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Mom. But she’d died three yearsago.
I might’ve called Jessa, but I knew she was in New York for work, which meant she was probably asleep right now. That, or getting laid. And I didn’t really want to interrupt either of thoseactivities.
Didn’t really feel like hanging with anyone in the band, either. The way my luck was going tonight, far too good a chance of running into Coop, and I was not havingthat.
Zane was right about one thing. Coop was apussy.
I was totally gonna burn his shirt along with my expensive hookup lingerie. I didn’t need any souvenirs from the worst sexual disaster of my life. Rejected by two hot guys in the span of five minutes? Might’ve set a new land speed record on thatone.
Way togo.
If my future sex life was gonna end up as barren as my list of friends, it wasn’t lookinggood.
I tossed my useless phone aside and that’s when it hit me, hard. I’d broken my own biggest rule by pouncing on Zane, who had all but vomited in response, and I had no one to talk to about it. No one to call up on a Friday night and ventto.
No one who loved me enough to snap me out of my funk and tell me I was better thanthis.
You are better thanthis.
Thanks,Mom.
I drank tothat.
Then I heard a door open behind me and Icringed.
Please, please be anyone but Zane. The cleaning crew. Coop? A half-naked groupie looking for her loststocking?
No suchluck.
Zane swaggered onto the patio, followed by room service. I refused to look at him, focusing instead on the giant room service tray the dude brought out and laid on the low table next to my lounge chair. It had a bowl of vanilla ice cream and a little glass pitcher of what had to be chocolate syrup, a stack of trashy magazines, and a martini glass filled with jellybeans—red, orange and purpleonly.
All my favorite shitty-moodfodder.
Zane tipped the room service guy and as soon as the guy was gone, he took the champagne bottle from my hand. His fingers brushed mine and I caught his scent, again… my guts clenching as the memory of our kiss slammed into me. I could still feel it. Could stilltasteit. And lucky me, I now knew Zane smelled almost as good as he tasted… like raw, clean man, pure sex and total fucking trouble. I could never quite put my finger on that crazy-delicious scent of his. A hint of cool steel and warm leather… and some kind of spice? Fresh ground cardamom andcloves?
Who the hell smelled that amazing all thetime?
I watched as he crossed the patio and set the bottle on one of the weird pseudo-ancient-Greek-motif mosaic tables, out of myreach.
“Whoever decorated this place, it’s tacky as shit,” hemuttered.
Yeah. Itwas.
I considered protesting about the champagne, but I’d already sank half the bottle anyway, and truth be told I didn’t like drinking in front of Zane. Seemed kinda wrong. Like eating a giant piece of chocolate cake in front of someone on a diet… only so muchworse.
Maybe if the person was deathly allergic to cocoa and one bite could end their life. Because that’s what booze could do to Zane. I didn’t even like seeing him touch the bottle, but shit, you had to have some faith in the man’s ability not to self-destruct. Couldn’t babysit him all thetime.
God knew I’dtried.
I watched him pull up a chair on the other side of the table, an upright one, not a recliner like mine. He sat with his thighs spread wide, the top button of his jeans undone, and leaned way back. His leather vest was gone and he’d changed his T-shirt to a whiteone.
Guess I’d gotten “smarmy bass player” on the otherone.
He’d showered, too. His hair was kinda damp, smoothed back from his face. It made him look harder and somehow more gorgeous than he usually did—which was really fucking gorgeous—as he looked at me with his ice-sharp blueeyes.
God, he wasbeautiful.
The man was born to be a star; anyone could seethat.
