Page 3 of After Care

“Let’s get you guys to the VIP section.” Tommy still cupped my hand in his, and while every fiber of my being wanted to press my palm firmer to his, I tried to keep it aloft, separate. Only…it wasn’t working. My hand started to sweat and panic spread. I hadn’t held a man’s hand since…I couldn’t remember when. I couldn’t think of the last time David held my hand—not even bedside, during the worst of times. I wanted to melt into the warmth palming mine. Heat flushed over every inch of my skin with thoughts of that same hand skimming my body. The image screeched to a halt. My body. He’d discover parts of my body weren’t mine anymore. What was I even thinking? A man like him would have no interest in a body like mine or a woman like me—older, settled, boring. Scarred.

My arm flinched, hoping to loosen my fingers, suddenly feeling dragged instead of led to the roped-off VIP section. But his hold tightened, forcing our palms together, suctioned with the warm dryness of his and the dampness of mine. Nope, never going to have interest in a sweaty, middle-aged woman. I sighed.

“Take a seat,” he offered, nearly whipping me into a chair, while Ivy climbed on Gage’s lap when he sat on a couch. Tommy pulled a chair next to me, his body angled to where he could watch the boys in the band. His back toward the crowd.

“Are you their bodyguard or something?” I asked, snorting at the thought, even though his stature suggested it. His brooding stance earlier in the day gave me the same thought.

“Nah, their manager, but I might as well be a bodyguard. These boys can be a pain in the ass, especially Jared.” He nodded in the direction of a lounge chair and I twisted to look over my shoulder. Brown hair, blue eyed—he looked so all-American to me, but the most innocent could sometimes be the guiltiest. Tattoos laced his arm. In contrast, thick rimmed-glasses covered his eyes. I didn’t know who Jared was any more than I recognized Gage when I met him by the pool, and my age was certainly showing in that lack of knowledge. The feeling of being out of my element grew ten-fold, and I shifted in my seat, tugging at the hem of my suddenly too-short dress, willing it to reach my knees.

I didn’t know why I even brought this dress with me on our vacation. I supposed I’d hoped for a little family-of-three dinner celebration. I was a survivor of many things, and the Hawaiian trip was proof of it. Still, a form-fitting black dress wasn’t my typical wear, and I was suddenly self-conscious in it. It could have also been the way Tommy’s dark eyes narrowed on my fist at the hem and followed the struggling along my thighs. In the dimly lit bar, his eyes were silky black ink, matching the streaks in his hair. Taking a deep breath, his nostrils flared and he looked away from me, his knuckles stroking the heavy scruff on his jaw—not enough to be a beard, but more than a dusting. It was more silver than black, and the contrast with his hair was mouthwatering. I’d noticed this contemplative motion when we met.

My eyes followed his to a group of women drawing closer to our section. Of course, I thought, younger women. I glanced away in time to find a waiter headed toward us and held my hand up for a drink. He ignored me.

“Whatcha want, darlin’?” Tommy’s gruff voice startled me, and I turned back to find him staring at me. Twisting a discarded napkin in my fingers, I was about to speak when he continued.

“Something fruity? A frozen something-something with an umbrella peeking out the top?”

“No,” I chuckled. “Why, do I look like a fruity drink kind of woman?” Where did the flirty tone come from? I didn’t flirt. I still couldn’t believe I even spoke to him. He hadn’t spoken to me earlier in the day, and I sensed I was just one more person for him to babysit.

His eyes roamed my body, starting at my exposed knees. He licked his top lip then rubbed his tongue over the lower one as he rode up my thighs with intense eyes and skipped over the hem to my breasts. My chest heaved, and that’s when I looked away. He was only teasing me.

“Actually, you look like a fine wine, aged to perfection, sweet on the palate and lingering on the tongue long after you’ve been swallowed.”

I gasped.

“What?” A nervous laugh escaped, half thrilled, half deflated. He had to be teasing me, but the richness of his words, the essence of his description, lapped over my skin as if he drank me in, inch by delicious inch, and swirled me in his mouth like a wine sample before swallowing me whole. Just like he’d described. Ignoring my horrified gasp, he lifted two fingers in the air, and the waiter immediately returned.

“A bottle of…” he paused, his eyes shifting sideways to me. “Red for the lady.”

“Actually,” I interrupted. “I’ll take a glass of Moscato, please.”

“Hmmm,” Tommy murmured. “My skills failed me. You seemed to balk at the sweeter things.”

“Really?” I laughed again. “You just thought I’d like a fruity drink.” I reminded him, pausing as I tilted my head. “What did you have me pegged for then?” Maybe I wanted to be fizzy and funny, like someone young and frivolous.

“Actually,” he smirked as he emphasized my word, “I had you pegged as—”

“Tommy, don’t you just adore Edie?” Ivy squealed from behind me, and I spun around to find a girl drunk on love, holding a light pink drink in her hand with her husband’s arm wrapped around her midsection. I sighed again. Oh, how I hoped life would always remain this way for them. My heart pinched, knowing it wouldn’t. Marriage was hard work. One in two marriages still ended in divorce. I wasn’t a statistic; I was a trend.

I smiled up at Ivy.

“Edie.” Tommy snapped his fingers next to me. “I thought your name was Debbie.”

I nodded slowly. Once again, any thoughts of attraction to a man like Tommy Carrigan were futile. It was as if I was a kid again, star-struck by the aura of rock star around him. Only, getting struck by a star would hurt, like an asteroid hitting Earth. Kaboom. I was spiraling out of my orbit, and I’d already been hit by that kind of heat—something I never wanted to experience again.

“Care,” Gage sighed, shaking his head at Tommy. It must have been short for Carrigan, his last name. “Try to be a nice guy.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone as he peered down at his manager.

“Edie. Like E and D,” Ivy smirked, glaring at Tommy.

What’s with these two? I thought, but ignored any questions when my wine arrived. The entire bottle was placed on the table and a glass poured. The sweet bubbles tickled my mouth, and I quickly swallowed the prickling cool refreshment. One glass, then I’d excuse myself, I decided. This was over my head. The pulsing lights. The rhythmic beats. The dim corner for VIPs. I didn’t belong here, and Tommy, not remembering my name, confirmed it.

“Take Edie dancing,” Ivy cooed, and I spun to gawk up at the blonde getting nibbled on the neck by her husband. I turned back to Tommy, and something in my expression made his eyes widen.

“I don’t dance,” I blurted, gripping the back of my chair with one hand, the cool glass of wine in the other. I never danced. Never.

“Everyone dances,” Tommy replied, looking incredulous.

“Not me, but go right ahead.” I nodded to the filling dance floor and the rising number of girls nearing our section.