Mitch shrugged. “She needs fun. And maybe you are a good kid. I’m still not entirely sure about that, but I’ve got to make quick judgments about people in this business. You don’t set off bells. That half-naked all the time lead singer you have—he’d get his nuts fed to him if he went near her.”
“You sure like to threaten the boys.”
Mitchell shrugged. “A punch is easy to take. A swipe at the jewels will make you cry like a baby.”
“Fair enough.” Deacon sighed. “Simon’s a good guy.”
“That kid has one thing on his mind.”
The urge to defend Simon was strong, but he swallowed it down.
“If Simon got near her, I’d tear his hair out by the roots. But Harper can take care of herself, so I don’t need to worry about it,” Deacon said.
Mitch studied him for another beat and then put the truck back into gear without a word. They bounced over a few more cracked roadways until they came to a narrow opening that was more alleyway than street. Pop-up tents lined the street and greens, fruit, and flowers spilled from overburdened collapsible tables.
He slid out of the truck and motored to the back as if he didn’t weigh in at three-hundred and fifty pounds. “C’mon kid. Time to earn your ride.”
Deacon clattered down, stashing his bag deep into the footspace of the truck. Mitch handed him a huge plastic tub with rope handles.
With every minute that Deacon hustled after him, there was another five pounds of produce added to his bucket. Tomatoes and potatoes, green beans, kale, and collard greens, the silky tufts of corn rode the overflowing bushel. And when they were done with one, he was sent back to the truck for another.
Being Mitch’s slave labor for an hour seemed to have put the older man in good spirits. They rumbled over a few more dodgy streets until they were finally spit out into the guts and glory of Broadway. Deacon leaned forward, well aware he looked like a tourist as he soaked in the neon and heavy foot traffic. High summer in Nashville meant vacations and people spending their hard earned dollars.
Mitch stopped in front of a tiny, dingy storefront with a surprisingly sparkling counter and window. “Start there.”
Deacon grabbed his knapsack. “DeLuca’s?”
“Yep. May not look like much, but if you like hot and barbecue then that’s your place.”
His mouth watering before he even opened the door, Deacon hopped out. “Thanks, man.”
“And just how are you getting back to the venue?”
Deacon shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”
Mitch shook his head. “A bunch of the waitstaff is going to The Honky Tonk around nine. They have live music until the wee hours of the morning for you crazy kids.”
“Well if I don’t get into too much trouble that’s where I’ll land.” How could he not go to something called the Honky Tonk in the middle of freaking Nashville? “Thanks again.”
“I appreciate your back and your help today. But no matter how big you are I’ll tie an old amp to your back and drop you in the nearest lake or river if you fuck over my niece.”
Deacon tried not to smile as Mitchell chirped his tires as he pulled out into traffic. He was glad Harper had family that cared enough to face arrest for manslaughter charges. His own family had lost interest him a long time ago. He juggled his phone out of the bottom of his bag and decided to play with twitter.
Hey tweeple. I’m on Broadway in Nashville. Want to have BBQ w/me? Find me at DeLuca’s in the next 15. - D
He wasn’t sure the shout-out would amount to anything, but he hated to eat alone. So why the fuck not? He moved up to the counter and smiled. “I’m from California and need to be schooled in Tennessee barbecue.”
The thick-necked man with a wide ginger beard smiled and rubbed his hands. “You have come to the right place.”
“So I’m told. Feed me—and I can eat a lot.”
Five minutes later he had a huge plate of brisket, ribs, slaw, potato salad, and a sweet tea.
“Oh my God, he really is here.”
Deacon turned to the excited voices of two women and one bored, lanky teenage boy. “Hey there.”
“You’re really you!” The twenty-year-old girl with wild, black, Dolly Parton-sized hair came forward. Her lips were glossed in red to match her skin-tight red tank top. Jeans, kidney-constricting tight, encased long legs that ended in well-worn boots.
“I’m really me,” he said with a laugh.
A woman, slightly older, but with the same western I-come-from-Boobtown style came forward. “I’m Jamie Ray and this is my daughter, Dina and my son, Jack.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Deacon set his burden down and reached out to shake hands. “You’re quick.”
Dina pulled out her phone. “I couldn’t believe when I read that tweet. I have Jazz and all of y’all up in a special feed on my Twitter account. God bless iPhones. I was waiting for the scavenger hunt information, and there you were.”
“Yeah, Jazz is doing the scavenger hunt stuff tomorrow morning.”
“Oh yeah, I know. Me and my mama, we know Jazz can give out extra clues if you’re patient. Right, Mama?”
“Right, baby girl.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Can I have some money? At least I can eat while you two drool.”
Deacon hid a smile behind his cup as he took a swig of his tea.
Jamie Ray pulled a twenty out of her equally skin tight black jeans. “Bring us back a tea, baby. You want food, Dina?”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t eat in front of him,” she said in a whisper that the entire eatery could hear.
Deacon leaned forward. “So, tell me girls. Are you coming to the show tomorrow night?”
“Of course!”
With that opening, they let loose. Deacon nodded and laughed. He loved the one-on-one with fans. As they ate, another three guys and two high school-aged girls came. He spent the better part of the next two hours visiting with fans as the crowd grew and they took over the patio.
Tea and truly amazing deep fried ice cream was passed out to everyone. When he finally stood to leave, he heard a chorus of awws and an army of phones came out. Another thirty minutes for pictures, autographs, and red-smeared lip-locks from Jamie Ray and her daughter Dina, and he finally got out of there.
When a few of them followed him out to Broadway, he used his sizable stride to lose them in the crowd. He spent the afternoon ducking into bars to hear random musicians play and enjoy the local breweries.
He drooled his way through a guitar shop and did the touristy thing with pictures at the statuary that lined the streets. He found a small park that was nearly deserted and scribbled down a few thoughts for songs as well as lyrics. After he added a few pictures to the band Instagram, he looked up the Honky Tonk. It was only a few blocks from him.
But he had an hour to kill, at least. And for once, he was alone. No one had to be wrangled, no interviews, no soundcheck, just blessed quiet. He tucked his bag behind his back and leaned back on the tree and let the sun bake him into a sweet little nap.
CHAPTER SEVEN
August 18, 8:30 PM - Dancin' Shoes and Tattoos
Harper leaned on the wide railing that overlooked the dance floor of Honky Tonk Central. The sweet scent of barbecue and the briny blast of grease laden fries made her belly grumble. They’d made their order thirty minutes ago, but the place was packed. Wall to wall people in a mix of western gear and Friday night please-guess-my-cup-size shirts danced or lingered around the bar.
“Yo, Harper!”
She turned to Marie and Gina, a few of the support staff from Food Riot. Gina fluffed her pixie cut of blonde hair. “That cute waiter is heading our way with food.”
“Finally.” She perched on the end of the cube-shaped leather club chair.
“Sorry it took so long, ladies.” The lanky waiter flashed a smile. The dim light up on the balcony sections of the restaurant couldn’t mask the way his bright blue eyes twinkled. There was a light breeze from outside that
attempted to cut the humidity—special emphasis on attempted.
Funky tables and chairs made for a mash-up of homey and eclectic in their area. Max, their flirty waiter, set his tray down near Harper. He smiled down at her, a dimple flashing.
Instead of the charm he was trying to convey, all he did was remind her of another man with deeper dimples. When the hell did she start preferring green eyes over blue?
Harper Lee, you are sitting in a pile of trouble.
Shaking off the gloom, she accepted the huge blue plate of chicken fried chicken, extra cheesy mac and cheese, and red skinned mashed potatoes.
“Food I didn’t have to cook.” She sighed.
“This place is crazy. I didn’t think I’d find anyone I knew.”
Harper shut her eyes. Oh, God, no way. It couldn’t be him. Taking a deep breath, she looked up. What the hell was he doing here? Deacon loomed over her, his insane height making her very aware of just how tiny she was on the stupid chair that was barely a foot off the floor. And his dimples were a million times more potent than Max’s, dammit.
Max turned. “Hey, man. I didn’t know they had another person in their party. Can I get you something?”
“We don’t,” Harper said quickly. “He’s not with us.”
“Oh, okay.” Max looked from Gina to Marie and back to her. “This guy bothering you?”
Deacon smiled amiably. “Party crasher, that’s me. You girls don’t mind, right?”
“I don’t,” Marie said with her usual quick friendliness. “You guys don’t right?” Gina shook her head and moved over on the couch. Harper swallowed a growl.
Lanky Max seemed tall, fit, and delicious without Deacon in the room, but now he seemed more like a boy. Dense muscle and another four inches of powerful fuck-me-running hotness put waiter firmly in last place in the hotness factor. Add in the little bit more than scruff decorating Deacon’s strong jawline that lent him a slightly dangerous edge and she could hear her heartbeat between her ears.
Or was that her thighs?
He always looked a little morning after, but now he was the definition of sun-rumpled. Tan and delicious.
No. Not delicious.
“Whatever dark beer you’ve got,” Deacon said with a smile.
His deep voice dragged her back to the moment and she turned away to study her plate instead. That was delicious, not Deacon.
“You got it.” Max backed out of their little corner of the balcony section. “I’ll be right back if you need anything.”
Deacon shifted his battered knapsack from his shoulder to the floor next to the couch. “Mitch told me you guys would be here.”
“Mitch?” That little shit. And since when did he sic a guy on her? Usually he was ready to beat them with a cast iron skillet or with his plate-sized hands.
“Yeah. He took me into town with him today. This area is awesome.”
Deacon moved next to her, and then, before she could say a damn word, he straddled the chair and cozied up behind her. The wall of beach-scented heat that rolled forward enveloped her as surely as if it had been his arms.
“What d’ya got there?”
She tried to scoot forward to give him room, but she was already at the edge. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back. “Easy there.”
His fingertips grazed her ribs. She closed her eyes. Do not moan, Harper Lee. With her eyes closed, all she could focus on were the little circles he was making. Was he doing that on purpose? “There are other chairs, you know.”
“I like this one,” he said low in her ear.
Her eyes fluttered open, and the room seemed too loud and invasive. All she wanted to do was curl back into him.
When he snaked his other arm through and broke off a piece of her chicken, she instinctively jammed her elbow into his gut. His rock-hard, crazy-muscled gut. He popped the piece into his mouth. Spell broken, the food thief was back.
“Oh, wow. That’s good.” When he reached around her for another piece, she slapped his hand.
“I ordered this for myself, big guy. I’m not feeding you.” There. She even sounded normal. So, her voice might be an octave or two lower. No one could tell with all the noise.
“C’mon. I’ll order another plate.” The teasing rumble of his voice skittered down her neck and zeroed in on her nipples. Thank you, Wonder Bra and the little bit of extra padding. Because her little tank definitely wouldn’t hide her reaction.
“We share this one, and we can share mine.” He leaned forward, crowding her again, and snagged the menu off the table. “Maybe.” He sat back, absently brushing her hair over her shoulder and played with the ends. His cargo clad thighs hugged her.
All very normal. It was as if he’d sat with her like this a million times. She tried to keep herself stiff and away from him, but the tiny pulls on her hair melted her spine like butter on warm bread. She cut up her chicken and potatoes, instinctively making sure to make larger pieces for him.
God, what was she doing?
She was not feeding this man again. This was her night off. She was feeding herself, and that was all there was to it. This man was not going to make her any more insane. Nope. No.
She wouldn’t allow it. She set her plate down and was just about to move to the chair opposite when a couple wandered in and snagged it. And of course, it was the last chair. The guy sat first and dumped his girlfriend into his lap with a laugh. And then they proceeded to make out like the end of the world was nigh.
Craptastic.
Deacon slid his arm under hers and filched another piece of chicken. The low groan in her ear was just too much. Before she could try and move again, Max came back with his beer. Deacon looked up at their waiter.
“How about the sampler platter for the lot of us and I’ll have the biggest burger you’ve got.”
“Great choice.” Max winked at Gina and swiped up the empties that littered the table.
“So what did you guys do with your day off?”
Gina turned to him. “We went shopping downtown. I have to confess I saw your tweet earlier and almost came to the barbecue place.”
Deacon shifted behind her, settling his arms on her thighs, his large hands cupping her knees. “Oh, you should have. A bunch of people were there.”
“How many were dolled up like they were going to a show?” Marie teased.
“Well, there was this crazy mother-daughter team there.”
Harper stiffened. He’d spent the afternoon with a bunch of groupies, and now he thought he could paw at her. No, sir.
“But for the most part, it was people that just wanted to hang out. Which is the way I like it.”
“I bet.”
“Why Chef Pruitt, you sound a little jealous.” He dragged his palms up and down her thighs. The warm, light abrasion made her skin sizzle to life. A-freaking-gain. What was it with this man and his easy touches? Was he just a touchy-feely sort? He did seem to be easy with his bandmates.
“Not at all.” She cleared the 1-900 out of her voice. “Just typical, that’s all.”
His fingertips dug into her thighs. “I told you, Harper. I’m anything but typical. It’s a shame you keep trying to box me into these little ideas you have about musicians. Just makes me want to prove you wrong all the more.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Is that what this is? You trying to prove something?”
“Um. I think we’re going to go get a drink,” Marie said and stood.
“We are? But he said he was coming right back with dri—”
Marie grabbed Gina’s hand and hauled her off the couch with a meaningful look that was about as delicate as a shovel to the forehead. “Let’s go find the hot waiter.”
“Oh.” Gina looked from Deacon to Harper and her eyebrow winged up into her bangs. “You know what? That’s a great idea.”
“No, you guys—” Harper tried to stand, but Deacon held her down with just the lightest of pressure.
“You just have fun with Deacon. We�
�ll be back.” Marie chirped with a huge grin. “I’m really thirsty. Too thirsty to wait for him.” They both stood and before they got to the stairs, two people filled their spots on the couch.
“My friends are sitting there.”
The two girls shrugged. “We’ll move when they get back.”
Harper sagged back against Deacon and at the warm feel of his chest she pokered back up. It was way too easy to lean back into him. He was invading her space left and right and she didn’t like it, dammit.
She set her plate on the table in front of her and wriggled out of his hold. Deacon braceleted her wrist with his long fingers. “Harper, wait.”
“No, I need to move. My butt’s asleep.”
He sat forward and slid an arm around her waist, drawing her around until she faced him. “What exactly are you afraid of?”
She had the strongest urge to push his hair back from his face and see if it was soft as it looked. It would be so easy to reach out and find out if his scruff was prickly, so easy to lose herself in him.
Even seated he was merely a few inches shorter than she was standing. And his shoulders completely eclipsed the small chair. Hell, they practically eclipsed the entire railing.
“Harper?”
She closed her eyes, blocking out everything about him. If she could just step back and get out of the Deacon blast zone then she’d be okay again. She tried to step back. She really did. She got far enough away that his heat didn’t permeate the air between them.
But then his hand slid along her back. Correction, his hand spanned the entire width of her lower back, and his pinkie curled under the baby doll tank she was wearing. She couldn’t stop the groan this time. And it was all he needed to drag her down.
She pressed her knee into the space she’d been sitting in and bumped the impressive bulge behind his zipper. Fingers lost their willpower—okay, so they didn’t really have a mind of their own, but they may as well have, because they found their way into his hair and curved along the surface of his neck until she was close enough that her chest brushed his.
He enveloped her. Those impressive forearms gathered her into the wall of muscle that was Deacon, and she finally owned up to the fact that she didn’t want to step back. She wanted to melt into him.
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