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emembered that now?
Him in the club and his fingers. A couch in the corner of the club. Those freaking fingers. In a room full of strangers? Had she truly allowed him to do that?
“Oh, honey. From the look on your face—you’re in trouble.”
“What?” Chloe shook her head. “What? No, I’m fine.”
“No, that’s a face of a woman in the deepest of shit.” She tucked her tray under her arm. “I recognize that face. It’s how I ended up married to my second husband.”
Chloe pulled her hand away. “You hated your second husband.”
“I know. But holy hell he was a beast in bed. Why I kept going back for more.”
Chloe’s crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not like that.”
Diane’s eyebrow rose.
“Okay, so some of it is that.” Couch orgasms—plural—at her house. She so couldn’t think about that right now. “But that’s not the whole story.” She snuck a look over her shoulder. Lou was staring at them. Her boss was mercurial at best and she needed this job, dammit.
Diane tapped her tray against her thigh. “I’ll buy you a Diet Coke and you can tell me the rest later.”
Chloe blew out a breath. She hadn’t had anyone to talk to since this stupid thing had happened. Jinx and Ivy were still MIA, though Jinx had finally texted her again this morning. She’d been light on the details of course, but at least she wasn’t dead.
But she couldn’t exactly text—hey, guess what? I’m married.
Definitely one of those face to face conversations. But hell, if either of them had actually come up for air they probably already knew. The whole freaking world knew. She hadn’t realized Michael’s band was so famous to be honest.
Oblivion, sure. There were a half dozen number one singles in their box of tricks. Warning Sign just had the one so far. And they couldn’t be past one hit wonder status yet. That was a rule…or something.
“Diane, quit your gossiping. Table four needs a refill of pitchers.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hold your ass.” Diane leaned across the bar. “We will be discussing this.”
Chloe tipped her head back. How was this her life?
The next hour was a flurry of activity. She tried not to focus on the crowd growing outside. Amber kept primping as she went by the door. She was one of the tens of thousands of model wannabes in Los Angeles. She was forever throwing herself at men, hoping to find the one that would take her away from this thrilling life they were leading.
The Strip would give her an STD faster than a ring on her finger. Then again, Chloe had gone to Vegas and ended up with a sapphire and diamond ring on hers. Her hand immediately traced the curve of the ring at the bottom of the deepest pocket of her jeans.
She didn’t trust to leave it at her house. Her small neighborhood was relatively safe for Carson, but getting robbed wasn’t out of the question. She’d had two different break-ins before she’d had Axl. After the baby, even the crackheads knew she didn’t have anything worth stealing. Babies were damn expensive.
Still didn’t mean she was going to leave a ring like that in her little jewelry chest.
She absently toyed with her tiny diamond on her right hand. She couldn’t quite come to terms with taking that one off. Her life was the definition of hot mess.
“Grape soda, please.”
Her heart slammed against her chest immediately. That lazy, sexy voice was going to be the death of her yet. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Michael climbed onto the bar stool in front of her. “Well, you weren’t answering my texts—for days—so here I am.”
“Because I’m working.”
He tucked his aviator sunglasses into the neck of his button down shirt. It was open at least two more buttons than made her comfortable. The little bit of chest hair made her fingertips tingle. “I’ll wait for your break.”
“Too late, already had my break.” Liar, liar panties on fire. Which of course was the problem. Her panties were forever on fire around this idiot.
He shrugged. “I’ll wait for your dinner break.”
