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sticking out of her short, short skirt with such a cocky, self-assured saunter, this heat had spread up from my gut and scorched my brain cells. That kind of immediate, intense reaction had only happened to me, like, twice in my life. Once a few months ago, and then...today. I didn’t much like it. It turned my hormones into these primitive beasts that wanted nothing but pussy.
I’d been forced to turn away and pretend to take a drink because I feared staring much longer might’ve caused me to sprout wood. But I just kept picturing myself ripping off that cheap blonde wig to see what she really looked like under there and then pushing her against the first available surface so I could feast upon her.
Seriously, the craving had been that bad.
So busy trying to cool my jets, I hadn’t even paid attention to what Gally was telling her until she’d said, “Is this some kind of joke,” and her voice...damn, her husky voice had me jonesing big time. It was low for a female but still really, extra sexy.
When I finally realized Gally was rejecting her because of her gender, sadly, I’d felt a spark of relief. There would’ve been no way I could’ve concentrated around someone who attracted me the way she did. I knew it was biased, cowardly, awful, and completely sexist of me, but I just couldn’t be in a band with her without wanting to jump her...constantly, and probably convincing her even more that I was some kind of man-whore.
And so, I felt crappy and antsy and regretful as I marched to my ride for not giving her the simple audition she’d wanted.
My motorcycle—bless her faithful heart—sat on the curb, patiently awaiting me. The ’72 Triumph might’ve been badass if it weren’t so old and beat to hell. But it’d been cheaper than anything I could find with four wheels and had better gas mileage, so I wasn’t going to complain about image. I loved her anyway.
I went about coaxing her to life—turning on the fuel, pushing the tickler, flipping the choke and ignition before kick-starting her—then I was good to go.
The only place I really had to head was home to Mozart, but right now, that felt like a miserable option, so I steered the Triumph toward my favorite place on earth.
I’d known the Forbidden Nightclub existed for a little over a year now, and in that time I’d lived all of my happiest moments there. I’d gotten to perform there for my first time and return every Friday night to play again. My band had grown a name for ourselves and gathered a crew of followers because of that place. It was at Forbidden that I’d experienced that first punch of intense longing the moment I’d seen a stranger across a crowd and wanted to know everything about her. Hell, I’d learned I had a brother within its walls. The place felt more like home to me than the studio basement apartment where I rested my head each night.
When I drove past the club twenty minutes later and scoped out the parking lot to make sure a black Barracuda wasn’t on the premises, I came back around the block, pulled in and parked, satisfied the guy I was avoiding wasn’t inside.
I wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, and I kind of wished Pick would give me more hours so I’d have something to do on my off nights, but a beer and a little company sounded good. I needed some positive chi around me to absorb so I could boost my own morale.
Quinn and Knox were working the bar. Out of all the club’s bartenders, they were the two quiet ones. With the mood I was in, I wasn’t sure I’d be the best conversationalist tonight, so they were actually perfect choices for companionship.
“Hey, Asher,” Quinn greeted with his friendly, boy-next-door grin. “How’re the auditions coming?”
“Shitty.” I slumped onto a stool. “How’re the wife and kid?”
His smile bloomed with pride, and yep, that was exactly the kind of exuberant energy I needed. “Zoey seems a hundred percent better, and the doctor thinks we can take J.B. home in another week.”
“That’s great, man.” His wife had given birth to a severely premature baby a couple months back. It was nice to hear both she and the kid were making a complete recovery. I should’ve been happier that things were working out for them.
Instead of the cheer, however, a bitter ball of loneliness swelled inside me. Why couldn’t I find someone the way Quinn had?
A bottle of Angry Orchard appeared in front of me right before Knox flipped off the lid and strolled away.
“Thanks,” I called to his back, grateful he knew exactly what I needed. I picked it up and took a long pull.
God, that tasted good. I sighed and relaxed into my seat. Quinn went to help a customer at the other end of the bar, and I contented myself with my alcohol while both guys milled about me and did their thing.
Behind them, shelves of assorted bottles glinted in the low blue lighting overhead. It gave the atmosphere a calming effect that soothed a restless part of me. If I could’ve just sat there and lived on that stool for the rest of my life, I would’ve done it.
I closed my eyes and tipped my face forward as I rested both elbows on the countertop, letting the sound and smell of Forbidden seep through me.
But apparently, my peaceful reverie wasn’t meant to last.
“Asher?” A familiar voice had me jerking my head up and my eyes snapping open wide.
Instantly on edge, I swiveled toward the call and gaped in horror at the man who approached.
“Shit! Where did you come from?”
Pick, my boss and as of three weeks ago my older half-brother, slowed his approach and cocked an eyebrow. “Uh...my office?”
Damn, I should’ve known he’d still be around this early in the evening. It was his club; why wouldn’t he be around? But I’d been so sure I hadn’t seen his Barracuda out front.
“Did you get a new car or something?”
