“I shouldn’t even give you my phone number now.”
“Why, because I gave you a compliment?”
“What was the compliment?”
“I said you were delicious.”
“I thought you were talking about the pudding.”
A wicked grin on my face, I slowly shake my head back and forth.
“You’re dangerous.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Think you need to work on the difference between compliments and insults.”
Time flies, both our trays are long empty, and I’ve been gone for close to an hour, even though Heidi told us Simon would be only twenty minutes late. But I just can’t bring myself to walk away from her. She tells me a little about Lucky’s and her new job, and I’m actually enjoying the conversation—maybe even as much as I enjoy looking at her. There’s an odd familiar feeling that I get when we talk. It was there the first time we spoke, even more so today. It feels like I can finish her sentences, yet I don’t want to interrupt her because the sound of her voice slides over me in a way that I can’t describe. I just know that I like it. A lot. I like her. I like the way I feel when I’m around her.
“Shoot. I didn’t realize how much time has gone by. My next session is probably waiting.” She stands, but it looks like she doesn’t really feel like leaving yet either. “Umm…let me give you my phone number. In case you have any problems with your voice.”
“That would be great.”
I hand her my phone and she punches in her number. “That’s an awful picture of me.” She hands back my phone.
“There’s no such thing.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
My brain has every intention of giving her my hand. But it doesn’t catch up to my body before I have one hand cupped behind her head and my mouth is closing in on her cheek. I suppose I should be grateful my body compromised and went for the cheek, rather than the mouth. Feeling the softness of her skin under my lips makes me want to run my lips along other places on her body. Every place on her body. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about something you said the first night we met.”
“Oh yeah. What’s that?”
“You said if you strip a woman down to her underwear, you can learn a lot about her. Since you have a boyfriend and I can’t do that, I think it’s only fair you tell me what kind you wear.”
The pink on her cheeks is definitely my new favorite color. She shakes her head and I think she isn’t going to give me an answer. But then she surprises me by leaning in and whispering, “Lacy boy shorts…unless I’m wearing leather pants.”
“What if you’re wearing leather pants?”
She smirks. “Commando.” Then leaves me standing there with my mouth open, staring at her ass as she walks away.
Chapter Five
Lucky—
Twelve years earlier,
age thirteen
The green neon script sign behind the bar makes me feel like what Dad keeps telling me is true—Lucky’s is ours.
“Get used to it, princess. Your name is going to be in lights much bigger than just our little sign.” Dad pulls me close to him and kisses the top of my head.
“Don’t you think someone whose name is important enough to be lit behind the bar should be able to watch the show tonight, Daddy?”
“She is pretty important, you know,” my friend Avery chimes in.
My father groans. “Girls. You’re going to get us shut down before we even get through opening night.”
“Please, Daddy!”
“Please, Daddy!” Avery follows my lead, her hands steepled like a communion girl’s. “We’ll stay off to the side of the stage near the hallway to the back. And if the man walks in, we’ll run into the back room before he sees us. I promise.”
“The man?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, you know. Five-oh. The fuzz. Flatfoot. Smokey. Doughnut disciples, the po-po,” Avery offers.
Dad shakes his head, but smiles. “I know I’m going to regret this, but fine. You girls can watch. But only the first show. You are not staying in the bar all night.”
I still can’t believe my mom scored us one of the hottest bands around. The lead singer is gorgeous. His poster hangs on my wall, perfectly positioned so I fall asleep every night with his sky blue eyes staring at me.
And now he’s about to be ten feet away. I really hope I don’t pass out. The lights dim and my dad hops up onto the small stage and delivers a quick introduction, not that any introduction is needed. Then the room, which is filled to capacity—a line of hopefuls running all the way around the block—erupts in screaming, and the guy who makes my knees weak appears from the parting crowd.
A black tee shirt, worn jeans, black boots—both his arms already covered in tattoos at age twenty-three. Simple, yet simply perfection. He stands on the stage like he owns the place, looking like the rockstar that he is. Then he smiles and every woman in the place goes wild.
The shirtless drummer pounds his sticks on the drums a few times to start the song. He’s good-looking, but not in the same league as the lead singer. And then I hear that voice. It’s beautiful—filled with an intensity so hot, I fear I’ll melt standing this close. Is it possible to fall in love with a man who doesn’t even know I exist? In that moment, I’d swear it is. Because I’m head over heels in love with Dylan Ryder.
Chapter Six
Lucky
My phone buzzes on the nightstand while I tear off yet another rejected outfit and toss it onto the bed. The pile of discarded clothes is growing into a mound—I’m usually not so indecisive. Standing in my bra and panties, I reach for my phone and swipe my finger to read the incoming text.
Something came up and I’m running late. Sorry, babe. I’ll meet you at the party.
Not having to rush for Dylan’s arrival, I spend another thirty minutes deciding on just the right thing to wear. I settle on super-skintight black leather pants, a simple black body-hugging blouse that shows off my well-endowed anatomy and dangerously high leather boots with an open peep-toe. A silver cuff bracelet on one upper arm, a few dozen bangles on the other, and I finally like what I see. It’s understated, rockstar chic. If only it were the truth.
I make it to the party fashionably late. Dylan makes a big production over my arrival, whistling a catcall and taking me in his arms for a passionate kiss that wouldn’t be considered appropriate in most crowds. Although this group doesn’t look twice. Not when half-naked groupies backstage are the norm. The first time I went to see Dylan play, a woman was giving the drummer a blowjob on the couch in the back lounge area, while the rest of the band was arguing over the set list only ten feet away. No one batted an eye.
Dylan orders me a drink and the waitress delivers it with a look of annoyance for me and a groupie-quality smile for Dylan. I take a few sips, unsure what the contents of the glass consist of, although I’m positive it is not the Cosmo I ordered.
I stand dutifully by Dylan’s side as he holds court, entertaining his ever-expanding circle with stories about all the gigs they’ve played in different cities. My gaze wanders around the room, taking in famous faces, leaders in the music industry and a bevy of beautiful women. Then it falls on a set of startling blue eyes that are already trained on me.
Flynn cocks his head to the side and raises his glass from across the room. His grin is absolutely…adorable is the only way I can describe it. I can’t imagine men appreciate being called adorable, but there’s just no other way to explain it. It’s the dimpled grin of an eight-year-old boy standing in front of his first crush with a bouquet of dandelions proudly clutched behind his back. Only this grin is attached to the chiseled face and body of a mouthwateringly sexy man. He’s wearing just a pair of dark jeans, black boots, a skin hugging henley and a well-worn black leather jacket. His right ear has one earring, his left three or four. Tonight his shoulder length hair is pulled back, only accentuating his incredible blue eyes and dark lashes. Damn.