One fucking kiss. That’s all it took. The instant my lips touched hers, I knew I was gone. I want her now more than ever. But I can’t have her. I don’t do hearts, flowers, and romance. I don’t do relationships.
And I don’t fuck the same girl more than once.
Today was the first time I’ve had an actual conversation with a girl. Normally, I do small talk, a few good one-liners to woo them out of their panties, but I don’t talk like I just did with Jenni. We actually talked. She told me things she was doing in her life, and I found myself so interested in what she was saying that I wanted to listen.
I even told her about the band getting a meeting with some executives from Destiny Records. She looked genuinely pleased for me. Even happy. She's different than the other girls I’ve bedded.Maybe that’s because I haven’t had sex with her yet?
I hadn’t meant to kiss her when I was leaving. I just couldn’t help myself. I can’t deny the attraction between us. It’s not that I have feelings for her. . . Well, I don’t think I do?
I don’t know what the fuck I'm thinking.
I know what I do need, though. I need someone to make me forget her. I need someone underneath me, and I need it now.
My gaze flicks to the clock in my dashboard. I grimace when I spot the time. Two PM is too early to be hitting the club scene. The prime specimens don’t arrive until well after eleven. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll find someone suitable at any time of the day, but I’ve learned over the years, you only get the clingers during daylight hours, the ones who are a little more desperate.
Oh, fuck it; I'm desperate. Desperate to get a pretty blonde firecracker out of my fucking head.
* * *
When I pull into the Dungeon, I notice the parking lot is only half-full. Usually, it’s bumper to bumper with cars. Ignoring the niggle in my gut cautioning me to slow down, I throw open my door, climb out of my truck, then stride through the large double doors of my brother’s club.
I make a beeline for the bar, hoping a nip or two of whiskey will lessen my need to hump the leg of the first girl I see. It might even weaken the knot my stomach has held since I left Jenni standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk.
“Oh no, someone doesn’t look happy.” Tina glances at me with pity while placing a beer down in front of me.
I plop onto the barstool opposite her. “Can I get a whiskey?”
Her brows shoot up into her hairline, but the foul look crossing my face stops her from giving me any sass. Not speaking a word, she snags a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and a shot glass from a rack behind the bar, places them in front of me, then serves a patron on my left.
* * *
I’ve lost count of how many nips of whiskey I’ve had. It could be three; it could be a hundred. I honestly don’t know, but I nearly return to the land of the living when my cellphone unexpectedly rings, scaring the shit out of me.
After settling my manic heart rate, I yank it out of my jeans. When I peer down at the screen, my lips quirk. Noah is calling me. Like a freight train, lucidity forms. I’m late for our gig at Mavericks.
Fuck!
As I stumble off my barstool, my hand delves into my jeans to pull out my car keys. I’ve just flung them in the air when Tina snatches them out of my hand. “You can’t drive anywhere.” She shoves them down the front of her shirt, like a bit of cleavage will scare me.
“You really think that will stop me?” My slurred words reveal the level of my intoxication. I’m way past drunk.
After cocking her hip, Tina gives me her bestjust try and see how far you getface.
I’m about to dive for them when a sweet voice at my side says, “I can drive you anywhere you need to go.” A young lady with long, light brown hair and hazel eyes stands beside me. Her curvy legs are crossed in front of her body, and she’s fidgeting with the hem of her modest cotton dress. “I was just about to leave anyway.”
She's pretty, but I wouldn’t say she's stunningly beautiful. I shift my eyes to Tina to gauge her response on the brunette’s offer. Snubbing the stranger’s glare, Tina shakes her head. When my eyes lower to her cleavage, wordlessly requesting my keys back, she shakes her head more firmly.
That tells my drunken brain I’m making the right decision. “A lift will be great.”
The brunette’s eyes spark with excitement as she claps her hands together. When I wrap my arm around her shoulders, Tina growls, “Nick. . .” Her tone is dangerously low.
I shoot her a cheeky wink before guiding my savior to the parking lot.
During our drive to Mavericks, I find out my savior’s name is Megan. She just turned twenty-something and recently moved to Ravenshoe from some Hicksville town in the middle of Whoop Whoop. I’m not really paying any attention to what she’s saying because I’m too busy wondering how badly my ass is going to be chewed out for rocking up to a gig late. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever shown up late, but I don’t see the band accepting that as an excuse.
When we arrive at Mavericks, Megan follows me inside. I stumble onto the stage, mumbling an apology to Noah on my way by. Noah’s curious gaze turns to me, but he doesn’t speak a word. I could fob off my tardiness, but it would be a woeful waste of time. I’m reasonably sure he can smell the liquor seeping from my pores.
* * *
