Wrecked (Blind Man's Alibi #1)

by Sarah Grimm

  He smirked.

  “That’s better,” she said, smiling up at him. “Shall we go?”

  “After you.”

  Emma stepped off the bus and froze as the warmth swirled around her. She tipped her face to the sun, inhaled deeply and smiled. “This is fabulous.” The weather in Cleveland had been mid-forties when she left. Much too cool to even consider a trip to the lake, but as the seagulls cried out as they circled above her, she thought about it now. “Lake Charles. I assume it is named after an actual lake?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  She pulled out her phone and Googled it. “Holy shit, we’re not far from the Gulf!” He didn’t comment. “You know, the Gulf of Mexico?”

  “I’ve heard of it, yes.”

  “Can we go?”

  “You can. I’ll even call the car service for you.”

  “But I’d have to go alone.” She had checked the sheet of lies after everyone left that morning and knew the bus pulled out of town tonight. “Is that all you guys do? Arenas, buses, and hotels? What about sunshine and fresh air, the surf and the sand?”

  “A hat and sunscreen,” he added.

  “What?”

  “I recommend you add a hat and sunscreen to your list or you’ll regret it.”

  Damn it, he was right. She would redden like a lobster in a pot of boiling water if she wasn’t careful. “Not all of us were lucky enough to be blessed with beautiful dark skin.”

  He grinned, but kept his eyes on the man walking down the loading dock at their right.

  “Hey, Gary,” the man said.

  “Jim,” Gary replied.

  She cocked her head and studied him for a minute, pondering everything she knew about him, which wasn’t much, and all that she’d seen. There was something off about him. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. “Your name’s not Gary, is it?”

  He miss-stepped, then blamed the concrete incline. “Watch it there.”

  “Is it?”

  “Of course it is. That’s what everyone calls me.”

  “Pfft. I could start calling you Shrek again—”

  “Please don’t.”

  “—you could even begin answering to it. That wouldn’t make it your name.”

  Silence.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “How did you come to the conclusion that Gary isn’t my name?” By this time, they were at the rear entrance to the arena. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open.

  “You don’t look like a Gary.”

  “Not everyone looks like their name.”

  “Of course they do.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  They had yet to walk into the arena. “Look at me.”

  He did.

  “Do I look like an Emma to you?”

  “Actually, you do.”

  Emma smiled.

  Gary frowned, sliding his hand into his back pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, which he handed to her. Taking hold of her elbow, he guided her into the building.

  She blinked at the sudden change from bright sunlight to interior lights, waiting for the spots to clear from her vision before focusing on the paper he’d given her. “This is cool. Do you get a layout of all the venues?”

  They turned to the left and started walking. Emma had to skip to match his steps. Good thing she wasn’t wearing heels.

  “About a week before each show,” he said, slowing his gait. “I’ll make sure you get a copy of each one.”

  “Um, thanks, but…” She turned the map, already lost.

  He straightened the map for her, then pointed. “We are here. We’ll be circling all the way around first, checking to make certain all the doors are as marked—I need to know where to place my team.”

  They were in the oval outside of the actual arena, the area where the restrooms and concession stands were located. It felt much larger than normal since it was empty, and reminded her a little bit of a racetrack. The urge to ride a bike or rollerblade around the place struck, bringing with it a smile. “Why do you have a team if the arena has its own security?”

  Gary lifted his head, his expression incredulous. “Are you always this chatty or am I just lucky?”

  “You’re just lucky.” Her answer didn’t appear to make his day. “I’m also running on little sleep and a whole lot of sugar right now. I inhaled a couple of apple fritters right before you all returned from the interview so…yeah, you’re just lucky.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Forget I asked,” she whispered, enjoying herself.

  “Wait.” They were moving again, circling around the northeast corner of the building, coming up on a bunch of doors according to the map in her hand. He didn’t stop, so he obviously hadn’t meant to literally wait. “Where did you get apple fritters?”

  Then he did stop, frowning down at her. “You didn’t walk somewhere, did you?” The thought must have triggered his protective side because he puffed up a bit and adopted a look that would scare away men twice her size. “Because that wouldn’t be wise—a woman who looks like you, walking around a strange city by herself—that would not be good.”

  “How do I look?”

  His furrow deepened. “Did you run off by yourself this morning?”

  When she didn’t immediately answer, he puffed up even more and, sure enough, one of the arena workers who was coming around the corner took one look at him, turned and headed back the way he’d come.

  Emma burst out laughing. “Did you see that? I think you just made that poor man pee himself.”

  This did not help his mood. “Emma.”

  She grinned. “You need to bring it down a notch. You’re scaring the staff.”

  “But not you?”

  “Nah. I know you’re not a big scary ogre, you just act like one.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Jees, Frank, don’t get your panties in a wad. I didn’t go anywhere by myself, okay? Beth brought them to me, said she thought I might be hungry.”

  His left eye started to twitch.

  She flashed her most innocent smile.

  “I don’t look like a Gary to you, but somehow I look like a Frank?”

  “Now that you mention it, I guess you don’t.”

  He cupped his hand around the back of his neck and muttered. “Give me strength.” He skimmed his hand up the back of his head, over his short hair and down his face. A sigh broke loose. “Here’s the first door. Mark it.”

  She assumed he meant on the map. “How?”

  A red pen appeared in his hand, most likely slipped from one of his many pockets. Taking the map, he marked the door and offered the map and the pen back to her.

  She looked at his chicken scratch. Seemed easy enough. “Got it.”

  And they were off once again.

  Just as he’d stated, when they finished the circling, they moved to the dressing rooms, then into the arena. Emma managed to keep her thoughts to herself for most of it, succeeding in not puffing him back up. Shame, really. It was rather humorous watching people stumble over themselves to get away from him.

  The set was going together. Onstage one man assembled Kirk’s drum kit, pulling each piece out of the storage cases as if he were handling T.N.T. Not surprising, since just behind him and to the right stood the drummer himself, twirling a stick in hand before tapping out a rhythm on one of the speakers. His feet were moving to a different beat. Emma took a moment to stop and stare, absently wondering what song was playing in his head.

  The arena staff was busy setting the rows of folding chairs on the floor, while others placed the temporary fencing around the front and sides of the stage to keep fans from getting at the band or into areas off limits. Some of them tipped their heads in greeting, but most worked without paying attention to anything else around them. Same old, same old, she guessed.

  In the center of it all stood Gary, map in hand, eyes scanning across everything as he jotted down notes. She followed as he circled
the floor, continuously scribbling on the paper. When they returned to the place they’d begun, Emma took a seat in a lower bowl section on the side of the stage.

  She kicked her heels up on the bars separating her section from the floor seating. “You’re ex-military aren’t you?”

  Standing in the aisle next to her, Gary didn’t spare her a glance. “What makes you say that?”

  “The way you look, the way you move—all silent and sneaky like. Those damn pants.”

  He did spare his pants a look. “How do my pants scream ex-military to you?”

  “They just do.”

  He chuffed.

  “You appear relaxed, but you’re always alert and taking in everything around you.”

  “Like I said before, it’s my job.”

  She scooted lower in her seat until she found a comfortable position. It was fun watching everything come together, but she couldn’t imagine doing it day after day. “It’s more than your job, it’s an ingrained part of who you are.”

  Gary didn’t comment.

  His silence spoke volumes. “I thought so. So what were you, Royal Navy? S.A.S.? A merc?”

  His brow went up. “You have quite an imagination.”

  “You have no idea,” she mumbled, stacking her hands on her belly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I’ll create my own backstory for you.”

  “Spare me the details. I’m certain I do not want to know.”

  He had yet to look away from his paper. She flicked the back of it. Nope, not even that got him to look down at her. “What’s the matter big guy, scared?”

  “Terrified.” he replied, sounding as if he meant it.

  Emma laughed. She laughed long and hard. Right up to the moment Kirk slid behind his drum kit. He pressed his feet on the pedals, tapped each drum as if he was testing the tone, and rolled the cymbals. Then he spun his sticks—both of them at the same time—and bam! The sound of his drums poured over the arena, the thump of the bass echoing in her chest.

  She straightened in her seat, feet planted firmly on the floor and watched. Completely enthralled, entranced by the frantic motion of it all, the way each limb seemed to move out of sync with the rest yet the sound he produced was smooth and steady. Sitting at the back of the stage, with Joe before him, she’d honestly never paid too close attention to how he created his sound. Alone onstage, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

  “Emma?” The tone of his voice told her that it wasn’t the first time Gary had said her name.

  “What? Sorry.” His dimple made an appearance and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

  “I’m meeting with the rest of my team. Are you coming along or staying here?”

  Her gaze drifted back to the stage. “Staying.”

  “Give me your phone.”

  Pulling it from her pocket, she passed it to him.

  He pushed a few buttons, his thumbs dancing over the screen with a speed that would make teenage girls envious before handing it back to her. “Get a hold of me if you need anything, okay?”

  He’d added his name to her contacts list. The name everyone called him, at least. “Okay.”

  He moved away on those damn silent feet of his, crossing the arena and disappearing backstage.

  Emma kicked her heels back onto the rail, returned her focus to the stage and settled in to enjoy the show.

  Forty-five minutes later, she was still there when Joe found her. He’d swapped out his long sleeved denim shirt for a short sleeved cotton one. The tee was snug across his shoulders and chest and loose across the abs. He had a dark pair of sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, keeping his hair out of his eyes, and looked so damn sexy walking across the arena, smiling at her, she actually sighed.

  “Here you are.” He stepped over her legs and took the seat next to her. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I helped Gary with his check, then stayed to watch Kirk play the drums.”

  “Kirk was playing?” he asked, raising a brow, gaze landing on the empty drum kit.

  “For about half an hour while the crew built the set. After he finished, I started texting Alison, sending her some of the pictures I’ve taken. She wanted pictures, so…” Emma shrugged. Alison was a big believer of documenting every memory and storing it away so she could pull it back out at a future date and time. Not much about Emma’s recent past was worth documenting so she’d never gotten into the habit.

  “Did you send her any of me?”

  “No.”

  “No?” He shook his head in mock despair. “You wound me, Sunshine.”

  She rolled her eyes and nudged him in the chest. “I don’t have any pictures of you.”

  “No? We’ll have to remedy that then, won’t we?”

  He took her phone from her and held it out selfie-style, leaning into her in order to get them both in the shot. “Smile.”

  His scent—so undefined yet so male—engulfed her and she lost her focus. She was supposed to be looking at the phone in his hand, but instead stared at his mouth as it curved and he flashed her favorite of his smiles—the slightly crooked one that always made her want to remove her clothes. Her skin heated, her heart raced.

  Noting her distraction, Joe turned his head, his gaze slowly sliding over her face. His smile faltered, replaced by a fiery look of desire that stole her breath.

  “Emma,” he said very softly.

  He kissed her, a long, lingering touch of his lips against hers and she sighed. Opening her mouth for him, she invited him in. He licked his tongue across her bottom lip then accepted her invitation, kissing her until they finally had to come up for air.

  Staggered, she murmured the first thing that popped into her head. “Damn.”

  He laughed softly.

  She returned his smile then realized she had the shoulder of his shirt fisted in her hand and was using it to pull him closer. Releasing her hold, she smoothed her fingers across the fabric. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You won’t hear me complaining.” Joe returned his attention to the phone. “So, which one of these should we send her?”

  “What do you mean? Oh my God, you were snapping pictures the whole time?”

  He flashed a wicked, naughty grin, and stopped on one that bordered on being indecent. Heat skittered across her belly. There was no way she could send that to anyone, not even Alison. “No. Not any of those.”

  “Mm…I like this one.”

  Emma reached for the phone and he snatched it away before she could connect, tipping the screen so she could no longer see it. “Joe,” she warned.

  He pushed the button to attach the photo he had chosen to a text, then started typing.

  “Please, don’t.”

  One more button pressed.

  “Shit. Tell me you didn’t.”

  The phone in his pocket chimed. He winked at her. “I didn’t.”

  “You sent it to yourself?” This time when she reached for the phone he let her have it.

  Emma looked down at the screen, at the photo he’d sent himself and smiled. By its place in the timeline, they had just broken the kiss and were pulling away from each other. By shear accident, he had managed to capture them with their lips a bare inch from each other, her hand fisted in his shirt as she stared at him in awe. There was no other way to describe the look on her face. She’d been blown away by his kiss.

  “Your cheeks are turning red,” Joe said softly. “Is that embarrassment or excitement?”

  “A bit of both, I suspect.” When she looked up from the phone, the heat was back in his gaze.

  From somewhere on the arena floor came a loud crash, followed by raised voices. Joe blinked once, twice, then palmed his fly and adjusted his erection, shifting a bit in his seat and clearing his throat. “I don’t need to be thinking about you getting wet while we’re surrounded by hundreds of people.”

  There was so much frustration in his voice, Emma giggled. She was still smiling as she flipped through the photos, d
iscovering a shot of them she could actually share with Alison.

  Joe squirmed again, finally kicking his feet onto the bars in front of them. “So this is what it’s like to be on this side of the stage.”

  “You’ve never sat out in front of the stage before?”

  He shook his head.

  “Have you ever been to a concert where you weren’t the performer?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really? What age were you when Dominic discovered you? How is he, anyway?”

  Joe let out a slow, careful breath and settled a hand on her leg, running his thumb absently back and forth along the inside of her knee. “He’s doing better, thanks for asking.”

  Her cell alerted her to an incoming message. Emma read it and laughed.

  “What did your friend say?”

  She turned the phone so he could read it.

  OMG, Em! He’s so freaking good looking!

  “Freaking?”

  “Al doesn’t swear, at least not in every day conversation. You’d most likely cause her eardrums to explode.” She scrolled through her photos until she found one of her and Alison. “That’s her.”

  “And you.” Using his free hand, he took the phone from her. “I know that outfit.”

  “You should. That was taken the night of your Cleveland concert.”

  With his right hand smoothing up and down her leg, he used his left to sift through the rest of the concert photos. There weren’t many. Finding one he apparently liked, he texted it to himself.

  The phone in his pocket pinged in time with her startled, “Hey.”

  “That’s a good memory. I should have that photo.”

  “My calling you a narcissistic asshole is a good memory for you?”

  His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Maybe not that part but the night overall, yeah.” He slid his hand higher up her thigh.

  Emma inhaled deeply and took hold of his wrist, stopping him from shifting even higher. “Hundreds of people are here with us, remember?” She lifted his arm and draped it across her shoulders instead, linking their fingers.

  Joe tugged her closer. “I was nineteen when Dom found me and the boys playing a pub in Brighton.”

  “Only nineteen?”

  He shrugged. “Is this all the photos you have?”