Clearly amused, he raised his brows. “What, like if you tell someone about my hideout, I could get you back by telling Tristan about the bet you made over his virtue?”
“You make it sound tawdry.”
But she laughed just the same and it felt nice to be so comfortable with a man, especially one she’d just held hands with. Her fingers still tingled, and coupled with the magic of this rooftop secret, this was the best date she’d ever been on.
Also known as the only date she’d ever been on. And it wasn’t really a date. She was just taking liberties with the term because Serenity had started it with all the talk of having a caller. Maybe that was one of the things she should be asking Isaiah to help her focus on—her complete lack of experience with men. Ember had horded what few eligible boys there’d been around town when they’d been teenagers, and as Aria had grown into her twenties, her looks hadn’t followed her. Men generally didn’t notice her, which worked in her favor as far as she was concerned.
And yet here she was on the roof with one man while poised to get all the information needed to win the attention of another one. Maybe. One step at a time. First she had to figure out how to get Tristan to ask her on a date and then she’d charm him so much, he’d…what? She literally had no idea what was supposed to happen after that. What did you even do on a date?
Oh, goodness. What if Tristan thought she wanted to start dating? Like actually dating, because he mistook her interest in winning the bet as interest in him long-term? The thought brought her up short. She hadn’t categorically dismissed dating because she didn’t want companionship. It was strictly a defensive mechanism.
People left. She didn’t. But what if a miracle happened and she found a man who knew how to stick?
“Make no mistake,” Isaiah said after a beat. “Tristan can turn something tawdry all on his own. He doesn’t need your help.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment. She should ask more about that, but for the first time, it occurred to her that there might be some things about Tristan that she might not like once she got to know him. And that would ruin the lovely little fantasy she’d just spun, which was why she should stick to the plan.
“Tell me what kind of music he likes,” she said instead.
Might as well get this show on the road. Why she’d been dragging her feet, she couldn’t fathom. This was her chance to show Havana and Ember that she didn’t need a stupid makeover to get a guy like Tristan. She aimed to earn her sisters’ respect and maybe demonstrate that she’d done fine by herself after they’d gone. What was her problem?
“The very loud, very complicated electronic kind,” Isaiah said, his tone indicating how highly he respected his friend’s taste, which was not at all. “He likes to dance.”
Aria made a noise that sounded a lot like blergh because really? “There are so many things wrong with those statements, I don’t even know where to start.”
“I know, right?” He shook his head. “If you’re going to dance, that is not the way to do it. Slow and sensual is the ticket. But listening to dance music when you’re not dancing is the height of annoyance in the first place. If you’re just sitting around, jazz is the way to go.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to admit that she’d never danced to either kind of music when she accidentally blurted out, “That’s what I listen to too. The bluesier the better.”
“Come on. Not really. You’re a jazz fan?” Isaiah sat up. “What’s on your playlist?”
“I don’t know. Chet Baker’s ‘Almost Blue.’ Some Amy Winehouse. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Billie Holiday. ‘Don’t Explain’ is the best song ever written.” Warming to the subject, she ticked off some more of the music she’d grown up listening to. “‘Lilac Wine,’ ‘Cry Me a River.’ Oh, John Lee Hooker—‘Boom Boom,’ of course. And then you know, John Coltrane, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis.”
She trailed off as Isaiah pulled out his phone and tapped on it, then handed it to her. One glance revealed exactly what she’d already guessed—his list of songs was nearly identical to hers. The main difference being that hers was on an ancient iPod that Havana had sent her several years ago for her birthday; Aria didn’t and probably never would own a cell phone.
Nearly identical. But not quite. And that was a travesty of the highest order.
“Seriously?” She arched a brow at his John Lee Hooker choices. “‘Free Beer and Chicken’? That’s his worst album.”
“You could not be more wrong.”
Fighting words. Which of course devolved into a twenty minute argument about the merits of all things blues. It was the most fun Aria had ever had while disagreeing with someone.
Finally, she held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, you win. I will listen to the entire album again without prejudice or malice.”
“Now you’re talking. We can start right now.” Isaiah flicked the screen of his phone and a saxophone wailed through the still night. “There is never a bad time for ‘Free Beer and Chicken.’”
The music wafted through her, kicking up a slow ache as the sensuous notes did their thing. She stared up at the stars, utterly content to never move again. “It’s not so bad when you have the right company.”
He glanced over at her and something in the long pause heated her skin as she felt him watching her. “Music is always different when you have the right company. That’s what makes it art.”
Geez, was that comment supposed to sound so ro
mantic? Definitely not. The stars and the magic of this rooftop not-a-date and the music had addled her brain, causing her to read into it. Actually, if anything, it was her fault for spitting out such a leading comment. This was not the kind of thing that normally happened to her, so she could be forgiven for a momentary lapse, right?
Problem was, she wished it wasn’t so out of the norm. And under these circumstances.
She was only here because Isaiah was helping her learn about Tristan. Oh, yeah. Tristan. Funny thing. She’d forgotten all about him. Easy to do when Isaiah had curled his body toward her, his half lounge both casual and intimate at the same time.