My lips tip up with a smile. “No, I didn’t. I haven’t been to Venice in...oh, probably three or four years now.”
“Have you been back to California?”
I nod. “Occasionally to visit my family. My parents and sister are still there. Do you spend much time there?”
He lifts a shoulder. “When we’re not on the road, yeah. I actually have a place in Los Angeles.”
“Of course you do,” I murmur.
He raises a brow as if to ask what that’s supposed to mean.
“I suppose it’s right in the heart of things?”
He nods. “Naturally.”
“And you’re not even there to enjoy it.”
I lean on the edge of my desk while he continues to walk around my office like he basically owns it, and he chuckles. “I’d estimate I sleep there at least a third of the time.”
“Where do you sleep the other two-thirds?” I blush as the words leave my mouth since I’m asking about his bed once again.
“The tour bus, hotels...” He seems to trail off as he paces around, and I can’t help but wonder how often he spends the night at some conquest’s house. It’s not my business.
He stops a few inches from me, and his eyes burn into me. “Maybe your place here in Milwaukee,” he finishes.
My heart leaps up into my throat. I open my mouth to say something, but I don’t have the words just yet.
His eyes flick down to my lips as he smiles. “I love that look of shock on your face every time I throw a line at you. I don’t know if I’ll ever get tired of it.”
So was he just kidding, then? I laugh a little awkwardly because I’m not really sure.
“I can’t help but wonder...” he says, trailing off again. He takes another step toward me. I shift back a little so I’m actually sitting on the desk now rather than just leaning against it, but I’m out of room to back up any further.
He closes the last gap between us as he moves to stand between my legs, and a fierce ache presses there as my body reacts to him.
“You can’t help but wonder what?” I ask softly, my voice nearly a moan.
“How shocked you’d be if I kissed you,” he says.
“Why don’t you give it a try?”
His eyes are on my lips, and my breathing seems to get a little heavier.
I’m transported back ten years. I was only sixteen, and I hadn’t gotten my license yet. He offered to drive me home, but my parents were on their way to pick me up after my shift at Carne’s. Tyler was done with his shift, too, and he sat out back with me as we waited for my ride.
He tried to kiss me.
I pushed him away.
I was an idiot.
I won’t be pushing him away this time.
He lowers his head like he’s going to do it, and then a phone jingles. “Fuck,” he whispers, and his mouth is so close to mine that I feel the heat of his breath at his quiet curse. “That’ll be Tommy telling me it’s time.”
“Time?” I ask, and then my sensibilities seem to return. “Oh! Time for the meet and greet! The one I’m supposed to be managing for you!”
He laughs as I scramble to get off my desk and compose myself, a nearly impossible task now that he’s gotten me all worked up.
“How do I get back to the dressing room?” he asks.
“Follow me,” I say, and we race through the halls to get him back to the dressing room. I’m walking at too quick a clip to really make conversation, and once I drop him off, I tell the band, “I’ll go check on the line and come right back to get you.”
As soon as I leave the room and the door closes behind me, I take just a second to lean on the wall and draw in a deep breath.
Okay, so maybe the timing was off with seventeen-year-old Tyler Caldwell and he wasn’t the guy for me, but twenty-seven-year-old Tyler Caldwell might be.
The meet and greet goes surprisingly smoothly, and I suppose that’s part of Patrick’s role—making sure he hires the right people to get the job done even in his absence.
I catch Tyler’s eye more than once, and it’s clear that there’s something passing between us every time we lock eyes. He’s paying me far more attention than he should be considering he’s meeting his fans and working, but that fact doesn’t stop me from reveling in it.
The opening band is on stage and I’m staring down at my clipboard trying to decide which task to tackle next when there’s a knock at my door. It bursts open before I get the chance to open my mouth to tell whoever it is to come in.
“I’m here!” Patrick yells. “The squirrel is taken care of!”
My brows draw together. “Taken care of?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not, like, dead or anything, but animal control came, trapped him, and took him and his stupid nuts away.”
“His stupid nuts?” I repeat, but you know what? I don’t even want to know.
“Where are we at?” he asks instead of expounding on that, and I giggle before I fill him in. “Excellent,” he says once I’m done with the report. “Thank God Kiki isn’t around or she’d see how much more effective you are at my job than I am,” he says, naming the owner of the venue. “Is Christine managing okay?”
I nod.
“Then take the rest of the night off. You deserve it. Head backstage, enjoy the show, or go home.” He leans in and gives me a quick hug. “And thank you for covering for me.”
“You smell like squirrel bait,” I say.
He laughs, and then he practically runs out of my office.
So Patrick’s back.
I have the night off.
Looks like I’ll be able to go to the after party after all.
I thought about knocking on the dressing room door but ultimately decided to leave them alone. Tyler has stuff to do before he takes the stage, and catching up with someone from the past probably doesn’t calculate into that—especially not in those precious minutes between meeting fans and the start of the concert.
He’s made it clear he’s interested, and I’ll let the ball lie in his court. I do, after all, have homefield advantage here. It’s only fair to give him his own advantage.
So rather than knocking on the door, I head to the side of the stage to watch the opening band. I find myself surprisingly captivated by their sound. It’s rare that I have the time to pop backstage during a show to just sit and watch, but this is part of Patrick’s duties to ensure everything is running smoothly.
I’m bobbing my head to the beat, ignoring the hustle and bustle backstage as I focus on the music and the band on stage. Four young men play the hell out of their instruments, and it’s clear they’re playing their hardest to find new fans in the group of people who have gathered here to watch the headliners.
My heart ripples as I think about Tyler.
I let the memories of the past wash over me just like they’ve been doing since I realized who he is, and I can’t help but wonder what his life has been like since I last saw him. I knew he was into music, knew he played bass, but I had no idea he was so serious about it. It seemed like he was just hanging out with his buddies and screwing around—not like he had an actual future in this.