Riven (Riven 1)

“Yup.”

Antony greeted me as I walked in. “Mr. Decker, sir.” He nodded to Caleb. I’d told him a dozen times to call me Theo, and he always inclined his head and said, “Of course, sir,” but it was clear it was never gonna happen and I got worried I was insulting his professionalism, or being too demanding, so I stopped asking.

“Hey, Antony. How’s your night going?”

“Excellent, thank you, sir.” He held up the day’s crossword puzzle, half filled in. “Perhaps I’ll find you to be the answer to a clue in here someday. Short name, potentially punnable—you’re practically a shoe-in.”

“Yeah, you let me know if that ever happens and maybe I’ll try one of your damn puzzles.”

“A clue for you.” He read, “This twangy cousin of the slide guitar was named for a portmanteau of its creators.”

Since Antony worked the night shift and I was often coming and going in the middle of the night, we ended up chatting a lot. Antony had to be about seventy-five years old, and when I asked him why he was working the night shift he got this look and said, “No reason to keep someone else out all night when I have nothing keeping me at home.” I found out from one of the other tenants that he used to work the day shift, but his wife had died a few years before and he’d switched to nights.

Once he’d found out I was a musician, he always asked me any clue in his ever-present puzzle that had to do with music, and somehow he never managed to make me feel stupid when I didn’t know the answers.

“What the hell is a portmanteau?” I asked.

“Dobro,” Caleb said to Antony.

“Oh, there you go, sir,” Antony said, writing it in. He shot me an impressed look.

“Dobro?”

“You know it,” Caleb said. “It’s what the steel guitar is based on. Got a circle of steel in the center, and you play it like this.” He held up his guitar case and mimed playing it on his knees. “With a slide.”

I nodded. “Right. Do you know how to play?”

“Nah, but a friend of mine does.”

After a beat of silence, Antony said smoothly, “Here’s the elevator, sirs. Have a good night.”

I thanked him, and Caleb echoed, “Thanks, man.”

In the elevator, I could feel Caleb’s eyes on me and the air was thick with tension. I glanced up at him and couldn’t look away, the sound of my breathing amplified in the small space, the ding of the elevator shockingly loud.

“Okay, do you want a drink or anything?” I asked as Caleb dropped his bag and guitar inside the door. Then I found myself crowded against the wall, Caleb looking down at me like he wanted to consume me.

Dark green. I could see now that his eyes were a kind of hazel, dark green.

I could feel the heat between us all along my body, and when we both inhaled at the same time, our chests touched.

Now that I knew he was for sure into me, I wanted him enormously. I looked up into his gorgeous eyes and licked my lips, then looked at his mouth. His breath caught and he brought a hand up, touching my bottom lip with his rough thumb.

He made a sound of pleasure as my eyes drifted shut, then I felt his hands, hard on my hips. My eyes opened when I felt his soft beard brush my chin, then his lips landed on my cheekbone, pressing a kiss there as he squeezed my hips even harder. A gentleman brute, that’s what he was. And holy hell did that do it for me.

I turned my face and kissed his mouth, that first firm contact like a hit of honey, melting slowly in my mouth. His tongue was an instrument, and he kissed me like he was playing a song, coming on strong, easing off, building to a crest, changing the rhythm. I threw my arms around his neck to try to keep up, willing to do anything to keep his mouth on mine.

He was solid and warm, pressing me into the wall, and as he started to gentle the kiss, I threw a leg around him, trying to keep him there with me.

He groaned, bent at the knees, and hooked his arms under my thighs, encouraging me to wrap my legs around him. I twined my arms tighter around his neck, demanding more of his mouth.

I kissed him harder, eyes shut tight, like I could block out everything, everything except the feel of Caleb’s body, the smell of his skin and hair, the taste of his mouth. Finally he drew back for a breath and I made a sound of dismay.

“Jesus,” he said, and he unwrapped my legs from his waist. In protest, I made sure every inch of us came into contact as I slid down his body to the floor. Caleb’s eyes got dark.