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“A little less than a year.”
I nod. “You eat chocolate pudding and coffee for breakfast often?”
She giggles. “I have every day since I started here. I just can’t seem to pass the damn display.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I better watch myself. I have no self-control around chocolate, and between not running around the bar all night and having a cafeteria with good food in the building, my ass is going to bear the brunt.”
“I’ll watch your ass for you. Make sure it stays in top form.” I wink.
“How chivalrous of you.”
“I’m good like that.”
She shakes her head. “So are you excited to go on tour?”
“I’m excited to play in front of an audience again.”
“You took a break?”
I nod. “Not by choice. Nodule on my throat.”
“Sorry. Strained from too much singing?”
“That’s what the doctor said.”
“Well, there’re a lot of things you can do to keep it from flaring up. Have you been to a voice coach?”
“No.”
“I’ll give you my number. Call me if your voice starts to show signs of strain. I might be able to help.”
I nod, lift my phone, and snap a picture.
“Hey. I’m eating. Why did you take a picture?”
“To go with your number in my phone.”
“And you needed it to identify me because you know a lot of Luckys?”
She has a point. “What’s your number?” I ask.
“Let me see the picture or I’m not giving it to you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re going to injure my voice and most likely ruin my career because of one bad picture of you with chocolate pudding on your lip?”
Her eyes flash. “I have chocolate pudding on my lip in the picture?”
“Maybe.” I smile.
Lucky grabs for my phone, but I pull my hand back just as quickly.
“Let me see the picture!”
“Okay. But only if you give me your phone number first.”
“Is there really even chocolate on my face in the picture?” She licks her lips.
My eyes fall to watch her tongue. There’s a drop at the corner of her mouth. I lean forward and swipe it with my finger. Her lips part. Then I lift my finger to show her the tiniest of smudges…right before I bring it to my mouth and lick off the pudding. “Delicious.” Chocolate pudding and Lucky. My new favorite flavor.
“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.
