“That’s the motherfucker who stole your song?” Zach asks.
I nod.
“He looks a lot more smarmy in person then he does in his music videos.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“I’ll deal with him,” Zach says, a growl in his voice.
I lunge forward, grabbing his arm. “No! Don’t do anything. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
Zach snarls, halting and biting his lip. I can see the vein in his neck popping out. “All right,” he acquiesces. “If you say so.”
Just as my heart rate is lowering, Roddy spots me.
“Dammit,” I say, picking up my fork and moving it around my empty plate. Roddy strolls over to us with his big, phony salesman-like smirk, and stands by our table.
“Ho-ly shit. It’s been so long I thought you went and died!” he snaps. He puts his palms down on our table and leans over it. “Come here, sugar!”
Sugar? Are you serious?
Flexing my jaw. I don’t budge. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what I’d say if I did have something to say to him.
“Don’t call me sugar,” I snap out.
“Oh, now that’s no way to greet the most famous man you’ve ever known, is it? And an old friend.”
“Friend isn’t the word I’d use for you,” I say.
“Look, buddy—Roger, you said your name was?” Zach cuts in.
“Roddy,” he replies, obviously irritated that Zach doesn’t know him.
“Right,” Zach continues, his muscles tensing. “Well, Randy, I think unless you’re looking for trouble, you should—”
“It’s Roddy,” Roddy quips through gritted teeth. Clearly he’s not used to people forgetting him.
“Oh, right.” Zach clenches his jaw and gives Roddy a look of death. I’m even a little scared of Zach right now. “Makes me think of that wrestler, Roddy Piper. I could see you being a pro wrestler. You ever thought of that?”
“No.”
“Ah, right, you’ve got a talent for writing songs,” Zach seethes.
Zach puts his hand on my knee, and his protective streak sends a swarm of butterflies through me.
“What we need you to do is just stay the hell away from me,” I cut in. “We’re having dinner.”
Roddy scrunches up his face. “Yeah, right. So anyway, are you back in town now?” He slides into the booth, sitting next to me. “We should hang out. Maybe do another collaboration.”
“Are you serious?” I spit out. “Screw you.”
“What? The last one turned out great.”
“Get away from me, you ball of slime!”
“Oh, come on, don’t act like it wasn’t a good time while you are with me,” Roddy fires out.
Zach stands up and reaches across the table, and grabs hold of Roddy’s collar.
“Look, Rudolf,” Zach says in a deep voice that runs shivers through me. It’s amusing that Zach can’t seem to remember Roddy’s name. “Are you drunk or something? You heard what the lady said. You’re not welcome here.”
Roddy’s eyes bulge as he sees the veiny muscles popping out of Zach’s shirt.
“It’s not Randy, Roger, or Ruldolf, it’s fucking Roddy. Do you know who I am? I’ll have you arrested!” Roddy says. “Get your hands off me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and my heart thumps hard as hell. “Get the hell away from us. And don’t touch me.”
“You heard what the lady said.” Zach finally takes his hand off of Roddy’s collar.
Roddy scoffs. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t touch—”
I cut him off. “We didn’t ask you to come over here. And we’ve asked you to walk away now. Please leave.”
Roddy’s face widens with fear, and Zach lets him go, clearly reluctant to release his grip on Roddy’s collar.
Standing up, Roddy readjusts his shirt. “Small world. Thanks for the chat. See you all around.”
“See you around!” I yell back, and then faceplant, shaking my head.
“Thanks for having my back,” I say to Zach.
“That guy’s a real piece of work,” Andrew adds. “You really used to date him?”
I nod. “Regrettably.”
There’s an awkward pause as we soak in the fact that Zach almost pulverized a celebrity.
A part of me wanted him to do it too. I’m not going to lie.
“Let’s head back to my place,” Andrew says, breaking the silence. “I’ll set you two up in the guest room. And maybe you two can explain what just happened there. Or not, if it’s personal.”
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to Andrew’s apartment, located just off the center of the city.
Inside, the place isn’t luxurious, but it’s got enough space to spread out. The front living area has a couch, TV, and dining room table, and it connects to the kitchen. Our room has a king-size bed and a sliding door leading to a balcony.
“It’s absolutely perfect!” I smile at him. “Thank you so much.”
He nods, not quite smiling. “Glad you like it.”
The walls feature an interesting array of photographs. Half of them are rural landscapes, and the other half are portraits of people—in prison.
One catches my eye, and I move in closer to it.
“Holy shit,” I say, running my hand over the frame. “Is that . . .”
“Yes, that’s Zach,” Andrew cuts me off. “I took that picture of him a few weeks after he got to my cell. Had to smuggle the camera in, but it was worth it.”
I can’t help but drop my jaw looking at the picture. Zach looks surprisingly young, skinnier, with maybe thirty pounds less muscle, fewer tattoos, and shorter hair.
I glance over at the real Zach, my heart fluttering. “Wow. I mean, you were good looking then. You’ve changed, though.”
Zach shrugs. “Prison tends to do that to a man.”
“If you two need anything, just holler. My room is down the hall. I’m going to crash soon. Your key is on the desk.”
“We won’t be staying long,” Zach interjects. “We’ll find another place.”
Andrew waves a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll love to have some company.” With a half smile, he glances at Zach, then at me.
“Good night, you two. Sweet dreams,” he winks. “Really good to see you, man.”
We unpack the few things we have, and I place the guitar on the portable stand Zach bought. Zach showers first, and I strip down to my bra and panties in our guest bedroom. I’m ready to join Zach in the shower when the door to our room swings open.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Andrew says, immediately putting a hand over his eyes. “Just wanted to bring you some extra towels. Wasn’t sure if you’d packed those. Should have knocked.”
“We didn’t bring towels,” I drawl softly. “We traveled really light.”
Even though he’s covering his eyes, I can tell Andrew’s cheeks are as red as a tomato. “I am so sorry,” he says again. “Good night.”