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She laughed as she tucked her bass into its case. She walked backwards toward the exit, grabbing her purse off one of the amps. “Still not giving you details.”
“Brat.”
She gave him a salute before whirling around. Nerves and excitement buzzed under her skin. She shouldn’t make him think she was available at his beck and call, but she wanted to see him again.
Them again.
She dug her phone out and popped the side door open to the small parking lot, texting Tristan as she walked.
Juliet: Pizza for two or three?
She crossed the lot and opened the door to her trusty Toyota Camry. Not as flashy a car as she used to drive, but it was something she could actually afford without her parents’ money. There’d been a time when she didn’t care. When she’d asked for the ridiculous just to see if she could get a reaction from her father.
Instead, he’d just paid for whatever she asked. Not because he wanted to spoil her, but because he didn’t give a good goddamn. It was easier just to say yes than to actually have a discussion with her.
She tightened her fingers on her steering wheel.
Yeah, not going there. Not today, not now. Now she had two men—well, at least one man—who knew how to make her crazy. Who could get her out of her head for a few hours with laughter and orgasms for days.
She shivered as memories of that night pushed away the family crap. It had been more than a few days, but the technicolor flashes of what they’d done after the wedding were as clear as if it were yesterday.
And her body responded in kind.
She reached in back and dragged out her laundry bag. Lucky her, she’d just gone to the laundromat last night. She flipped off the Metallica baseball-style T-shirt and dragged on a red shirt that showed off the girls to their maximum potential. It was her favorite top. She could throw it in any bag and it never wrinkled.
A few spritzes of perfume and a few minutes with her makeup bag and she didn’t look like she’d been slaving away the entire day. Okay, not slaving. She loved to play, but by the end of practice, her fingers hurt and she desperately needed a neck message.
Maybe she’d get a little of that with her pizza.
Her phone buzzed on the dashboard. She read it and swallowed hard.
Tristan: Three.
Oh, shit. Her nipples beaded up under the shirt.
Hmm, maybe not the smartest outfit to put on. Should she change her bra?
No.
Own it. She would absolutely own just how much those two men turned her on. But to help her cause, she rolled down the window, then plugged in Tristan’s address from the text that had just come through.
Cocky bastard knew he had her.
She was okay with it though. Especially if it meant she’d feel even an ounce of what she had last weekend.
She followed her Google Maps directions to an industrial address. Feeling a little weirded out, she slowed to a crawl before turning into the parking lot. When a woman with two bags of groceries got out of her car and went for the front door, she relaxed a little.
A lot of the old buildings outside of Hollywood had been converted into apartments because land was at a definite premium. She tore the band out of her hair and shook it free to fall down her back. Normally, she enjoyed her curls, but right now she was glad she’d splurged to get her hair done.
She’d played up her eyes a bit and it gave her a slightly sultry bad girl look.
She could work with that. Especially tonight.
The front of the building was lit up and a few fat pots filled with succulents and happy-faced purple flowers cheered up the brick. She pulled out her phone and asked him which floor.
A minute later, the clatter of a freight elevator answered her. She peered down the hallway, expecting Tristan.
She got Sparks.
