“Should I hold on to your keys?” She’s already holding her hand out, revealing a cluster of star tattoos across her wrist. “Come on, hand them over, Rockstar.”
It’s yet another invitation—one that any other man at this bar would grab and f**k in a second—but I’m not them. I shake my head. “I’ve got good self-control.”
She takes a step backward, wiping her hands on the front of her tight jeans. “Oh, I’ve heard. Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
She focuses her efforts on another customer, leaving me to my beer and my misery. I sit, hunched over my drink, wondering what the f**k is wrong with me. Two months ago and I would have taken the bartender back to a hotel and taken everything she was willing to give and coaxed her into offering me even more.
Now—now I’m this.
So f**ked up that I can even hear Sienna’s soft, Southern accent over the sound of Slipknot’s “Snuff” playing on the jukebox.
I tip my beer bottle up and down the rest of my drink. I drink the second one a little quicker, trying my goddamn best to pretend like I don’t still hear her voice. When I finish the beer in record time, I signal the blonde bartender. Widening her eyes in surprise, she holds up a finger, indicating that it’ll be just a moment. When she turns back to her current customer, I let my gaze follow, and I realize that I know the woman ordering drinks.
Did I f**k her?
I shake that thought out of my head because I remember every one-night stand and every second of on-the-road sex I’ve ever gotten.
Is she one of Kylie’s friends?
But I wipe that idea away almost as quickly as the last. My sister doesn’t do female friends—she doesn’t trust anyone but her friend Heidi.
So why the f**k do I recognize the brunette?
A backstage pass, maybe? A journalist? Or a—
And then it comes to me like a kick square in my balls—an old memory of standing outside of an apartment a couple years ago, ready to apologize for my most recent mess-up, and this woman answering the door.
Telling me that her roommate, Sienna, was gone.
Chapter Five
Lucas Wolfe
I start to tear my gaze away from the woman and put her out of my mind because I’ve told myself I wouldn’t think about Sienna tonight, but the flash of a long, vivid red ponytail stops me. Hell, it nearly makes me lose my breath. And as Sienna slides into the seat next to the woman and straightens the strapless top that came down with the motion, it’s impossible for me to look away from her. She’s that f**king beautiful. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she bends until her lips are level with the other woman’s ear and whispers something that causes them both to laugh.
My plan to forget her flies out this dingy ass bar because I want to hear her laugh. I want to feel her hands touching me. And I want to touch her.
This is my opportunity to tell her how I feel without songs or elaborate gimmicks, and I know I need to take it. I drop my gaze down to my empty bottles before looking back up to Sienna. She’s sipping on something that’s pink and fruity-looking, and though my eyes are burning into her, she doesn’t glance across the bar at me. Instead, she lowers her glass to the bar counter and rubs the palms of her hands across her cheeks, wiping away tears of laughter. It’s a bitter, gut-twisting reminder that the last time I saw her, the last time I held her—she had been crying for an entirely different reason. Because of me.
“Sorry it took so long.” The bartender is out of breath as she walks back over to me. She slides another Sam Adams into my palm, taking the extra time to close my fingers around the cold glass. “You know how this place goes. Some nights we’re dead and then others we’re like—”
“What’s she having?”
The blonde’s pretty features draw together into a deep frown as she turns slowly and follows the direction of my gaze. “Which one?” The disappointment in her tone is unmistakable.
“The redhead,” I start, but then I hear the way of my voice sounds—like a f**king virgin finding his first Belladonna movie online—and I scale it back. “Just wanted to send her a drink. She did some work on one of our videos a few years ago. Wanted to tell her thanks for . . . putting up with my bullshit.”
Relaxing her frown into an easy smile, the blonde bobs her head. “Ah, okay. God, you know everyone don’t you?” She glances back over her shoulder at me, and I look her in the eye, trying to keep my gaze off of Sienna so that I can keep the dumbass look of excitement off my face. I’ve never put much stock in fate, but if this isn’t it, what the hell is?
The bartender clears her throat and turns her gaze back to Sienna and the brunette. “Should I tell her it’s from you and what it’s for? Last thing I want to do is piss off the guy she’s with, you know?”
“What?” That single word comes out too sharp, too loud, and too emotional. The bartender must catch it too because she turns all the way around to face me quickly, her mouth parted in surprise. For the first time since I got here tonight, I actually pay attention to the tiny nametag pinned to the hem of her skimpy halter. “Shit, sorry. I . . . I just didn’t catch what you said, Luisa?”
“You sure I don’t need to take your keys?” she demands teasingly as she bends her face close to me, no doubt to make sure I don’t reek of hard liquor she probably thinks I downed before coming here. Once she’s satisfied, she moves back a little and jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “The redhead came in with some blonde guy who—” Her eyes focus on something a few feet away from me, and she stands upright. “She came in with that guy.”