deeply as we walked. Simon said, “You took off pretty fast today.”
    â€œI needed to get home.” I stopped under an awning. “You know, I don’t want coffee.”
    â€œNo?” He joined me, the water beading like mercury on his coat and hair.
    I shook my head, feeling dizzy—the frequency rippling along my skin, the air damp and clean, Simon stepping close to me, smelling of leather and rain.
    â€œWhy did you come back?” he asked.
    â€œYou invited me.”
    He tugged at the clip holding up my hair, and it tumbled around my shoulders in a rush. “You liked the music, but you left before their set was over. You ordered a drink, but barely touched it. You’ve said yourself it’s not a date, and you don’t want coffee. Did you come out here just to walk around in the rain?”
    â€œYou got all of that from ten minutes in a badly lit pizza place?”
    Lately, no one noticed me, except to point out what I was doing wrong.
    â€œSo,” he pressed. “Why are you here?”
    This world wasn’t mine. I could spill out my secrets and leave, and no one would ever know. He might remember me now, but in a few days I’d drift from his mind like smoke. But for the time I was here, I could forget myself.
    â€œI’m grounded, kind of. Starting tomorrow, I’m pretty much under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”
    â€œYou figured you’d break out? One last night of freedom?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    He touched my chin. “Better make the most of it,” he said, and when I looked up, he was only inches away, the heat of his body chasing away the cold. He pushed my heavy, rain-soaked hair back, his palm brushing my cheekbone. His gaze fixed on my mouth.
    I couldn’t look away from his smile, the way it tipped to the side, challenging me. Not a perfect smile—there was the familiar scar at the corner, and his front teeth were the slightest bit crooked. The imperfections kept him from being too pretty, the same way the faint air of recklessness around him kept him from being too nice.
    Nice had never been my thing.
    It wasn’t like I’d never been kissed. But I’d never had a guy look at me with such single-mindedness, the entirety of his attention on the scant space between us.
    He touched his lips to mine, a silent question. His dissonance drifted around me like dust motes, heightening my senses, and I leaned in and answered with another kiss, my fingers clutching his coat. The air seemed warmer, but it wasn’t the air; it was Simon, pulling me closer, and my blood thrilled the way it did when I Walked into a world for the first time, so much mystery and possibility.
    Not real, I tried to tell myself, but he felt real—entirely solid and strong and alive as