So there they sat, Deanna practically grinding her teeth. It didn't take long for her to realize she couldn't remain looking down at her book indefinitely, and it was apparent Davy had no plans to leave, so she supposed she'd have to face the inevitable. She hated affording him the satisfaction of her acknowledgement, but this game could perceivably go on forever. Slowly, tentatively, she raised her head. She steeled herself for the devastation she knew was coming. And here it came...

Yes, in a word, he was devastating. She forgot how to expand her lungs in order to breathe. A punch right to the diaphragm is how it felt. He was that beautiful. That face, that smile, that…everything. She coughed a little, and grabbed her water bottle to take a sip because her throat convulsed in an eerie way. Like she was halfway between laughing and crying.

"Are you alright?" he asked, in that soft voice that could have been a purr.

"Yeah," she choked out, surprising herself by finding that she could actually speak. "You just jarred me when you sat down."

He wasn't sure what she meant by that. Jarred the table? He'd taken care to be graceful, so he was pretty sure he hadn't done that. Jarred her as in startling her? That sounded negative to his uneasy ears. He was apprehensive and tense, but he knew he had to slice through that somehow to display his genuine inner self by projecting a light and easy attitude. That was the essence of him, and he had to make sure she saw it. Put his best foot forward…

"I'm sorry if I've made you agitated. I just… enjoy looking at you," he said. Oh boy. That sounded super creepy. He had to get his groove on, slow his roll and appear cool, not portentous.

"You… you upset me a little when you kept looking at me from over there," she gestured toward the table where he had previously sat all those other nights.

"I couldn't come and make small talk with you like I wanted to because of the guy who is usually with you." There, now all his cards were on the table. She could do with them what she wanted.

Small talk sounded a lot less sinister than "I couldn't come over and make a move on you."

Davy mentally patted himself on the back for that. He studied her as she took shaky breaths. She really was ruffled by his presence. He was puzzled, but then, the girls he was accustomed to would regularly bubble all over him, touching him, crowding him. The more demure ones would hang back as this one was doing. So he hadn't had a whole lot of involvement with the meeker types. Despite her disconcerted air, this one was full of composure, and he wasn't sure how that worked, but she managed it.

She looked even better up close than from thirty feet away. Her eyes had flecks of several different colors in them, and he could swear her peach pink lipstick called to him. Her neck was long and graceful, her hands small. He liked the fact that she didn't go overboard on the makeup, like so many of the girls of the day did. Her honey colored hair was fluffy and soft, clean, and his fingers twitched restlessly, even though he commanded them not to reach out and touch it. She was dressed conservatively compared to all the skin most other girls laid bare to the world with their skimpy tops and mini skirts that only barely covered their rears, and sometimes not quite. She had a quiet manner about her that sucked him right in. He had half-expected her to tell him to buzz off. She wasn't impolite—she just didn't talk. Davy struggled for something light to say. Funny how he was the definition of confidence with other girls. But then, there was a lot riding on this one. She made him wonder about all the nice ones he'd probably passed up in the past because they hadn't aggressively elbowed their way to the front of the group to get to him.

Silence hung over them, heavy like an impending storm. Davy called upon all his inner resources to think of something fast. Even if it wasn't witty.

"So how do you like Malibu?" Typical boring crap that other guys had probably tried on her dozens of times. But it was better than the oppressing silence.

"I love Malibu. Look… I'm supposed to be studying. Researching, really. I have a story to finish." He had her so flustered that she felt cornered—he could sense that.

Even so, he felt a pang of dejection at that remark. He wasn't used to being shined on like that. But the warrior in him wasn't giving up.

"Well then… you go to college? That's nice. I'll leave you to your studies. But just one thing before I go…" he hesitated, and she looked up expectantly. A little too swiftly. Ah, yes. He detected muffled interest radiating from her, which fed his hunger. Little nibbles could lead to a fine, filling meal. And she was feeding him crumbs just by showing the slightest bit of attentiveness.

He continued. "Would you like to see a movie with me some night when you don't have school, and you aren't studying?"

He'd gotten her good. That had come from left field, catching her unsuspecting. Therefore, she didn't have a ready retort. He'd slipped it in before she could come up with some kind of excuse. Normally, her mind was pretty fleet, but he had such a paralyzing effect on her that all she could do was stare at him, open-mouthed as he got up from the table, leaned over it, planting both hands flat on the smooth wood, fingers spread open, looking into her eyes in wait for her answer. She noticed the cat's eye ring on the ring finger of his right hand. Masculine, bold. Well, there was nothing like being put on the spot. She felt like a dog who couldn't escape, and feels the urge to snap at its captor.

His arms—good God! Even under the short sleeves he wore tonight, she saw the bulging of his muscles that stretched the material. Even his forearms were impressive, tanned like the rest of him, corded, and with prominent strong veins. She snapped her head away so he wouldn't discover her fascination.

"I don't want you to think me daft or anything. I just fancy a simple movie. I promise I won't overstep your boundaries. I have many references," a smile teased the corners of his full, pouty lips, and she had to giggle in spite of herself. If he weren't so adorable, so gallant, if he weren't seemingly unaware of how appealing he was…but how could he not know he was a virtual Prince Charming? Oh, he had to know. He probably had this song and dance memorized down to the word. Even to the point of appearing clueless when needed, so as to tempt the unsuspecting with apparent innocence. Yet, in spite of all that, with a jolt, she found herself accepting his overture.

She hardly realized she'd entertained his offer until he ran a forefinger lightly along her jaw, making her glad she was sitting down, for if she hadn't been sitting, she surely would have flopped down onto the table in a dead faint. The touch left her face hot and tingling.

"Do you want me to pick you up, or would you be more comfortable if we met here?" he indicated the library building.

"Um… yeah. Let's meet here."

"What day, and what time?"

Deanna hesitated, and noticed his eyes were very heedful, looking for doubt that he, without a question, would quickly try to assuage.

"Saturday, at eight?" With any luck, she'd be done with her assignment by then, since today was only Tuesday.

"Okay, I'll check the movie schedule. Here's my number." He slipped a small piece of paper into her purse, which sat on the table, blew her a discrete, understated kiss, and, against her will, she watched those hips, that luscious butt as if in a trance as he walked away and out of the library doors with a self-assured, easy stride. One would think he owned the world.

When Deanna got home, she wasn't grounded at all. In fact, it felt as if she hovered, only half conscious. Numb. She felt as if she'd been to a movie where a wonderful, dream guy swoops into the room from nowhere, and woos a girl, stealing her heart. The feeling after those romantic movies had always been of envy, and a touch of loneliness. But she guessed that, every once in a while, things happened in real life that couldn't be explained.

When she remembered to look in her purse, the slip of paper simply bore his phone number. No name. That was when she realized she hadn't told him her name either. This was the strangest way she had ever met a guy—it was almost comical. She reprimanded herself for having no fear of him. He could be a nut case. After all, he'd been in the library many times, just looking at her in that silent, hawk-eyed way of his. That was not normal, nor acceptable. Not to mention not polite. Then why had she accepted when he'd asked her on a date? Was it just his looks? Yep, in part. She was afraid it was a combination of his looks and his persona. He had obviously been raised well by a mother who insisted her son treat women with respect and reverence. Even though he had let his manners slip with his staring.

Just wait until she told Cassie about this! And Derrick too! But wait… Derrick didn't approve of the way the guy had been watching her. He was worried about her well-being. And maybe a little jealous—she wasn't sure. Either way, she wouldn't call him to tell him. He might ruin her excitement and anticipation with negativity. She'd call Cassie, as she knew Cassie would be infatuated with the story, and demand to know every little stinking detail. That was Cassie…

"Oh, Deanna! I wanna see him! He's really cute, huh?"

"Well, it would depend on taste, since everyone's is a little different, but I don't think anyone would argue about him being a stone fox. It's funny because he's not the type I usually go for. He's "pretty," if you know what I mean. You know how I go for the super masculine type? Well, he acts masculine, but, at first glance, he doesn't appear to be particularly masculine. He's too perfect—not rugged looking at all. You should see the guns on him though! He's got a naturally dark complexion, and he has a nice tan on top of it. There is no way I can describe him though. You would just plain have to see him to believe him."

"When? When can I see him?" Cassie was thinking this guy had to be exquisite for her friend to sound so excited about. She hadn't seen Deanna show much interest in any guy in eons.

"I haven't even gone out with him yet!" Deanna laughed at Cassie, knowing her friend so well that she could have recited what she would say, verbatim.

"Well, if you continue to see him, maybe we could do a double date or something," suggested Cassie.

"Sure. But for right now, I hardly know the guy at all. I just hope the movie doesn't have any violence or embarrassing parts."

"Ah, come on. A sex scene would be just the thing to set the mood for you to screw his brains out!" said Cassie. She was not exactly known for being subtle.

"Cassie!" Deanna laughed because she couldn't help it. You never knew what might come out of Cassie's mouth.

Cassie knew Deanna absolutely abhorred anything approaching violence, but she just didn't quite get how Deanna could sometimes act almost like a prude. But yeah, she did understand how an explicit love scene would be very awkward for Deanna, who hadn't even dated anyone in a year, let alone had sex.

Saturday came around a lot quicker than Deanna was ready for. It snuck up on her. Well, not really. She was fully aware of how much time remained until her date with the dark stranger, but she'd kept it tucked in the back of her mind, poking fiercely at it when it tried to come to the fore. She didn't want to overthink it. She had gotten the rough draft done on her story, but of course, she still had a way to go with the editing, revising and proof-reading. At least she was making progress. Another week and she figured it would be done. It was a short story, not a novel, thank heavens. So she could afford to take a day off on her research. She'd gone to the library twice that week, and Davy had not shown up. He'd given her her space, and her estimation of him rose. Derrick had been there, and although Deanna saw him glance around a few times, he had not mentioned Davy.

Derrick had asked her if she'd be at the library Saturday, and she had told him no, that she had a date. His eyes had widened. He'd never even heard her mention a guy. He wondered if it were someone new, or maybe someone she'd met somewhere recently. Had to be, since he knew she hadn't dated in a while. Now he was curious…

Peter's reaction was enthusiastic. "Man, you're trippin'!" Peter was clearly very happy for Davy when the Brit had told him he'd actually made a date with the girl at the library. But he was also worried. He couldn't remember ever seeing Davy like this before. Davy had begun to carry a nail file with him at all times for fear he'd start his nail biting habit again. He'd licked it once, but the urge was always lurking when he was impatient about something. And Davy was smoking now and then too, since he'd asked the girl out, whereas usually it was just a once-in-a-while thing. Davy hardly knew the meaning of the word nervous, but this was an exception. Davy's nerves were running rampant. Peter read it all in his eyes, because Peter knew him better than anyone.

Peter gazed at him as Davy filed away furiously.

"I'm not trippin,' I'm just… apprehensive," Davy finally commented on Peter's exclamation.

"But you're so…'take charge.' I don't think I've ever seen you apprehensive," said Peter. "I didn't think you were capable of it."

Peter was right, thought Davy. He was letting this girl get to him. Not acceptable.

"She's special somehow, you know?" Davy was going to try to explain it to Peter, but he found the words wouldn't come to him.

"Give me some descriptive words for her," said Peter, eager to help Davy overcome his edginess.

"Well, she seems to be decent, modest, shy, and sweet. Not to mention pretty."

"All very good traits," said Peter, nodding his approval, his hair inevitably falling into his eyes.

Deanna got to the library a few minutes early. Actually, ten minutes early. She'd worn a pink short-sleeved shell top and matching cardigan and a not-quite-mini skirt. Her hair was held back with a thin bamboo colored band. It was early April, and still chilly, so she'd considered wearing slacks, but upon consulting Cassie, had decided not to.

"Deanna, you have really killer legs," Cassie had said. "Show them off! Show a lot of cleavage too!"

Deanna had just grinned. The skirt, yes. The cleavage, uh-uh. She wasn't that bold. A hint of cleavage was about as far as she went. She hadn't known what shoes to wear, since she had never stood beside him, and had no idea if she should wear high heels or not. She had finally decided on her pretty, strappy sandals with a one inch heel. She was only an inch over five feet, so she should be completely safe with that. She'd heard the lamentations of girls who had made the mistake of wearing high heels and ended up being taller than their dates. That could qualify for humiliation. When she'd looked at herself in the mirror, she felt she couldn't possibly look good enough to be going out with someone who made her heart thunder with just one glimpse.

She was halfway across the library parking lot, trying not to walk self-consciously when he drove up. It was rather dramatic. The car's motor growled and purred, tuned to perfection, its paint a bright red so shiny that it had to have been recently waxed. She wondered what he did to afford such a beautiful, sought-after car. The GTO was all the rage at the time, and this one was customized.

He stopped the car in the middle of the parking lot, left the motor running, and ran over to the passenger door to open it for her. When he reached her, she was glad she had decided against the high heels. He was barely taller than she was—nothing she'd ever run across before. But… at the same time, she liked it. She'd always dated guys who were 5'9" or more, and she had grown tired of always having to look up to see their faces, and her neck would get sore when she had to crank it high when a guy kissed her, plus stand on her tip-toes. This guy was on her level, literally, and it seemed that hugging him would feel so good because their heights matched so nicely. The way he carried himself, though, you'd think he was over 6 foot.

She saw his eyes take her in appreciatively as she slid gracefully into the passenger seat. He closed the door, and she had a moment of panic. The air around her was running scarce. She didn't say a word to him, but as he went around to his side and slid in, closing the door, he scanned the rear view mirror to be sure no vehicle was behind him that he was blocking, and turned to her.

"We are going to the movie theater, I promise you," he said solemnly, his brown eyes drilling right through her.

Deanna was taken aback. "You can tell I suddenly got really scared?" she asked.

"Yes. And I understand why. You can follow me in your car to the theater if you have any reservations," he offered.

Deanna straightened her spine. "No, no… I believe you. Let's go."

So they roared off to the theater, which was only five minutes away. To her horror, she realized, at some point, that the raw power of the car's engine was affecting her like an aphrodisiac. Only when he pulled into one of the open parking spaces did she relax marginally. At least he hadn't taken her somewhere to rape her. It would have been easy enough to do. She pondered how amazing it was that he'd picked up on her pensiveness, and had thought to comfort her.

When they got out of the car, her eyes were pulled to him despite conscious effort to keep them diverted. He was wearing a black pullover sweater and black dress pants, along with the familiar boots. Wow— a man in black was enigmatic, and this one especially so. He had a sense of style; that was very perceptible by now. A simple gold chain hung around his neck in addition to the ever-present love beads. She'd noticed the lingering looks from other girls as he bought their tickets.

He took her hand to guide her to their seats, politely asking which aisle she would like. She preferred to be nearer to the back, and he led her through the dark as though he had night vision.

"What time does the movie start?" she asked when they sat down.

"Eight-fifteen," he said.

"Do you always gawk at girls before you ask them out?"

Her question didn't throw him. He didn't miss a beat with his answer either. "No, I usually walk right up to them."

"You didn't with me."

"No, because you had a guy with you most of those nights."

"He's just a friend."

"An awfully possessive friend."

"Maybe… I think he's more protective than anything. He did comment on how you were looking at me."

"I bet he did."

This was no time to discuss Derrick. Coming to the conclusion that she could no longer avoid it, she finally yielded to her desire to feast her eyes on this near-stranger, listen to his voice, enjoy his presence.

"We're here pretty early," Deanna consulted her watch. It was five minutes to eight.

"Well, I thought it would give us a little time to talk-get to know each other a little better. Not that I know hardly anything about you to begin with. You didn't want me to pick you up at your home," he said accusingly, but adding a smile to show her he was only teasing. He liked that though—evidently she wasn't the reckless type, wasn't going to give him her address and thus her trust too quickly. He sensed she didn't want him moving in too rapidly on her until she decided he was worthy of her trust. She was careful. He did like to know where he stood. It was better than guessing, and then being wrong.

"I've never gone out on a date with a guy I've met somewhere, like the library," she said.

"Then how do you ever date?"

"Well, if a friend introduced me to a guy… something like that."

She was fidgeting. So… she wasn't overly comfortable with dating; he could see that right from the start. Her voice was soft and melodious, not raspy, shrill or harsh like some girls, who looked pretty good—until they opened their mouths. His eyes flicked quickly to her clothes. Nice. She kept her legs neatly crossed, and she was bouncing her foot again. His surveying eyes must have set that off. Kind of like the way he wanted to bite his nails when he thought about taking her out, fighting that unwelcome surge of anxiety.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"Oh, well…I'm a single girl who lives in an apartment, taking a class at Malibu Community in Creative Writing. I'd love to be a writer one day," she blushed a delicate rosy shade. "And I also work at the library… during the daytime. I just stay after work when I research. So it's convenient. I stock shelves—you know, put books back after they've been returned, check books out to people, things like that," and she looked down almost as if ashamed.

Davy nodded. "I admire you for following your dream. I need to read more. I was astonished by all the books. It's been a while since I've been in a library. Embarrassing, but it's true. You see, before I saw you there, I was just returning my friend's book," he explained. "I think being a writer would be a fascinating thing to do."

"So you came back again after returning the book…"

"Well, yes, because I saw you there," he finished her sentence." "But the first night, our eyes met, remember? When I was in the book aisle. That was the night I returned the book –the first time I saw you." She nodded. How could she possibly forget? So Derrick had been right—Davy hadn't really been interested in the book he'd had before him.

"There was something about you that kept me coming back. You know, I waited until that guy wasn't with you so I could talk to you."

Deanna was flattered. A guy had never gone to that much trouble to meet her before. Guys had always been a dime a dozen to her, none being worth getting to know, but this one had something that was uncommon. What exactly it was though, she wasn't sure.

Deanna was sick and tired of the whole dating scene. Toxic relationships—if you even wanted to call them relationships. She'd never been in love—just in lust. Dating shallow guys, guys who lived on the edge. Guys who felt they needed to prove something. Jealousy intervening now and then. Staying up all night arguing bitterly. Razor sharp words followed by hot as hell make up sex. It was exhausting to the bone, draining the life from her. It had gone on long enough, and one day she'd just stopped dating. It just hadn't been worth what it did to her. Now she'd gone and accepted a date with someone who seemed too ultra smooth to be authentic. She knew he'd done it before, plenty of times. You could spot them a mile off, the ones who liked to add another notch to their bedposts. He had it written all over him. So why had she said she'd go to a movie with him? She was mystified, but also convinced it wasn't just his looks. Looks were superficial.

There was something to him that screamed different. He seemed to run deep. But then again, she was probably only fooling herself because he seemed too good to be true.

"Tell me about you now," she said, wanting the focus off her. She wasn't comfortable with it, and crawling out from under his stare was becoming more and more difficult. His eyes had a way of penetrating, and she found herself being irrational, imagining he could see her every thought.

He told her how he'd come to the U.S. from Manchester England, about the band he was in, about the guys, and the fact that they all lived together in a house they rented right on the beach in Malibu. How fun, she thought to herself. She bet they had some pretty wild parties. She almost shuddered to think of what four young guys living together must be like though. Visions of piles of empty pizza boxes, socks flung everywhere, unmade beds, a sink heaped with dirty dishes, music blasting onto the beach loud enough for people to put their transistors away. Even so, how adventurous. That must be the way to live! She bet they wrung every last bit of risky undertakings they possibly could out of the perpetual sponge of life.

By now, the before-movie previews were beginning, so they sat back and watched.

"By the way," she whispered to him. "What movie are we seeing?" She felt like a dunce. Her thoughts had been so full of him that she hadn't even thought to ask.

She wished she hadn't leaned so close to his ear so as not to disturb the other movie-goers, because he smelled out of this world. Outdoorsy, not unlike an ocean breeze. A pang of the most powerful lust rose in her, making her suddenly realize how much she missed male attention. And one like Davy would fill that void very well.

No, don't think about that!

"The Trap," he answered. Oh yes… she'd asked him what movie they would be seeing.

"Oh! I've heard of it, and thought about seeing it!"

"I can't make any comments about it, as I haven't seen it myself. I have to apologize in advance if there's inappropriate content," a smile played with his lips, a sort of apology—just in case.

Davy was full of consternation that the movie might somehow not be suited to two young people on their first date. He feared something disturbing or repulsive or too sexual might pop up, but what could you do? He had no control over it. He'd simply read a couple of reviews in the newspaper, and decided it sounded like a movie a young woman might like, considering it revolved around a romance. Most every woman liked romance. Besides, a romantic movie sounded pretty good to him, too. He hoped it might be pivotal in getting her to want to get closer to him.

He'd gotten them a large popcorn to share, since she'd said she couldn't eat one by herself. Sharing it felt strangely intimate. They munched as they watched the movie. It was about about a trapper and a mute orphan girl who meet by chance, had hair raising adventures in the wilderness and eventually fell in love. Davy was relieved there were no parts that were overly disturbing or embarrassing. He felt it would have been a bad reflection on himself. The movie actually touched him, and he saw that it touched Deanna too.

When the trapper got caught in his own trap, Deanna had gasped, and without pausing to think about it, had naturally grabbed onto Davy's arm. It was cool in the theater, and his warmth seeped into her skin. As if knowing she was cold in addition to the suspense of the movie, he slipped his arm around her more naturally than anything she'd previously experienced. He hadn't even resorted to the old 'yawn and stretch' routine that so many guys practiced.

"Smooth," she whispered to him in a tone that was a little less tremulous now. Almost teasing. She wanted him to know she was on to him.

His lips lifted into a grin. "I try."

When the movie ended, he took her hand and led her quickly out of the building so they wouldn't get caught in in the crowd of people that were exiting. He gave no indication of letting go of her hand either, as they traversed the parking lot. His grip was firm, comforting.

When they reached the Monkeemobile, he stopped, and rested his back against it, still holding her hand as they stood, facing each other.

"I really dig your car. It's beautiful," she said.

"Oh, it's only part mine. It belongs to the four of us," said Davy, referring to his fellow band mates.

"I'll tell you something you might want to know if you'll tell me something I want to know," he said without preamble.

Her stomach flopped. Oh no. Is this where he was going to suggest something that would be way too premature? Ask her to come home with him? Just expect her to jump into bed with him? The way he'd worded it hadn't sounded very promising. And the romantic feeling was quickly fading. She felt like a flower that was wilting.

"If you're going to say anything like I'm thinking you are…"her voice had lost the soft quality, and he found himself grieving for it. It had come out sounding rather sinister, now that he thought about it.

"Wait! Wait…I didn't mean to sound like I expected…" Davy found himself seriously tongue-tied, and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened to him. "You're rather quick to judge," he finished lamely, but not offensively.

"Like you expected…?"

"Anything," he said simply. "I don't expect anything." He let that sink in for a moment. "What I was going to say was, if I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?" His chuckle/giggle combination made her feel guilty as sin. He was only being playful, and here she was, thinking he was going to try to lure her to his lair.

Lure her to his lair!

She began to laugh too, not only at what he'd said, but at what she'd thought. She just could not resist…"I thought you were going to try to lure me to your lair," she said, trying her best to look serious. There was a beat of silence, then their laughter ensued.

"I like that! Lure you to my lair!"

When the laughter died down, he bent at the waist, took her hand, and kissed the back of it, saying, "I'm Davy, or David, whichever you prefer, and I'm glad to meet you." Sincerity rang true, and she couldn't help being charmed.

The brush of his soft lips on her skin sent prickles of desire wafting through her like a gentle wave.

"Thank you, sir. I'm Deanna, and I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Deanna—I love your name."

Now, to get the attention off herself once again, purely because he was overly attendant. Or did it just feel that way because she was so taken with him? She was so overwhelmed that she wasn't really sure of anything anymore.

"You sing… I can't imagine that. You look more like you'd be a professional at some sport," and her eyes, against her will, ran over his arms, chest, abdomen again for about the fifth time that night. "Or maybe a sports instructor, or trainer, or whatever they are."

"Well, I do work at staying healthy. That is, except for all the hot dogs, soft drinks, fast food and pizza I devour with the guys." She'd been right. Bachelors and their typical fare.

"Come see us perform sometime," he said, his voice casual, belying how much it really meant to him.

"That sounds so groovy. Where do you perform?"

"Wherever we can get a gig. Don't have one lined up at the moment, but it won't be long," he said that with such confidence, such assurance. Here was a man who believed in himself, and she found it very becoming. An unwelcome vision came to her then, of the band not making it the way he dreamed it would, and she felt a sharp cramp of sadness. She wished him all the best—whether she ever saw him again or not.

"I can let you know when we land a gig. That is… if you want to give me your phone number, you know," he stuttered slightly, stunning himself because he didn't think he'd ever stumbled over his words with a girl before.

Did she want to give him her phone number? Hell yes!

But instead of losing her cool and hopping up and down in excitement the way she wanted to, she curbed herself, calmly extracted a piece of paper and pen from her purse.

"You said you usually go right up to girls," she commented as she handed him the scrap of paper.

He nodded.

"Well then, you must have had a lot of girlfriends." She was going to say conquests, but that sounded offensive.

Davy shrugged a shoulder, not denying it and not admitting it.

"Lots of groupies?" she asked. She hated to drill him, but she had to know because the playboy type did not appeal to her. It was better to cut things off now if he was indeed that type.

He didn't want to deny it, as that was deceitful, yet he didn't want to alienate her. And he would certainly do that, if he gave her any indication of how many girls he'd been with. Whether she was setting a trap or not didn't matter. He had to answer.

"There usually are groupies for bands that are halfway decent," he cast the words off as if they meant less than nothing.

"Do you go out with groupies?"

"I have, now and then. I don't want to be harsh or anything, but most of them are not the type of girl I look for."

"Do you see lots of girls at the same time?"

"Depends on the circumstances. If I'm seeing someone I really like, I keep it exclusive."

She smiled. "You sure do have all the right answers," she said, pure wonder coloring her words, as she marveled at how good he was at this mating game.

"I'm not making things up," his voice carried an ever so slight smudge of a shadow. It came to her that he felt a little insulted. She'd asked too many questions—she could see that now.

"I'm sorry… I'm just a bit intrigued with you… and your lifestyle." She crammed in the lifestyle part to try to make her attraction seem a little less obvious. Generalizing things in hopes he wouldn't see how enchanted she really was.

His hand tightened slightly on hers, and for a moment she thought he might pull her into him, but instead he walked her to the passenger door and opened it, handed her in, closed the door, then walked back around to his side, firing the engine up, and, oh God, there went that sweet vibration of the engine again.

When he dropped her off at her car, he noted it was an older Datsun, looking like it had seen better days. Single girl, juggling work and college, he thought to himself. Probably just getting by. He suddenly wished he could help her out somehow. But he knew a girl like her would have too much pride to accept charity. Well, that was the way she would see it, but he did sincerely like her, and would not have viewed it as charity.

There they stood, beside her car, Deanna getting ready to get in, and then suddenly not wanting to leave him. She couldn't slow her breathing down, couldn't banish the flush from her face.

She stammered. "Thank you, Davy. I…I had a good time. Please forgive me for being so nosy." Almost before the words tumbled out, he moved in, closing the foot of distance between them, kissing her cheek. His lips were warm, moist, causing shivers of delight to skate up and down her spine.

"You called me Davy," he said as he drew back. Now she was certain she couldn't breathe. An invisible, tight band stretched across her chest. So what if he was cute? He shouldn't be affecting her this strongly.

"Yes…do you mind?"

"No…no. The guys usually call me David; my stage name is Davy. It's just a stage name. But I love the way you say it." He lowered his head just a fraction and angled it slightly to look into her eyes, then he broke out the most dazzling smile. She felt a strange twinge in her heart. How she remained standing through the ensuing dizzy haze was a mystery.

"I enjoyed myself too, Deanna. It was smashing. And I do like your honesty. The questions didn't bother me."

He made sure she was securely in her car, locking the door for her before closing it. Somehow that made her feel warm inside, safe. As she drove away, she could see him in her rear view mirror. A shadow standing beside the sporty muscle car…watching her leave. She struggled to pry her gaze away from the image…but, helplessly, she continued to watch until he was swallowed up by the night.