My gaze skips across the table to Chaser whose firm expression is hard to interpret. Mallory seems more entertained—a slight flicker of amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. Rooster’s flat expression just seems bored.
It’s impossible to return to our conversation while she’s praising Dawson. The woman’s gaze keeps straying to the empty chair next to him. Please don’t invite her to join us.
Mallory leans over and whispers something in her husband’s ear. He flicks his gaze toward the ceiling and laughs, shaking his head.
Rooster leans toward them. “This happen to you back in the day?” It’s not clear if he’s directing the question to Chaser or Mallory but Mallory’s the one who answers.
She leans over the table, demurely pressing her hand to her chest to stop her blouse from gapping. “I was just saying to Chaser—well, when I first met him, it was a whole different world on the Sunset Strip. Girls used to walk up to his band and crawl under the table to blow them, not even caring who was around—”
Chaser pinches the bridge of his nose as if it’s a story he’d prefer stay buried in the past. Personally, I hope she continues.
“His bandmates. Not Chaser,” Mallory amends her story. “I would’ve whapped one of them with my stiletto.”
Chaser falls back against his chair laughing and wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I’m not so sure about that. You were pretty timid back then.”
“Not that timid,” she grumbles. “Well, maybe a little. I was shocked. I’d never seen anyone behave that way before.”
Rooster chuckles. “So, obviously you didn’t grow up around an MC.”
Chaser barks out a laugh and punches Rooster’s shoulder. “Not helping.”
“Anyway,” Mallory says, drawing out the word to recapture their attention. “I was saying,” she lowers her voice, “I hope she’s not planning to crawl under the table, because that would be awkward for all of us.”
I burst into giggles imagining the scenario. “Got that right.”
“Today, photos or video of something like that would end up online within seconds,” Rooster says.
“True.” Mallory nods. “We say that all the time—thank God social media wasn’t around back then. Things would’ve been even worse than they were.”
“Thanks for stoppin’ by, sugar,” Dawson’s voice rises above our conversation, the dismissal in his tone clear. “We’re havin’ a business dinner here and I need to get back to it.”
“Oh. Sure. Sorry.” She flaps her hand at the rest of us, turns on her heel and trots away.
“Sorry about that.” It’s hard to tell under the crappy lights but Dawson’s cheeks seem red. “That doesn’t usually happen here.”
“Incoming,” Chaser warns.
The blonde returns, dropping a card with a number on it in front of Dawson. “Call me,” she coos against his ear before prancing off again.
Chaser’s staring down at the table, shaking with laughter. “I feel like we’re holding you back, man.”
Mallory elbows him.
“For fuck’s sake.” Dawson rips the card into little pieces and deposits it in the middle of the table. “After all that shit with Glenna, that’s the last damn thing I need,” he mutters.
Something caustic like, “yeah, poor woman will probably end up in some stalker’s basement if Glenna sees you with her,” threatens to trip off my tongue. But that’s rude as hell and unfair, so I keep my lips zipped shut.
“So.” Dawson claps his big hands together. “If we can talk about anything else, that would be great.”
Mallory blinks. “How’d it go in the studio today?”
“Excellent question.” Dawson grins. “Shelby and your husband very kindly pointed out that I’m desperately in need of unique ideas.”
Ice-cold fear sweeps through my belly. I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut earlier.
Chaser bursts out laughing. Sure, he can afford to laugh. He’s mostly retired from the music business and couldn’t give a shit about pissing off Dawson Roads.
“Relax, Shelby.” Dawson pats my back. “I ain’t mad.”
Yeah right. Sounds exactly like what someone in Dawson’s position would say right before pulling the plug on my budding career.
Although, if he were mad, he wouldn’t be taking me out to dinner and introducing me to producers, right? Maybe he actually respects my opinion?
“Kindly, huh? Are you sure that was my husband?” Mallory teases. “He usually offers his opinions in a much more…shall we say, blunt, manner.”
Chaser smirks but doesn’t deny his wife’s claim.
Rooster ducks his head and snickers into his hand.
Guess it’s my turn to elbow my man.
“That was the gist of it.” Dawson’s gaze darts between Chaser and me. “I’ve read reviews from my last two albums. And hell, nothing could be worse than Colby Blue ranting on national radio about how my last album made him want to puke every time he heard it.”
Ouch. I remember that interview. One of country’s rising stars attacking country’s biggest superstar. It had been ugly as hell.
“Fuck that guy,” Chaser says. “Talk about unoriginal.”
“Yeah, why’s he listening to it so many times if he hates it so much?” I point out. “Anyone with some gray matter between their ears could tell he was using your name to get some attention for himself.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. Appreciate that.” Dawson shines a big ol’ smile on me. “Anyway, y’all said it much nicer than anyone else has. Why do you think I was so adamant about working with you, Chaser?”
“And my family appreciates your dogged determination.” Chaser holds up his glass to toast Dawson.
I take that to mean Dawson threw a buttload of cash at Chaser to entice him to Nashville.
Hmm, maybe I’m in the wrong end of the music business?
I listen to them banter back and forth about Dawson’s early days in the industry. His experience has been quite different from mine. And Chaser’s stories, well, the business has certainly changed a lot. I focus on my steak and try to absorb whatever information I can from their conversation.
“So, how y’all know each other?” Dawson wags a finger between Chaser and Rooster. “Outlaw clubs allow their members to mingle with rival club members?”
Holy moly.
Obviously, Dawson’s aware Rooster’s in an MC but he’s never asked such a direct question about it before that I know of.
Chaser shifts his gaze to Rooster. “Jesus, you probably weren’t even born yet when our clubs started working together.”
Rooster shrugs. “Demons have been friends of my club as long as I can remember. Especially in New York.”
“Wasn’t always that way, but my dad put a lot of effort into building relationships with other clubs. Lost Kings were always the most receptive and reliable.” Chaser cocks his head. “You don’t remember Grinder, do you?”
“I know him,” Rooster says. “Z sent me to visit him not that long ago.”
“How’s he doing?” Mallory bites her lip. “I was hoping he’d be out soon. Rock says the parole board’s screwed him a few times.”