by Cari Quinn
The notoriously drunk part was neither here nor there.
“No way, buster. You aren’t leaving just as soon as you arrived. Too bad. You’ll just have to make your suit work.” Lo wrinkled her nose and tugged on Ethan’s tie. “Seriously? Couldn’t you have at least ditched the vest?”
“I was at a professional event. But give me a minute.” Bypassing her, he went over to the blanket where Mal was camped out beside Lo’s bright pink backpack. She’d been carrying that old thing around forever and Ethan must’ve recognized it.
He quickly shed his trench coat, suit jacket, and the vest beneath—true, it was unseasonably chilly for July, but not that much—and made a tidy pile of clothes on the blanket. Then he efficiently rolled up his sleeves, baring surprisingly ropey forearms, and glanced at Molly again.
His focus on her was so complete that he didn’t pay attention as West dug another blue bottle out of Lo’s backpack and pushed it into Ethan’s hand. He took a drink, still watching Molly, and started to choke. The sound startled her out of her dance trance, and she frowned, her quizzical expression almost comical.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked in lieu of a welcome.
“I told everyone he was coming.” Lo tugged on Ethan’s sleeve, and he rolled it up again without looking at her.
“You smell like you fell into a vat of something,” he said, still staring at Molly. “Now that I’ve tasted this…stuff,” he paused, shaking the bottle. “I see why your breath is one hundred proof.”
“Moonshine. Isn’t it amazing? The buzz is just incredible.” Lo took a hit off Ethan’s bottle and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “So glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” he said, taking another drink while he watched Molly. Interestingly enough, she was watching him right back.
“I give them one in two odds that they fuck before the night is over.”
Denver startled at the warm, rich voice in her ear. Ryan pressed a cold cup of beer against her upper arm and she shivered, both from the cold and his statement.
Anytime he said fuck in her presence, her panties incinerated. How had she missed the power of his criminally sexy voice before they’d hooked up?
“You and your odds,” she replied, accepting the beer and taking a quick, bracing sip. It went down her dry throat like liquid gold. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Mark my words. They’re circling. In about two minutes, he’s going to slide his way over to her, all casual like, and ask her something stupid. Like, do you like country music? Or are your nipples hard from the breeze or are you just happy to see me?”
Denver snorted. “He seems a little smoother than that.”
“Let me clue you into something—a guy who has spotted the woman he wants isn’t smooth. If he can keep his game up that well, he’s not that into her or his dick hasn’t taken over yet.” Ryan was still speaking directly into her ear, his words only broken by an occasional sip of his beer. She was standing at high alert herself, watching Molly and Ethan, aware of Ryan standing close at her back, the heavy column in his jeans just a hint away from her ass.
If this show didn’t start soon, she wasn’t entirely sure Molly and Ethan would be the only ones fucking. If they did.
“But Molly though?” Denver asked, turning her head so only Ry could hear her. “She’s so not into sex.”
“Neither were you, if anyone believed your facade.” Ryan gripped her hip, his fingers pressing into soft skin. “Even I did for a while.”
“You didn’t think about me and sex. C’mon.”
“I couldn’t think about you and sex, because I wouldn’t have been able to think about anything else.”
A scrape of equipment onstage and the lowering of the lights around the grandstand made Denver suck down another sip of her beer. Thank God. She needed a distraction, and not the one currently pressed against her lower back as Ryan drew her into his arms. He didn’t seem capable of letting her go for a second.
She wished she didn’t like that quite so much.
Elle whistled beside them as blue, pink, and green lights popped on and a lone guy in a cowboy hat, flannel, and jeans came out, toting his guitar and a bottle of whisky. Flynn was starting the party off right. He took a deep swig and held up the bottle. “Y’all ready to let loose tonight?”
“Hell yeah!” Lo screamed on Elle’s other side, moving over to let Michael and West in between her and Elle. Denver couldn’t see what was happening that clearly because it was dark and there were too many bodies pressed together, but West’s head came down close to Lo’s neck, and it wasn’t hard to guess what direction they would be headed in soon too.
“Sucks to not be part of a couple with all these pheromones flying around,” Elle said to Denver, who tried to look sympathetic despite the fact that Ryan’s hand was now sliding under the hem of her jersey to toy with the button on her jeans.
Denver guzzled her beer as the rest of Flynn’s band took their spots onstage and launched into his biggest hit, “Halfway Gone.” It was a guitar-heavy song, the perfect complement to Flynn’s deep voice. He clutched the microphone in one hand, bending low to growl out his pain, but that bottle on the stool beside him was never too far away.
They all had their crutches. Her too.
Flynn’s set went from hard-driving country rock to a few heartrending ballads that had a sharper edge than pure country. He was definitely an artist who straddled the line, and never seemed to land solidly on either side. But he rocked out sometimes and could belt a traditional country tune when he wanted to as well.
He drank the same amount no matter what he played on his guitar or ripped out of his throat. She didn’t know if he smoked, but he certainly had that gritty rasp. The one that said he might be okay right now, but check back tomorrow.
She understood the sentiment.
After they finished their beers and set the cups in the grass, Ryan kept the beat by tapping his fingers on her belly and occasionally humming in her ear, which was so much hotter than it had any right to be.
Beside her, Michael and Elle were dancing in a kind of goofy, giggly sort of way. Denver was glad to see her friend having a good time. Well, both of her friends, but Elle in particular in this case. On Michael and Elle’s other side, West and Lo were dirty dancing in their own inimitable way. Jules and Randy were wrapped together, swaying, listening to the music, staring into each other’s eyes. Not making out, but they might as well have been.
Mal was…where was Mal? He must’ve taken off. Probably hooking up with some random concertgoer. And Molly and Ethan were standing stiffly beside each other, not looking, not touching.
Denver turned her head to speak near Ryan’s ear. “You’re about to lose, Waters.” She jerked her chin, hoping Ry would follow her gaze to Molly and Ethan.
Instead he cupped her cheek in his hand and brought his mouth down to hers, spinning out the kiss while her heart hammered in her ears and she fought the urge to shove him back. They weren’t supposed to be public. The band guessing was one thing, but this…
His mouth slanted over hers, their heads bumping together and knocking off his hat. Rather than trying to retrieve it, she sank her fingers into his wild curls and cupped the back of his head, leaning backward until the twang and grit of the guitars and Flynn’s gravelly voice swelled around them, throbbing like a heart.
Her heart.
Flynn’s brief set and the kiss ended about the same time. Ry pressed his forehead to hers, and she was so rattled she didn’t turn around to applaud. Ryan didn’t either, just held on to her and shared her air and gave her a solid place to lean when she wasn’t sure her legs would keep her upright.
Elle and Michael were talking about the set, oblivious to them. West and Lo had wandered back to the blanket—probably for more moonshine, though Denver was surprised the little area they’d blocked out for themselves hadn’t been trampled. The place was packed.
When Michael and Elle and Randy and Jules wandered back to confer w
ith West and Lo, they had a clear line to Molly and Ethan.
Saying nothing, Ryan stroked his hand down Denver’s hair, and for a moment, snugged against his chest, she watched the other couple. They were apart from everyone else, somehow isolated in the crowd, and Ethan was behind Molly, his big hand under her chin. Tipping her head back so that her golden hair spilled over his arm. Fingers squeezing in a subtle show of dominance that had Denver clenching her thighs and closing her eyes until Ry’s warm breath against her temple made her look one more time.
Molly had turned just enough in Ethan’s arms that her mouth was right there. Ripe for his plucking. For the longest time, they hovered in that between space, and Denver sucked in a breath, almost unaware that she was clutching Ryan’s biceps.
As Ethan’s mouth touched Molly’s, Denver dug into flesh.
“Voyeur,” Ryan said into her ear, and she couldn’t deny it.
She’d always been a watcher. People, especially. Seeing this play out in front of them turned her on more than she could’ve ever admitted.
Ethan tugged at the rounded neckline of Molly’s tank, stretching the fabric down. The hint of pale flesh revealed had Denver inhaling again, and this time she drew in a lungful of marijuana smoke from someone puffing away nearby. Her head spun, and not just from misplaced desire. But she didn’t look away, not even when she would’ve sworn she saw the pink flash of a nipple. Her neck burned and her cheeks flamed and still, she couldn’t. Stop. Watching.
Any minute now the others would return, and her unintended show would be over. As it should be. This was an intrusion on their privacy. She wasn’t that person.
Hell, she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore. Everything felt all new again. As if she’d been broken apart and fit together in a different way.
For the first time in too long, she was being truly herself. Because she could be. Ryan didn’t judge her. He had her back, as always.
And then in an instant, it was all over.
Elle and Michael came back first, and Mal was behind them, his big body blocking out everything. Ending her moral dilemma.
Thank God.
Ryan cupped her cheeks and brought her face up to his, his green eyes luminous in the near dark. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he mouthed, punctuating the words with the pulse of his cock between her legs.
She moaned, dropping her head back, barely aware of her surroundings. Ryan was her only focus.
Distantly, she realized Keith had come onstage. The crowd was going nuts around them, everyone jumping and cheering as he launched into one of his signature hits. The familiar opening notes of “Days Go By” revved the audience into a frenzy as Keith greeted his fans, and she didn’t even turn around.
She couldn’t do anything but stare at Ryan, and hope he understood she needed something so much more important than even music.
Him. All of him, right now.
But he didn’t give her the relief she was seeking. He turned her to face the stage and slid his hands just under the hem of her jersey, keeping the pressure light as he found her earlobe with his teeth. “Anticipation, Colorado,” he murmured.
Her snarl was loud enough to make his chest rumble with laughter.
But at least he had good timing. Keith’s next song was her favorite of his, “Somebody Like You.” The instant he started to play the telltale chords, she let out a shriek and tugged on Ryan’s hand, drawing him into the closest thing to an open area so they could dance.
Elle and Michael, and West and Lo, and Randy and Jules were all clustered in close too, each couple dancing and laughing. Michael spun Elle out, so wildly that she nearly collided into—
Mal.
For the last few minutes, Elle’s neighbors had been Randy and Jules. But they’d slid down the row into the space where Molly and Ethan had been up until a moment ago—hmm—and Mal had moved over.
“Here we go,” Ry said under his breath as Elle blinked up at Mal, her hands flattening on his chest as if she hadn’t expected him to be there.
Denver and Ryan kept dancing, their rhythm almost as natural as the one they’d found in the bedroom. But she angled herself so that she was closer to Elle and Mal, because if he started shit, she would be the one to stop it.
No one was dulling the smile on Elle’s face tonight. Not if she had anything to say about it.
Mal reached up and caught Elle’s hand, gripping it for a second before he spun her out again and sent her whirling back into Michael.
Michael looked as surprised as Elle did, but he kept up the ruse, laughing and dancing. He twirled her around on the grass, grinning as she kicked off her sneakers, and glanced over his shoulder as if he was ready to spin her into Mal’s arms again. Elle’s smile grew, burning brighter for an instant like a match struck into flame, before her gaze fell on the empty patch of grass where Mal had stood. And her smile vanished.
“Asshole,” Ryan muttered, and Denver sighed.
Attraction, lust, and love—and hell, even friendship sometimes—were a crapshoot. The best you could hope for were a few good times and a couple orgasms. And if you got really lucky, maybe someone to eat pancakes with at four a.m. when the diner was closing.
Keith was jamming out with his band, turning the song into one long, extended guitar solo. Golden hair curtaining his face, fingers flying over the strings. Ryan was singing along, staring at her as he said every word. Through twists and dips and sways, he never broke her gaze.
He wasn’t just mouthing words. He was telling her how he felt, and she couldn’t breathe for all the buzzing going on under her skin.
Song after song, they danced together. Kissing in between, laughing at nothing, occasionally swapping partners when one of their friends wandered too close. But even when they were apart, she felt his arms around her. Could hear his husky voice singing in her ear and the warmth of his kisses.
And when Keith’s extended encore ended at just about the same time that the fair’s nightly fireworks show started to celebrate the day’s festivities, she sat on Lo’s blanket and shared a bottle of moonshine with Ry and her friends—most of them, minus Mal and Molly and Ethan, who were still MIA—while they oohed and aahed at the rainbow of colors flashing through the night sky.
This was her reality now. Happiness and fun and work and friends.
And Ryan.
Nothing from her past could touch her. Her uncle had ensured she could make a clean break. He had contacts all over the world and ways of pulling strings to ensure Marco and the men who did his dirty work couldn’t get close to her. Added to the steps that she’d taken for protection, she was safe. Memories couldn’t harm her, no matter how much they still stung.
Now she needed to put it all behind her once and for all.
She gripped the bottle and shifted to grin at her best friend. Just like hers, his mouth was wet from the moonshine. After a while, it didn’t burn so much going down.
Neither did leaning over to kiss him while her friends laughed and clapped.
Tomorrow she might regret this. Tonight she was going to live.
Chapter Sixteen
Grueling.
It was a word. One that she’d chisel into every bumper she’d stared at for the last three hours of the drive into Vegas. The trip from Chicago to Vegas was brutal anyway. The GPS lied like a fourteen-year-old with their first hangover.
Three-day drive her ass. It had been stretched to nearly four. Thank God they’d left the morning after the Keith show. Her liver still hadn’t forgiven her for the moonshine. It actually hurt.
It was probably all in her head, but seriously, the pang lived on. As did the cotton mouth. And she had a tension headache that she could only partially blame on the drive.
No, it was more about those purple mountains in the distance.
She curled her fingers tighter around the steering wheel. Five years should have been long enough for her to get her head together about Vegas. Then why was her belly seizing like she hadn
’t eaten in seventeen days?
Because he was there.
No. No, Marco wasn’t there anymore.
Ghosts lived in Vegas.
If nothing else, she kept tabs on him. Well, as much as she could without tipping him off as to where she’d gone. But it was amazing what a Google search could bring up. Especially when her ex had climbed the ranks to become one of the most notorious men in New York City.
This was not New York.
Hell, she hadn’t been nearly as freaked out in Manhattan. But then again, her life had changed here, not in New York. And her zen at the Keith show about putting it all behind her had lasted that night and into the next day when she’d climbed back on the bus. Knowing all the while she was driving them to the place where her world had imploded.
A green sign came into view.
100 Miles to Vegas.
Her heart slammed harder until there was nothing but white noise around her. The blare of a horn snapped her back into the moment. To the road and the fact that she was fucking driving.
Goddammit.
She dragged in a breath and forced herself to blow it out in a slow exhale. She was responsible for lives on this bus, and those around her on the road. The next sign for an exit came up and she immediately hit her signal to move over. A Mexican restaurant. Shocker. Arizona was nothing but national chain restaurants and spicy food, but it would have to do.
She wasn’t fit to be on the road at the moment. She needed to get her damn head on straight. This trip wasn’t about her. It was about the band. They were up for a big award and Ryan didn’t need her being a headcase.
There was nothing to worry about. She was getting worked up because she hadn’t been back since she’d—
No.
Not going there.
She stepped on the brake harder than she meant to and the bus shuddered and there was a yelp from the living area behind her. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder.
“What the fuck, Denver?” Mal roared from the back of the bus.
She winced.
