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A jerk who’d rescued her from a bar fight, but still.
He didn’t respond, continuing up the hallway while she pounded on his back. Forget back. It was like a wall, if walls had layers of toned muscle and retained enough heat to scorch her palms through his standard issue club jacket.
Oh, sugar. Chase hadn’t merely been in the crowd. He worked there.
Using one burly shoulder, he pushed open the back door and they burst out into the cold, moonless night. It was snowing, a fact she found out firsthand when he set her on her pathetically inadequate pumps and she immediately skidded on a patch of ice. He steadied her, silently and without reproach. Not counting his flat, all-too-knowing forest green eyes.
Those eyes had been in a few of her fantasies, and that unsmiling mouth had played a part too. Though now, that mouth was pursed tight, aloofly judging her. In her fantasies, he’d been way too…busy for that.
She was sorely tempted to rail at him for hauling her out of there like a bad child, but good manners won out as always. “Thank you for interceding. Though I could’ve taken that witch,” she added, huffing out a breath.
&n
bsp; No response.
“So you work here? Since when? And what about baseball?”
He grimaced, but gave her nothing.
Summer pushed both hands through her hair, only remembering when her fingers got caught in the band that she’d tried to tie the crazy mass of curls out of her face. She yanked out the tie and flung it away, inexplicably annoyed when Chase’s gaze followed where it landed.
Was he some kind of nature nut that hated litter? Or did he prefer to stare at the concrete rather than look at her?
“Chase, say something. I know you’re dying to call Cass and tattle on me, so why don’t you? ‘Your dumb little friend, Summer, got herself in a bar fight, pretending she could sing—’”
“Pretending?” His voice was so low she almost missed the question. “That’s what you call what I saw in there?”
She frowned, shocked to feel her chin trembling. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got shaky and uncertain with guys, even huge, imposing ones with glacier eyes and cheeks that could’ve been carved from granite. So she’d kissed this particular one, for one exciting, incredible moment while she’d been filching the business card out of his wallet that had led her to this very place. So what?
There she was, at her first gig where more than twenty people showed. Maybe some of them had even come to hear her rather than to load up for ladies’ night. And what happened? A disaster. Like always.
She might as well change her stage name to that, since everyone thought Sunny Z was some kind of bubble gum princess. But her mom called her Sunny, and her middle name, Zoe, had been given to her for the grandma who’d died when she was a baby. Using those names made her feel closer to them, and besides, someone had probably already snagged Disaster Zone. It was perfect for a metal band or…her.
She glared at Chase. “What would you call what I was doing then?” she challenged, relying on bravado as usual. She only hoped he didn’t see the tears pooling in her eyes.
But how could he, when he was looking anywhere but at her?
He didn’t reply for so long that she turned away, already knowing the answer. Obviously her quirky country-folk-soul hybrid didn’t work for him. No big deal. She’d heard the scattered boos in the crowd. Yes, it was her first big venue in the city, and like so many other firsts in her life, perhaps she’d built it up too big in her mind. Bad enough that when she closed her eyes, she knew she’d hear those few disparaging remarks much louder than the scattered whoops and cheers.
It was only her dream they were making fun of. Just one of many that probably wouldn’t pan out. She shouldn’t make it into such a big deal. Even if adrenaline was still buzzing under her skin and even if she couldn’t quite keep still due to the leftover excitement slamming around inside her, she could chalk up those sensations to the cold. To the snow clinging to her cheeks and coating her bare arms.
She didn’t have her coat—or her purse. Crap, she had to go get her stuff.
She’d taken two steps when Chase snatched her wrist and whirled her around to face him, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. She gasped at the bruise coloring one of his rock-edged cheekbones, reaching up to touch it before she remembered she was mad at him for carrying her out and making a scene. And for not liking her music.
And for saving her…for knowing that she’d needed it.
He flinched away from her touch and she dropped her hand, feeling even more idiotic. “Don’t tell Cass,” she whispered. “Please.”
His jaw worked while he focused on her face, so intently that she wondered if the effort pained him. She reached up to smooth her wind-whipped hair and fought not to fill the silence. Anything was better than this void.
“She doesn’t know you do this, does she?”
“This?” She let out a hysterical laugh and gripped her bare upper arms. “You’re making it sound like I do porn or something.”
He narrowed his eyes. “From the way those guys in there were eyefucking you, you might as well have been.” He dropped his gaze to her sheer blouse and long, slinky skirt. “In that outfit, no wonder.”
Indignation bloomed, hot and welcome. At least if she got angry enough, she wouldn’t freeze to death from the chill of his disapproval. “Wow, two whole sentences. I feel honored.” She cocked a hip and noted with pleasure that his gaze tracked the move. “What happened to the wild, up-for-anything Deuce I used to know, huh? I didn’t even realize it was you at first at Cass’s party, and compared to now, you were a chatterbox.”
