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Her breath is hot against my skin, cinnamon and sweet sugar. The thoughts of everyone else on this bus melt away as she finally opens her beautiful doe eyes, their golden honey color putting me in a full-on trance. I can’t look away from her and if she can take her eyes off me, she refuses to. Every single nerve inside my body comes alive, pulsating in time to the music, on fire for this fucking unbelievable woman in front of me.
The bus comes to an abrupt stop, sending her crashing into me as the lights come on. I catch us by quickly throwing an arm back against the seat I was once in.
“Get a room!” one of the guys yells out. I finally break the spell and look out over the rest of the bus, all eyes still glued on the two of us. Someone else breaks out in laughter and Manuel’s fiancée grabs a hold of his arm, leading him away from our show.
When I turn back toward where Isla is, her eyes are still glued to me. We’re both slightly out of breath and my head is spinning.
“I never pegged you for a dancer, Bordeaux Daniels.” She smiles, the first to speak.
I grab her purse for her and hand it over, and she swings it over her body and reaches for my hand. “Ready boyfriend?”
This bar is small in comparison to the ones in the city that I frequent. It’s nothing like Iconic, nothing like I’m used to. This bar is filled with patrons in plaid shirts and cowboy boots, and I immediately feel super out of place.
I’m sure people have taken discreet photos by now, judging by the looks on some of their faces when Isla and I walked up together. I’d be an idiot to not think word will get out that I’m here and even though this area is nothing like the city, there’s bound to be people who will cause a scene. I just hope I’ll be able to tame them on my own.
“What do you drink?” I ask Isla as she sets her gaze on the large chalkboard drink menu behind the bartender. The bartender is wearing pigtails and I really, really cannot stand pigtails on grown women. It makes me think of daddy issues and weird fetishes that I just cannot get behind.
The bar is hot and sticky, and the old wooden tables and chairs are mostly filled by what I assume are regular patrons. Luckily, it doesn’t seem like there’s many people under the age of fifty in here, aside from our group. This should make for a pretty low-key night. I’m grateful for that because I refused to let security come with me on the trip—something that could end up being a terrible decision, but who am I if not a terrible decision maker? A few of the women eye me, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m new here or if they listen to my music, but so far, no one has run up to me screaming yet.
It’s refreshing and strange at the same time. I haven’t been able to walk into a bar without security in the past four years.
“Tom Collins,” Isla says, looking at me, and somehow, she’s even hotter underneath these shitty bar lights. Honestly, though, she would look beautiful anywhere. I didn’t expect her to be a gin drinker.
I order her requested drink, along with a shot of bourbon for myself, and just as the bartender slides us our glasses, a large thud pulls our attention away from the bar.
I follow the sound to find the bride-to-be in a heap on the dirty bar floor.
Seventeen
Isla
Phthartic (adj.) deadly; destructive.
___________
“Is she okay?” I ask one of her friends. I’m not a heartless bitch. I don’t want anything happening to Emilia, especially not during her wedding weekend. I’d have to be a real special kind of mean girl to wish that upon anyone.
“Yeah,” the platinum blonde friend dismisses my question with an eye roll, “she’s just fucking trashed.”
Shit. That’s definitely not how I expected the night to go for any of us. I watch as one of Manuel’s groomsmen lifts Emilia up and over his shoulder. “Shelly and I can bring her back to the hotel and make sure she’s okay. We’ll meet you guys at the next spot.” the tall, broad-shouldered man says to the crowd.
My eyes trail to where Manuel stands a few feet away from where Emilia was just slumped on the floor. What a mess. He looks very annoyed, and I don’t blame him. I can’t help but feel conflicted when I see Manuel. I loved him for so long, it’s like we became the same person. But the minute he got the urge to kiss a woman who was not me, he left me behind without a single thought. He was the reason our relationship failed, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Bordeaux’s words float back into my mind. Do you still want to be with this dude? Or have you accepted that he’s a prick, and he’s marrying someone else? Do I want him back? No. The answer is no. But like I told Bordeaux, I want him to hurt just for tonight. I want him to see that my world didn’t end when he cheated on me—and even if it did a little, he doesn’t need to know that. He catches me staring and I quickly look away to Bordeaux, who I notice is looking directly at me. His eyes are practically staring a hole into me and if a gaze could burn, I’d be on fire.
“Hey,” I say to him as a smile spreads across his face. Damn, he’s gorgeous. I wish Bordeaux wasn’t so damn gorgeous; it makes him a lot harder to resist. My whole ‘I hate men forever’ act is harder to keep up when he looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes of his. My eyes flicker down to that perfectly manicured beard of his—and with the liquor flowing in my veins, I wonder what it would feel like against my skin. This is just a fake date. Relax, Isla. What a devastatingly fucked-up spot to be in—standing between my first real love and a goddamn rockstar, who is, for some reason, pining over me. Who the hell am I?
“Hi,” he says, his deep voice sexy. “Poor bride is going to have a tough day tomorrow.” A small laugh escapes his full, perfect lips. Why am I thinking these things about Bordeaux Daniels right now? Knock it off. He’s off limits. He’s a rockstar. He will, without a doubt, break your heart and leave you in the same position the other guy in this bar left you in.
“Good thing the wedding isn’t until Sunday. She’ll have all day tomorrow to sleep it off,” I tell him, doing my best to ignore my brain’s incessant thoughts of how sexy Bordeaux is.
He tosses his head back and downs what’s left of his bourbon like he’s done it many times before. I can’t help but wonder about his life on the road—what he’s like, how he deals with so many people following his every move. “What’s on our agenda for tomorrow, anyway?” he asks.
I was reluctant about tomorrow from the moment I agreed to Bordeaux’s little fake wedding date idea. An entire day with Bordeaux Daniels, at first, seemed a bit daunting. Not that I don’t want to be around him because, for some reason, deep down inside of me, he’s rubbing off on me. After our recent conversation, I can’t help but be smitten. He’s a pleasant surprise I never saw coming. Charming, sweet, thoughtful, he isn’t what I expected a rockstar to be, that’s for sure. I feel like the world he lives in hasn’t totally changed him yet, and that’s a good thing. There’s something about him I see when he doesn’t know I’m looking, when he’s alone in his thoughts and not putting on a show for anyone. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think it’s sadness. It’s a deep sadness that he doesn’t let on to because he always has to be on.
Look at me sounding like my therapist. Shit. My therapist. I didn’t go this week with work and school and getting everything ready for the trip. I make a mental note to make sure I don’t skip next week. I don’t need all my demons from my past coming back to haunt me, and they normally do if I skip too many sessions. I don’t like the thought of needing to be in therapy for the rest of my life, but if it keeps the past at bay, I’ll do it.
“We have the day to ourselves, aside from a big dinner with the wedding party and the close friends and family of the bride and groom.” When I tell him, his eyes widen. “Yep. An entire day with yours truly,” I say jokingly.
“I think I can deal with that.” A large group of women timidly come up to the two of us, eyes focused on my fake date like he’s a hunk of man-meat they want to devour. “Uh-oh,” Bordeaux whispers. “Looks like they’ve found us.”
