“Who?” Puzzled, I frowned at him.
“The guitarist in my band.” He shook his head. “The one you stared at the whole time we were performing.”
My heart pounded fast as I remembered the colossus who’d taken the stage and destroyed my equilibrium.
Journey, huh? So that’s his name. Wonder if that’s his real name or just a nickname.
The fascination lingered . . . I hadn’t been able to put him out of my mind. He was the best-looking guy I’d ever seen, but there was something else, something almost familiar about him. It wasn’t only the audience Journey had captivated with his guitar.
“They seem to be having a serious conversation.” The rude Ryan Gosling lookalike snapped his fingers at me, not appreciating my inattention. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an interruption from a cute thing like you. Tequila.” He snapped again like I was his servant or a pet. “Now.”
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath, but I grabbed two Cuervo bottles by the necks. I was a dutiful employee and a good bartender. I’d been bartending steadily for a year, waitressing before that, long enough in both service industry jobs to know how to deal with entitled shits like this guy. I pasted on a neutral expression and followed him, but I squeezed the necks of the tequila, imagining his neck instead.
A few of the Dirt Dogs were hanging out in the hall.
“Hey, Lotus.” Ramon Martinez, the handsome Latino guitarist, lifted a finger and gave me a slow smile. That grin had dropped many a pair of panties in the day—still would, truth be told. But nowadays he was only interested in one woman, his surfer girl.
“Everything okay?” Lincoln asked, raking his blond hair out of his narrowed sea-blue eyes. The Dirt Dogs’ lead singer looked enough like Ash to be his biological brother rather than just his adopted cousin. He seemed to disapprove of my companion.
Good to know I’m not the only one.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” I lifted the bottles. “Just taking some booze that’s been requested to the Skulls’s dressing room.”
“Not sure Ash would want you making a delivery like that alone.” Linc’s disapproving gaze narrowed more.
“I’ll go with her.” Diesel Le, the ex pro surfer turned Dirt Dogs’ bassist, pushed away from the opposite wall where he’d been leaning and rapid texting. Likely sending a message to Hollie, his celebrity fiancée. Fanny’s sister was on location doing a film in Brazil.
“Thanks, Diesel.” I lifted my chin in greeting.
He stepped beside me. “No problem.”
I followed the Black Skulls’ drummer, who led the way. He turned the corner just before the end of the hall, and I did too. He kept going, but unlike him, I stopped. Journey stood directly in front of me, talking to Ash. Both men turned their heads to look at me.
My gaze and my suddenly mushy brain swept all but the one aside.
Twice in one evening, looking at Journey made me dizzy and brought all my forward momentum to a complete halt. I took all of him in like I had from my vantage point in the pit. And even a second time, it took me a while.
There was a lot of Journey to take in.
He wore the same clothing he’d had on earlier—black muscle tee, silver wallet chain in a long loop over his muscular denim-clad thigh, and scuffed black boots. But somehow he seemed bigger now, more imposing than before.
When his eyes locked on mine, my mouth went completely dry.
“Hey, Ash,” Diesel said to his bandmate, placing his hand on my shoulder.
The contact startled me. Not because his touch was unpleasant. I knew Diesel from the work I did, taking care of the plants at the studio and from bartending at the Deck Bar, which was the band’s favorite hangout.
“Lotus got a request to deliver booze to the Skulls. That okay with you?”
“Hell no,” Ash said, frowning at me. “Hold up, okay?”
“Sure.” I nodded, and he returned his attention to Journey.
“Think over what I said.” The creases at the outer edges of Ash’s eyes deepened. “You know it’s business, but I’m also speaking truth I believe in my heart.” He thumped his chest. He was in an OB tank and board shorts post-performance, his hair slicked back from a quick shower. Like Journey, his arms were pure muscle.
“Respect that.” Journey lifted his chin. A light brown glossy curl that had been hanging over his right eye slid back over his ear. He had two piercings in the lobe on that side, a silver hoop and a plain stud.
“You have my number.” Ash clapped Journey on the back. “I’ll be waiting to hear back from you.”
I tilted my head. It seemed like they knew each other well.
“Sounds good.” Journey pounded Ash’s back companionably.
My stomach pitched as his speaking voice resonated deep within me. A rich baritone like his singing voice, it made my mind spiral round and round with hot, sensual thoughts I didn’t usually indulge in.
“What exactly did the Skulls request?” Ash turned toward me, and so did Journey.
Gosh, he’s pretty.
“So, they, um . . .” I trailed off, losing higher brain and speech function with him looking at me.
“You look unsteady,” Journey said low, stretching out his arm. Bracelets, a leather braided one and a chunky silver link one, dangled from his wrist. “Let me take those heavy bottles off your hands.”
“What?” Dazed, I just stared. Every inch of the skin on his arm, from bulging bicep to thick wrist, was covered in colorful tattoos. Even his knuckles were tattooed.
His sculpted lips slowly curved. “I’ll deliver that alcohol to the band for you.”
I swallowed to moisten my throat. It’s hot in here. Isn’t it hot in here?
Journey reached for and removed the bottles from my hands. His touch shot electrical current straight up my arm.
“Uh, thanks,” I managed to say, rocking where I stood, even though I wore my sensible work shoes.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” His voice rumbled in amusement, and his eyes twinkled. They were a rich earthy brown with a sprinkle of vibrant green.
“You ready to close down the VIP room?” Ash asked, and my gaze reluctantly shifted to him.
“Yes, of course,” I said with a nod.
“Good. I’m beat, and I’m sure you are too.” He threw his arm around me, and Diesel moved to my other side.
Flanked by the Dirt Dogs, I retraced my previous steps, but somehow everything was different from before. Plus, I knew Journey was watching me. I could feel the intensity of his gaze, boring holes into the skin between my shoulder blades.
As we turned the corner, the intensity dissipated, and I managed a couple of easier breaths. At the event room, Ash pushed the door open, holding it for me. I stepped through.
“Surprise!”
“Happy birthday!”
I jumped as roadies and a couple of studio musicians I knew stepped forward. Linc and Ramon were in front of everyone, carrying a huge cake between them, the candles lit.
I frowned at Ash. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
“Wanted to. We appreciate you.” He grinned as he tucked an envelope into a pocket of my bartending apron. “Birthday bonus. There’s a little something extra in there from all the Dogs.”