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Not music. “I’m in crowd engagement.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Is that like corporate speak for ‘social media influencer’?”
I contemplate my sixty million followers on Instagram. “Yeah, something like that. Does that make me more or less like a guy who wants to have a one-night stand?”
Her mouth opens, but before she can answer, I raise my hand. “Forget it. I don’t want to waste my question on that.”
A quick grin spreads across her face. “You’re lucky because I was about to answer.”
Between the curve of her lips and the scrunch of her nose, she’s so fucking beautiful I could eat my fist. I want her badly, and I have to be in Los Angeles in two days for a four-night gig at SoFi Stadium. How am I going to swing this? Because I don’t want her to be in my bed for a single night. I don’t want to stop trading questions with her. This is the most fun I’ve had since forever—as in, I legitimately can’t recall the last time I enjoyed myself so much.
Sure, being on stage is a high that can’t be matched by anything, but that’s a momentary rush of endorphins and it fades quickly. Usually by the time the lift hits the ground floor, I’m dead, and only tendrils of the stage’s intense emotional glory remains. Bantering with Clover is something I could see doing every day and not tiring of it, and I can only imagine how good she’d feel in bed. Better than the stage, I’d bet.
“If you were to have a super power, what would it be?”
She bursts out laughing. “You always surprise me. I didn’t know exactly what question you were going to ask, but it wasn’t this one, that’s for sure. I guess flying? That seems super cool although I get motion sickness and haven’t flown in years but superheroes don’t get air sickness, right?”
“If you’re wishing, I think it comes in a package. The ability to fly plus no motion sickness.”
“Okay, I’ll take that one. How about you?”
“Is that your question?”
“Yeah, if it’s good for you, it’s good for me.” She gives me a challenging look.
I don’t hesitate. “Invisibility.” The ability to go anywhere and do anything without having a camera in my face or some paparazzi staked out in a tree with a zoom lens that could probably take photos of aliens on the moon is a fantasy that will never come true. The closest I get to being unknown is when the makeup team puts a wig on me and does some kind of old person makeup. I strap on a fake stomach and pull a too-tight T-shirt over it. For the most part, it’s worked, but the wig is hot as hell, and after a couple of hours, my makeup will start melting off.
Being here in Loveland with Clover is as close to being invisible as I’ve ever been, and yet she sees me as clearly as anyone in my inner circle. I want to wrap this moment up and hang on to it for as long as possible.
“No follow-up question?”
“Trying to think of the best question to ask but rather than beat around the bush, let me be straightforward. I can only spend a few days here in Loveland. I want to spend them with you. They can be in bed, they can be in this bar, they can be on top of a sand dune. I don’t really care so long as the hours are with you. Will you be with me?” I lay my hand on the bar, palm up, and wait.
CHAPTER 6
CLOVER
Once again, his question surprises me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but my brain screams no.
“Anyone is welcome to come to the bar.” I sidestep his question, my mind reeling over it.
“If that’s all I can get, then I’ll take it.” He gives me that devastating smile that makes me happy that I’m sitting down so my knees can’t go weak. What is it with this man and me? There’s something between us that I don’t understand.
“You know there is only one hotel in town, and it’s sold out.” I plug in that tidbit of information.
“How do you know it’s sold out? You own that too?” he teases.
“It’s the Barkers’ annual family reunion. The hotel only has seven rooms. Three of them are always out of service because beyond the Barker family reunion, which happens once a year, it’s never sold out.”
“Who are these Barkers?”
“They’re a”—I hold up my fingers and do air quotes—“motorcycle gang.”
“Motorcycle gang?” I shrug.
“I don’t know what else to call them. They were all in the Army together. Now they have their motorcycle gang. It’s a nice one. Not scary at all. Unless they’re provoked. They might be in their sixties, but they handle themselves.” Dylan laughs. It comes out husky. How can someone’s laugh be sexy? Is that really a thing? I suppose so because I’m witnessing it firsthand. But I find myself thinking that when it comes to a lot of things that have to do with this man.
