Silverthorn by Sydney Bristow

studies revealing that those who listened to heavy metal in their teenage years were more emotionally stable than those who listened to other genres of music. Not only that, but metal fans were the least likely to cheat on their lovers than fans of other genres. Metal enthusiasts were accustomed to being outsiders. Therefore, when they found someone they connected with on any given level, they were reluctant to part with that relationship because nothing was worse in this world than being lonely and misunderstood.
    I lifted the pewter Iron Maiden doorknocker handle that their mascot, Eddie, clenched between his teeth and slammed it against the door a few times. I couldn’t comprehend how our guitarist, who dressed as though he couldn’t afford dinner much less a ranch style brick home that realtors would peg as worth somewhere in the mid-six figures, either owned or rented in such a distinguished neighborhood.
    A few seconds later, Nolan answered the door with an easy smile. “A booty call, huh?”
    The way he stood there, leaning against the door frame, so relaxed yet full of confidence tied my tongue in knots. “In the, um, mid-afternoon?” I asked mangling what I’d hoped would work as a smart-ass remark.
    The edges of his lips perked up at my discomfort. His eyes twinkled with humor.
    “Are you going to say something?” I asked, cursing myself for feeling so insecure around him.
    His amused expression dwindled, but held my stare with such intensity that my knees felt weak. Unsure how to deal with the nature of that heavy stare, thick with desire, I looked down.
    I glanced behind me, pretending to search for an unseen person. “Yeah, she stopped by, but I kicked her to the curb. Hope you’re okay with that.”
    “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He stepped aside, opening the spring door for me. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”
    “You were pretty smooth last night. Slipping a vampire…and not missing a note?”
    He shut the hardwood door, placed a hand at my back, and welcomed me inside. “I tend to hold up pretty well when I’m put on the spot. I only kind of lose myself in those quiet moments when I don’t know how to act.”
    So in other words…how my legs felt like Jell-O just a moment ago. What would it look like to see Nolan in the midst of that type of reaction? I disregarded those questions because I liked how he ushered me inside, as though he didn’t often welcome women into his home. I was an exception, I was special. I walked across creaky wooden floors, enjoying the scent of caramel and butterscotch that wafted through the house, no doubt emanating from a lit candle, since I didn’t think Nolan baked dessert in his spare time. We stopped in the kitchen.
    “You hungry? I can throw in a frozen pizza or make some tacos.” He opened a cupboard stocked with countless candy bars: Reese’s, Milky Ways, and Hershey’s, not to mention plenty of Hostess Products: packages of Cupcakes, Twinkies, and Ding Dongs.
    “I bet Brandon would love to switch roommates.” I glanced at the walls, which housed framed photos of Nolan with various individuals: most likely aunts, uncles, and grandparents, as well as others closer in age, perhaps friends or cousins. Very few of those younger individuals were women. That made my heart patter.
    “Hey,” Kendall said, entering the kitchen, followed by Brandon. “Glad you made it. We’ve just been spinning some old-school vinyl: The Stones, Zeppelin, Pink Floyd.” She pushed a hand into a bag of Doritos, pulled out a couple chips, and popped them into her mouth.
    “And smoking some bubonic chronic,” I said, acknowledging the snacks she shoveled into her mouth, even if I didn’t smell pot smoke in the vicinity. “You’ve got the munchies?”
    She gave me a noncommittal glare. Outside of alcohol, Kendall had never touched any substance that altered her mind. “Guess what?” Her mood brightened. “Our show last night? It’s gone viral.