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“It’s been literally one day since we’ve seen her,” Wynona reminds her.
“And we don’t all have some lumberjack date to keep us occupied tonight,” Josie snips back.
“He’s not a lumberjack, he’s a ranger,” Wynona says in the long-suffering tone of someone who’s said it all before.
“Anyway, see you soon!” Josie says.
Minutes later, she’s there, bulging makeup bag in hand.
“Let’s get this party started,” she says.
Minutes later, Enrique Iglesias is blasting, Josie’s hand is whirring away in makeup-applying expertise, and we’re arguing over which outfit I should wear tonight.
“Josie,” I plead with her. “That black crop top barely covers my belly button.”
“Hello?” she replies. “That’s the entire point of a crop top. Plus, you have a horrendously flat stomach, so I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Can you just compromise with me on the red crop top?”
She sniffs. “That’s not really a crop top, though. You only see a sliver of skin.”
“Which I like.”
In the end, I let her do a stellar smoky eye on me, and put on the red crop top. We have some Oreos, then it’s time to go.
“I’ll give Horatio a walk before I go,” Josie offers, since she has a key to my place. “Love you. Good luck.”
I muster up my most confident face as I leave. Although a big part of me is thinking I need it—all the good luck I can get.
**
The car ride there is easy. Nolan and I chitchat about nothing important, current news and stuff like that. He doesn’t give me one of those inscrutable sexy looks that turn my insides to jelly, although his first look when I got into his Porsche was long and pleased enough to make an excited shiver travel down my back.
Then, all at once, we’re there, at Madison Square Garden, under dancing red and white skylights, surrounded by thousands of people. The fact that Nolan got us a complete package, drinks included, isn’t the first surprise I find.
“No way,” I say when I find out. “You didn’t.”
Chapter 11
Nolan
“I did,” I tell, grinning wide.
I can’t get enough of how her pouty red lips grin when she’s delighted like this.
“Front row seats?” she exclaims. “But that must’ve cost a…” She trails off.
I shrug, slinging my arm around her. “What can I say? It’s worth it.”
“Oh yeah?” she says, settling into my arm with a smile.
“Yeah,” I say, placing a kiss on top of her head.
She freezes.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t want this to be weird.”
“It’s not, I’m sorry too,” she says. “I’m just jumpy.”
“Maybe we need more nachos?” I joke, indicating the bucket we already have.
“Yeah.” She giggles. “That must be it.”
I pick one up and pop it into her mouth. “Nacho coming right up.”
Goddamn do I like seeing this girl happy.
Part of me loves making anyone laugh—girls especially—but something about how her blue eyes squeeze into delighted half-moons…
She pops one in my mouth.
“Here,” I say, eyeing her and wiping a smear of cheese from the corner of her lip. “Don’t want to scare the band off.”
She turns and gapes as they stride on: Anthony Kiedis, Flea and Chad Smith, all of them bare-chested and grinning already.
I give her a little squeeze. “Close enough to touch, I know. They’re about to start, too.”
Minutes later, ‘Can’t Stop’ is blasting into the room and we’re on our feet dancing.
As Anthony Kiedis directs the chorus of the song directly to Sierra, I can’t help my grip around her getting protective.
That’s my girl you’re singing to, buddy.
My girl—what the hell?
Although as Sierra throws her head back and grins delightedly at me, the tension in me dissipates.
“I can’t believe this!” she exclaims. “This is amazing! Thank you!”
Our gazes fall on each other—meet.
Next second, our lips are meeting too. Our kiss develops along with the music as the next song starts. Her hand presses against my chest, my hands envelop her shoulders.
The next song is ‘Otherside’, and our kiss moves along to that too.
Fuck, she’s so pretty. So perfect.
I want to take her here right here and now, crowd and concert and band be damned.
She pushes me away with a giggle. “Nolan.”
I steal another kiss. “Sierra.”
“I can’t believe you did this for me,” she says happily.
“Well,” I hedge, “I am a fan of the band too, and…”
Her face falls. “Oh, sorry. Yeah, I shouldn’t have just assumed…”
“Kiss me,” I tell her, cupping her face in my hands.
This kiss is shyer, more hesitant.
Breaking away, I tell her. “OK, you got me. This is for you. I really meant what I said: I want to make it up to you. I want to see more of you, be more with you.”
“But we work together,” she protests quietly. “What are we even doing?”
The lyrics wash over us as we look at each other. Her hair is all askew, her shirt is low enough to show off her collarbone. I want to kiss every part of her.
