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But Alex didn’t smile. And I was used to men smiling at me—because they wanted something and thought I could give them what they needed. But I wasn’t used to the cold glare emanating from Alex Lowe’s bright blue eyes.
And I wasn’t used to the fire it was stoking in my heart.
“I see,” he said. “And where are you going now? Unless you’re sticking around for karaoke?”
“No,” I said, grinning. “I’m actually just waiting for the rain to stop, so I can get to my hotel.”
“Well, you’re not waiting here,” growled Alex. “Come on. I’ve got a private room.”
“Excuse me!” I said. “I don’t know who you think you are, buster, but you aren’t ordering me anywhere.”
“Oh,” said Alex. “Fine. I apologize.”
“That’s better.” I laughed. “Now, where’s this private room you were telling me about?”
Alex’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, so youwantto come up now?” he said.
“I’m considering it,” I said wryly.
He led me up the stairs, above the bar, to a comfortable lounge with a sliding screen door and a beautiful tapestry hanging on the wall. On the other side was a clock, and below it, a dartboard and a long, full-length mirror glinting in the pale moonlight.
For the rest of the night, we sat together on achaise-loungewhile the rain fell and a moon shone among the dark, billowing clouds. And Alex Lowe and I talked.
We sipped our drinks, and I told him my life story. How I’d moved to New York from Wisconsin after college. How I’d sweet-talked my way into a spot atBlue Note—one of Manhattan’s most famous jazz bars, and how I’d ended up alone, with no boyfriend, singing my way across Sumatra, Java, and Bali.
“It’s impressive how dedicated you are to your music,” said Alex. But even as he said this—a wonderful compliment—he still didn’t smile. Was it that I’d upset him, that he was concerned about me? Or was he just like that?
“Thank you,” I replied, beaming. “I guess you can’t succeed at something unless you’re dedicated to it.”
“I agree,” said Alex. “And if your boyfriend can’t see that, well, too bad.”
“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected him while looking outside.
The rain had stopped. In fact, it had stopped over an hour ago. But we were still talking, and I’d shifted closer to Alex on the chaise-lounge.
His heat, the scent of his cologne was sweet, like the scent of lime trees and sandalwood, and made me drowsy. And I could sense Alex wasn’t immune to me, either.
When I told him I was single, he was shocked.
“You’re kidding,” he said.
“Well, only recently,” I said. “But yeah.”
“Why did you break up with him?”
“He broke up with me, actually. He told me that either I could stay in New York or come here to Bali.”
“What? He gave you a choice between your career and your work? Lola, that’s crazy. You shouldn’t have to put up with that. Someone who holds you back like that is…well, they’re no friend at all.”
I was surprised at how sensitive Alex could be sometimes, but as he said this, his eyes seemed to grow dark. He was thinking about something else. I wanted to cheer up the stone-faced, handsome man in front of me.
“You play?” I said, looking at the dartboard hung up on the wooden wall.
“Sure,” smiled Alex.
He played pretty well, as it turned out. Alex scored a 100 on his first go. But when it was my turn to launch a dart, it merely cluttered to the floor.
“You need to improve your stance,” he said after I’d flunked out a couple of times.
