A loud beep sounds, and I glance at my navigation screen, groaning loudly. Speak of the devil.
“I gotta go, sisters. Duty calls.”
“Fine, but we expect details if you talk to Razor again tonight,” Charlie says. “He’s playing at the bar.”
“He’s playing at the bar?”
“How do you know this?” I ask, though I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Charlie is horribly nosy. She can find out anything in record time if she wants to know it badly enough.
“The internet has this nifty site called Google,” she says. “And it’s free!”
Gemma giggles.
“If you aren’t going to stalk him to see why he’s in town and where he’s going to be every day so you can bump into him until he falls in love with you, it’s my duty to do it for you,” Charlie continues. “We need a hot brother-in-law.”
“I’m hanging up now!” I cry.
“Love you!” Heidi says through laughter.
I disconnect and then take a deep breath before answering Roger’s call.
“Where are you?” he snaps as soon as I answer.
Ugh. I should have let the stupid call go to voicemail.
“I’m stuck in traffic five minutes from the bar.”
“Well, hurry up. You’re late, and we’re short-staffed.”
I don’t remind him that he’s the one who practically demanded I wear something other than my normal clothing tonight. I also don’t remind him that he’s the one who scheduled two of our bartenders off when he knewBentwas playing tonight.
I need this job too badly to lose it now. Grad school isn't paying for itself.
* * *
“Holy crap,” I whisper, nearly spilling vodka all over myself as the lights dim and the curtain on the stage goes up. Razor’s seated behind his drum-set, looking like a rock god. He ditched his incognito outfit for a t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame and a pair of jeans.
His eyes blaze with command as they sweep the crowd. I know the moment they land on me. I feel them searing into me, silently demanding that I look at him. Somehow, I force myself not to obey that order. I know if I do, it’s over for me. I’ll be sucked under his spell, and that will be that. He’ll own me, body and soul.
That’s the part I didn’t tell my sisters, the truth I kept to myself. When he stood in front of me, introducing himself today, for a minute, he looked into my eyes, and I felt myself being sucked into his orbit. Iwantedto be pulled into his field of gravity.
The thought was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. I know nothing about rockstars and men like Razor Montgomery. I’m a twenty-three-year-old curvy virgin. I pour drinks at night and study archeology by day. But when he looked into my eyes, the world shifted beneath my feet.
I fled because I knew, if I hadn’t, I would have let him talk me into giving him my name and then my number. I would have gone out with him. Slept with him. And then… and then, eventually, he’d go back to his life, and I’d have to go back to mine. Alone.
I don’t think I’d like being alone after having had him for a short time. I get attached easily. It happens when you grow up in foster care like I did. And Razor Montgomery would be far too easy to get attached to. There’s something about him that just feels right.
There’s a compelling magnetism about him that has nothing to do with his fame or status. It’s all him, powerful and potent.
I slide the vodka across the bar to the woman waiting for it and risk another glance up on stage. Pen Rocha’s standing between me and Razor, blocking my view of him.
Maybe he didn’t recognize me. My brows furrow and I’m not sure if I’m relieved by the thought or sad about it. Did he feel the same pull I did today? The same inexplicable connection?
Before I can figure it out, a man leans across the bar.
“I need two tequila sunrises,” he says. “And a Long Island iced tea.”
I throw myself into making his drinks, trying to force thoughts of Razor out of my mind. It’s all but impossible when he’s yards away. But somehow, I manage to focus on the drinks in front of me as the line at the bar grows four deep on each side.