Page 8 of One Weekend in Los Angeles

“In what world would he ever be my date?”

“In this one, love. He can give you the details when you get inside.”

“He’s here? At the spa?”

My hands flew to my bare face. I had no makeup on, my hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and my yoga pants had seen better days. I’d been on my way to have a massage, not to see Deacon freaking Miller.

“What could you be thinking, Ollie?”

He chuckled. “I’m thinking people went nuts after your kiss on stage and they’re still talking about it. So why not capitalize on it by spending time together?”

“You want me to take the hottest rock star in the world as my fake date?”

“Why don’t you start by talking to him about it first. Off you go.”

“Off I go,” I muttered, getting out of the car and thinking it was easy for him to say. His legs weren’t shaking.

If I wasn’t nervous, I might’ve appreciated the tranquility of the soft sage and lavender colors of the spa lobby. Glancing around, I had no idea how this meeting was supposed to take place. It wasn’t as if Deacon was there waiting on one of the sofas.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greeted with a big smile on her face.

“Good morning. My name is Andrea Foreman. I have a massage appointment.”

Her face didn’t change at hearing my name. Was she unaware I was here to meet Deacon? Maybe Ollie had been mistaken. Then I was shown to my room, and there the rock star was, sitting in the corner chair.

Damn. He was even hotter than I’d remembered. Dressed casually in ripped jeans and a vintage Jimmi Hendrix T-shirt, he reduced me to simply staring. Although I’d recently seen him on stage, I’d been in such shock at the time I hadn’t taken in all the sexy details. Like the way his brown hair was styled in “rock-star chic,” longer on top and tousled in an effortless way.

His sea-blue eyes reflected brightly beneath dark lashes, but it was the scruff on his baby face which truly sold the rocker image.

I unconsciously held my breath until my lungs demanded air. Slowly drawing in a breath, I forced my gaze not to focus on his tattooed, muscular arms.

“Hi, Andi.”

“Nobody calls me that,” I blurted out.

His grin was straight out of any woman’s fantasy. “Perhaps you’d do me the honor of letting me be the first.”

His charm factor was off the charts, making it difficult to deny him the simple request. “We’ll see.”

Glancing back toward the door, I wondered if the massage therapist would interrupt us and whether I’d be relieved or disappointed when she did.

“I told them I needed ten minutes to speak with you before they begin your session. Hopefully Ollie told you I was here, and I’m not coming off as a total stalker.”

“He did.”

“Have a seat, please.” He motioned toward the other chair with his hand.

I couldn’t help tugging at my faded blue T-shirt. It had seen better days.

His eyes tracked my movements. “I apologize if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” But the way he held my gaze as if he was attempting to read my thoughts did fray my nerves. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Straight to the point. I like it.”

“It’s a new skill I’m trying out.” I’d no longer pretend I was comfortable with the boundaries other people set for me.

“I thought perhaps we could help each other out. You as my date to my stepbrother’s wedding tonight, and I as your plus-one for your season wrap party tomorrow night.”