“Stay cool, tiger.” Lucas follows my gaze. “Let her come to you.”
“Fuck that,” I mutter, and push away from the bar, weaving through the crowded venue like a man on a mission. Because that’s what I am. The thought of anyone else approaching her or delaying this opportunity spurs my feet forward. Hell, I’m surprised I don’t run.
Her gaze, searching the room, collides with mine and I’m struck once again with a feeling and force I don’t recognize. She steals the breath from my lungs. Makes my legs weak. She’s the muse I can’t wait to write songs about.
“Hey.” I smile, full and unabashed. “You came.”
“I missed you, didn’t I?” she says with contrition in both her voice and expression. She nods to the stage as the lights flicker and lower—the sign the next act is on shortly.
The crowd goes wild—much louder than for us, but I don’t take it personally. The band on stage is originally from San Diego and their hardcore fans made the trip to be here. The only problem is I can’t talk to Simone—not unless I want to shout into her ear—and it’s about to get a whole lot louder.
“You wanna get out of here?”
Fans scream. Drums beat and an electric guitar wails with the opening chords. My eardrums prick with discomfort.
“I just got here.” She laughs, clutching her jacket in her hands but nods anyway. “Okay.”
We turn toward the exit and I place my hand at the small of her back. My fingers buzz at the heat of her body, itching for something more than gentleman-like. Outside the venue, a haze of smoke mingles with the night air. People mill around, inhaling cigarettes and chatting with friends.
“You smoke?” I ask, even though I already guess the answer.
“No. You?”
“Only weed.”
“Oh.” She bites at her lower lip and glances away, nerves apparent in the stiffness of her shoulders.
“Not that I’m planning on getting high right now.”
“Good. I mean, that’s cool if you want to.” She shrugs. “I’m just not really . . . it’s not my scene.”
“Want to grab a drink instead?”
“Oh, I can’t.” She must notice the furrow to my brow. “I mean, I’m not twenty-one yet.”
“Oh. Shit.” Fuck. She looks about my age. Maybe a little younger, but if she’s in high school, I might actually die of embarrassment. “How old are you exactly?”
“Twenty.” She laughs at the relief in my features, no doubt following my train of thought. “Don’t worry, I’m not jailbait.”
I give her body a long pursual. Her top is fitted to the curves of her small breasts, and the hem is short enough to show off a few inches of skin above the waistband of her jeans. Creamy skin teasing and tempting for more. “Thank fuck for that.”
A blush travels up her cheeks.
“How about coffee instead?”
She exhales, her shoulders loosening with apparent nerves. She offers me a grin. “I’d like that. There’s a place down the street.” She points and we begin walking.
“Did you drive?”
“No, a friend dropped me off.”
“Jenn?” I’m surprised she came alone. Glad she did. But women tend to flock together.
“One of my co-workers, actually. I wait tables at a steakhouse.” She crinkles her nose. “God, I probably smell like baked potatoes.”
I laugh and take the excuse to lean a little closer. I inhale and catch the scent of her perfume. A flowery mix that reminds me of wildflowers. “Nope. You’re good.” More than good. I wish I could bury my hands in her hair, pull her close, and taste her lips. But chances of that happening are slim to none. Not with me leaving tomorrow. A woman like Simone isn’t a groupie. She’s not the type who’s down for a quick fuck. I’ve met those women before. Simone’s the person you get to know, falling deeper with each conversation—and evoking all kinds of feelings until they’re so strong taking it to the next level becomes as necessary as breathing. It’s partially why I’m so drawn to her. It’s why I can’t walk away even though it’d probably be the easier path.
“Sorry I missed you play. I wanted to see the show; it’s just I couldn’t ditch work and things got crazy during my shift. I bounced as soon as I could.”
“It’s okay.” Sure, I would have liked for her to see us play, but this is better. “I’m glad you’re here now.”
“Me too.” She bites back a smile.
We come to a late night diner and I pull open the door for her. Stepping inside, it’s apparent this place is a post-party hangout for locals. The small space is loud, filled with rowdy patrons, and not at all conducive to intimate conversation.
“Come on.” She catches my attention and we walk through the restaurant and around the corner to a table for two tucked behind the chaos. It’s nearly hidden from the front room, closer to the emergency exit, and absolutely perfect.
She slides into the chair opposite of mine and waves at a passing waitress.
“You brought a friend today,” the older woman exclaims, her arms piled with plates of food. “Y’all need menus?”
“Just coffee for now,” Simone says before settling her gaze back on mine. “I hope this is okay.”
“It’s great.” I prop my elbows on the tabletop and lean forward. My fingers itch to reach across the table to touch her, which is irrational because she’s not mine and we’ve just met. I press them together and rest my chin on them. “You’re like a local celebrity.”
“Hardly,” she says on a laugh. “I come here to study sometimes. This is unofficially my table.”
“Ah-ha. Local celebrity.” I delight at her smile. “So, what are you studying?”
“Accounting.”
“That’s . . .” Surprising. Not what I would have expected.
“Boring.” She rolls her eyes. “I know.”
“No.” Yes. “I’m sure there’s something you love about balancing numbers that makes it redeeming.”
Her lips twist, as if she’s holding back an amused grin. “I like my expected starting salary.” She shrugs. “I’ll always have a job and be able to support myself. It might not be the most passionate of degrees, but it’s practical.”
“I have never met a sexy accountant, but in all fairness, I don’t know any CPAs other than the old dude my parents hire.” I tease, eating up the way her eyes twinkle with delight. “Thanks for breaking stereotypes and blowing my mind, Simone. I’ll never look at profit-and-loss statements the same again.” Not without thinking of her.
She leans forward on the table, lowering her voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”
I nod, loving the playfulness on her features.
“I’ve still got two years of classes before I graduate, so don’t judge me.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t know how to do my own taxes.” She winces, but she’s also biting back a smile.
I tilt my head back and laugh.
“Hey.” She tries to glare. “It’s not my fault. I’ve never made enough to file.”