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Pink, raw, and exposed.
It is him.
Chapter Seven
I make it to the bar where Flynn will be playing. A place named Locust in a trendy part of town.
The place is jammed, full of young and old people in small groups, sitting and standing around the high-end bar tables that are scattered around the cozy venue.
The lighting is poor, a few sconces on the wall and an old guitar hangs behind the bar with a spotlight hovering over it. This grunge-type ambiance isn’t my thing, but I’m here to support Flynn. I do, however, make a mental note to avoid the restrooms at all costs.
I’ve been nursing a gin and tonic for over an hour, waiting patiently for Flynn to begin his set. Alone, at the bar, I make small talk with the bartender as she kindly offers to top me off every so often. I’m not much of a drinker these days, sipping slowly, trying to clear my thoughts without much luck.
I’ll admit he got to me.
Wesley Rich.
Crawled under my skin like a parasite. It isn’t just the fact that I looked stupid for not knowing he’s the same guy I ran into last week, it’s the way he spoke to me. Like I’m a nobody. I have been so accustomed to nice guys like Liam that I’ve forgotten that dickheads still exist.
The music in the room softens to a much more enjoyable level as a guy with long hair tied into a loose ponytail tests the mic. His beard almost touches his chest—long and full enough to house a swarm of bees.
I swivel my chair around to face the set and see Flynn sitting on a stool, practicing with his sticks. He’s focused, narrowing his brow and biting his lip, flicking his piercing with his tongue.
Wait, a piercing? My foot falls off the stool and onto the floor as I stumble forward only to be pulled upright by an unknown hand.
“Jesus, can’t take you anywhere.”
The shock slows me down until I turn slowly and connect the hand with the face.
Are you kidding me? I don’t know what messed-up game the universe is playing, but I want out.
Wesley is standing beside me, a smirk the size of Jupiter with that annoying stare that drives me insane. Yeah, I know what he’s thinking—here’s that dumb girl again who seems to manage to make a fool of herself every time I’m around.
I blame my wedges since I haven’t worn them after my ill-fated trip down the stairwell back home. I’m certain they’re possessed, yet I wear them because they match my navy A-line dress and make my legs look slimmer.
“I was distracted.” I clear my throat. “My brother is the drummer, and he has a piercing that wasn’t there this morning.”
“Let me guess. You’re a nun who thinks piercings are acts of the devil?”
“No…” I drag, annoyed at his presumption. “It’s just not like Flynn. Anyway, are you stalking me?”
I don’t know where that came from, but his presence, so close, annoys the living daylights out of me. How can someone so attractive be so unattractive at the same time? He’s changed from wearing a suit, dressed in some light chinos and a dark denim shirt. It’s nothing like the bike gear he wore the other day, nor the suit earlier today, and for some reason, it strikes me as odd that one man can be so versatile.
Okay, admit it for one second, he looks nice in his yuppie get-up.
“Are you done staring now?”
“I wasn’t staring.” I straighten my posture, crossing my legs in an attempt to act confident. “It would be rude to stare, and if I want to be rude, I won’t waste it on you.”
His eyes flare with amusement. “Ouch, you must really hate me.”
“Hate is such a strong word.”
“Well, I can tell you don’t like me.”
“Yet, you continue to stand here, blocking my view when the purpose of being here is to watch my brother.”
Even in the dark, the contours of his face are defined—striking jaw in an upward pose, teasing me like we’re in the schoolyard.
