All Over You (All Falls Down #3)

by Ayden K. Morgen

"Mmhmm." He reaches out and snags a business card from his desk before holding it out for me.

  I take the card, my eyebrows climbing as I read. "I don't know a Detective Lewis. Was he here about one of my students?" I ask, my mind grasping onto the only thing I can think of that might have one of San Francisco's finest looking for me.

  "I don't think so," Bryan says. "He asked a few questions about how long you've worked here, if we've ever had any concerns about you, that type of thing." He pins me with a serious gaze. "Is there anything I should know, Ivy? And I'm asking as your friend, not your boss."

  "No," I say, as perplexed as he is. "There's nothing. You know me, Bryan. I come to work. I sing around town whenever I can. I volunteer at the nursing home. I go out for drinks with Erin or some of the other teachers occasionally, but I've never been in any sort of trouble."

  "I know," he reassures me. "But you know I have to ask."

  "What did he say?" I glance from Bryan to the card in my hand and then back. "Did he mention what he was looking for or why he was asking about me?"

  "He said your name came up in relation to an investigation. Something about a missing college student. More than likely, the kid was at one of your shows before vanishing." He nods at the card. "He wanted to talk to you, but I requested that he wait until after school hours. There's no sense upsetting the kids with this."

  "Thank you." I curl my hand around the card. The last thing I want to do is cause my kids unnecessary stress.

  "He wants you to give him a call tomorrow," Bryan says. "Said he'll be in his office most of the day."

  "Okay. I'll do that."

  "Let me know how it goes," he advises, and then his phone rings.

  "See you Monday," I mumble as he reaches for it. My mind is spinning as I make my way out of his office and past Eloise's empty desk. When I reach my classroom, I snag my purse out of my desk and grab my cellphone. Sinking into my chair, I dial the number on the business card, only to reach a generic voicemail message.

  "Hi, Detective Lewis. This is Ivy Kendall. Um, Bryan Gleeson from Trenton P. Hall Elementary said you need to speak with me." I give him my number and then drop my phone and his card into my purse.

  I sit there for a few minutes, trying to figure out how my name came up in an investigation, and then decide not to stress myself out over it. Like Bryan said, the kid was probably at one of the bars I played at and they want to know if I saw him. I'll talk to the detective when he calls, and that will be that.

  Dragging myself up, I turn on the radio in the corner and set about cleaning up the rest of my classroom.

  I'm between sets when Erin slips into Mitch's around eleven, her hair hanging in ringlets down her back. She's in a flirty black dress paired with a jean jacket and cowboy boots. And she is definitely wearing her good bra if the cleavage she's sporting is any indication. A few appreciative gazes follow her as she slides into the corner booth across from me, but she doesn't notice.

  "Sorry," she says. "I had to run errands and I lost track of time. Getting anywhere in this city on a Friday night is a pain in the ass. Are you going to finish these?" She point at my cheese fries, and then reaches out and snags one, popping it into her mouth before I can answer.

  I push them toward her, too full to eat anything else.

  "Nice crowd," she says, her gaze darting around the room before she turns back to me. She pops another cheese fry into her mouth. "Any hotties tonight?"

  "The guy in the back." I shift my gaze in his direction, subtly pointing him out to her.

  He's in the very back corner of the bar, sitting in a dark booth by himself, nursing a beer. He's been there all night, staring at me. I haven't been able to get a good look at him, but what I have seen? Damn. With dark hair, deep golden skin, and a day's worth of scruff on his face, he's gorgeous. Bold tattoos peek from beneath the arms of the simple black tee he's wearing. He's big, powerful, his jeans and tee stretching over the muscles they encase. If anyone in the bar fits the hottie bill, it's him.

  "Damn," Erin says, licking her lips.

  "He's been staring at me all night," I grumble, not sure if I'm more irritated or turned on. And that's a mystery in and of itself. Since when did complete strangers make heat pool low in my stomach? Apparently since Tall, Dark and Brooding walked into the bar and parked his fine ass in the corner.

  "Of course he has." Erin rolls her eyes. "You look fucking hot."

  "Thanks." My jet black hair is up in an intricate braid, and I'm wearing just enough makeup to make my green eyes pop, but my dress is shorter and tighter than I usually wear. I love the way the slinky material feels against my skin. The top is a halter with the bottom barely reaching mid-thigh. The dark purple color seems to shimmer under the lights of the stage. I love the way it looks.

  "Hey." Erin grabs Mitch by the hand as he starts to pass by.

  "What's up, doll?" he asks, winking at her. Mitch is an incurable flirt. He's also old enough to be her father, but that's never stopped him. In the year I've known him, he's never lacked for female companionship either, so clearly the whole charming rogue thing is working for him.

  "The guy in the back. Who is he?"

  Mitch turns to look over his shoulder, his light eyes narrowing on the mystery man. "Don't know. Why?" He turns those eyes on me, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. "Is he bothering you?"

  "No," I wave him off before he can get all protective. Staring isn't a crime. I don't want the guy tossed out because he's a little too focused on me. "He's fine."

  "You sure?"

  "Promise." I shoot Mitch a grin before my gaze darts back to the guy.

  He's watching me again, and our eyes meet. He doesn't look away, instead boldly holding my gaze.

  Screw it. Two can plan this game.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I tip my chin up and narrow my eyes, glaring at him. The corners of his lips lift in a subtle smirk, almost like he knows I'm silently calling him out and is challenging me. I arch a brow, ignoring the little thrill that zings through me at the gleam in his eyes.

  God, those eyes.

  They're penetrating, captivating. I've never seen such dark gray eyes before, and it's hot.

  He is hot, scorching.

  The way he watches me with that cocky smirk on his face is dominating. He's in charge, and he knows it. I think my body does too. Heat races through me, my nipples hardening. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck as I clench and unclench my fingers. I'm dying to shift around beneath the weight of his gaze to relieve the ache between my thighs.

  The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips, and he narrows his eyes at me. He's no longer challenging me to look away first, he's demanding it. Every line of his body screams that command. Heat rolls over me in a wave. Every inch of me burns white hot at the way he's focusing on me, drawing me in…silently demanding I submit.

  I drop my gaze to the table, my heart racing.

  What the hell?

  I take a deep breath and then another. My face is burning hot, probably flushed bright red. When I finally gather the nerve to peek up at him again, it's to see him striding toward the doors, his jeans hugging that fine ass just right. My attention stays glued to him until the door swings closed behind him.

  He doesn't look back.

  "The hell was that?" Erin asks, tossing a coaster at me.

  I startle when it lands against my chest, and then blush.

  "That was him offering to strip her naked and fuck her on the table," Mitch says.

  My blush deepens.

  "Think she would have let him?" Erin teases, grinning at me.

  "Fuck yeah, she would have." Mitch throws his head back and laughs loudly when I groan.

  "I hate both of you," I mutter, rolling my eyes. Though secretly…I think they're probably right.

  I haven't dated, let alone slept with anyone, since I found out my ex was married over a year ago. While I'm not opposed to breaking that dry spell, I'm not actively searching eithe
r. Being single is fine with me…but God, I miss sex. My mini-arsenal of vibrators just can't pull my hair and growl filthy shit in my ear like I want.

  "You're up again in ten," Mitch warns me and then walks away.

  "We need shots!" Erin cries as he heads toward the bar.

  He holds up a hand to let her know he heard her, and then hollers for Jake, his bartender, to bring us a bottle of Stoli and two shot glasses. Jake immediately grabs the bottle and our glasses and brings them around, presenting them to Erin with a flourish.

  "Thanks, sexy," she says, blowing him a kiss. And then she turns back to me, my shot glass in her palm. "You ready to do this?"

  "I thought you were kidding about partying," I groan, reluctantly taking the glass.

  "Have you ever known me to joke about alcohol?" she asks, cocking her head to the side and looking at me like I've lost my mind. "We're single. It's Friday. Let's do this shit!"

  "I can't play if I'm hammered," I remind her. The last thing I need is to throw up all over the stage, or fall off of it. I'm liable to do either drinking with Erin. She can drink her weight in vodka, and still function perfectly fine. Me? Not so much.

  She shoots me another signature look, and then pours me half a shot.

  I throw it back.

  Erin does the same with hers and then pours herself another. "What did Gleeson want? A quickie on his desk?"

  I laugh, shaking my head. "You never give up, do you?"

  "On my best friend getting laid by that fine specimen of a man? Hell no," she says, making me laugh again.

  "Apparently a detective stopped by to talk to me today," I tell her after a moment.

  "Oh?"

  "I guess there's a missing person and my name came up in the investigation."

  "That's weird."

  "Right?"

  "What did he say?" she asks, downing her second shot.

  "I didn't talk to him. He left his card with Bryan. I tried to call him, but I haven't heard back from him. I guess I'll find out what's up when he calls."

  "Did he say who is missing?"

  I shake my head. "He asked Bryan how long I've worked there and if they've ever had any trouble with me."

  "Trouble?" Erin narrows her eyes. "What does that mean?"

  "I don't know." I shrug.

  "Huh," Erin says, pouring a third shot.

  "You okay?" I ask when she downs it as quickly as her first two. The girl can drink, but she usually paces herself.

  "Yeah, fine." She avoids my gaze, and then her shoulders slump and she sighs. "No, not really."

  "What's up?"

  "I'm just in a mood. Being single sucks." She twists her glass aimlessly around in her hands. "I'm thinking about driving home tomorrow and spending a few days at the lake. You want to come with?"

  "I can't. I'm playing the Red Room tomorrow night."

  "Oh." Her face falls, her disappointment obvious.

  "I could probably get away next weekend."

  "I have that conference from Thursday through next Tuesday."

  "Crap. I forgot about that."

  "Yeah." She sighs. "Maybe Livvie can get away to go with me."

  "I can cancel tomorrow," I tell her, though I really can't afford to do so. Rent is due, and so are my student loans. Without the extra pay, I'll be living on Ramen noodles and grilled cheese by the time my next paycheck hits the bank.

  "No, you can't," Erin says immediately. "I love you for offering though. I'll just ask Livvie. I haven't seen her in a while. It'll be good to catch up, have sister time."

  "You sure?" I ask. Erin's little sister is a handful. She's seventeen and wild as hell.

  "Ivy, you're up!" Mitch yells from behind the bar.

  "I'm sure," Erin promises, smiling at me. "Now, shoo! Go play some mopey love shit for me, and get your ass back over here so we can get our drink on."

  chapter two

  creep

  Maroon 5's Payphone rips through my bedroom, pulling me out of a deep sleep.

  I groan and roll toward my nightstand, searching blindly for my cell. My head is pounding and my mouth feels like sandpaper. I never want to leave my bed.

  Why did I let Erin talk me into drinking so much?

  Oh, right. Because she's the devil, and I'm clearly a glutton for punishment.

  "I think I hate you, and I'm definitely never drinking vodka with you again," I mumble into the receiver, pulling the blankets up over me and groaning. "How are you even functioning right now? My head is killing me." Cracking my eyes open, I frown at the black marker scrawled across my forearm. "And why the hell am I naked with your name and phone number written on me?" Lifting my arm so I can read the text beneath her number, I groan again. "Property of Erin? In permanent marker? Seriously, you whore? That's never going to come off! I'm firing you as my best friend."

  "Uh…." a masculine voice answers with a chuckle.

  I sit upright, my eyes widening and my head throbbing in protest. The blankets fall from around me.

  "You aren't Erin," I say, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.

  "No," the guy says with another dark chuckle. "I'm afraid not."

  My mouth works, but no sound comes out. I cannot believe I didn't look at the phone before I started spouting off. Holding it away from my face, I squint at the number. It's familiar, but I can't place it. And it's already noon. I never sleep this late.

  Jesus. What did Erin and I do last night?

  I remember vodka, and Mitch and Erin grinding on the dance floor while Jake and I laughed our asses off at the two of them. A group of frat guys tried to pick us up at some point after my last set.

  Is that when Erin wrote on my arm?

  I can’t remember.

  I think Mitch poured us into cabs around three in the morning. Everything that happened in between is a little fuzzy, though.

  I hate vodka. And my best friend.

  "You still there?" the man asks, still laughing at me.

  Crap.

  "Yes. W-who are you?" I hold the phone up to my ear, praying he's no one important.

  "This is Detective Lewis with the San Francisco Police Department. I'm trying to reach Miss Ivy Kendall."

  Well, there goes my dignity.

  "Oh my god," I whisper-groan, flopping backward on the bed. "This isn't happening. I'm dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming this whole thing and I didn't actually just call you a whore and tell you that I'm naked." I squeeze my eyes closed and whimper as soon as the word naked slips from my lips.

  Great. I just told a cop that I'm not wearing any clothes. Twice.

  Detective Lewis laughs loudly into the phone. He has a nice laugh, all dark and low, masculine.

  My stomach flutters.

  "Miss Kendall, I presume?"

  I consider telling him no. He can't tell my boss I'm an alcoholic with questionable morals who can't remember what the hell she did last night and definitely shouldn't be allowed around impressionable children if he doesn’t know it's me…right?

  "Miss Kendall?" he says, and I think he's even more amused now.

  Yep. I definitely hate my best friend.

  "Yes, this is Ivy," I say with a sigh and bite back the urge to tell him I'm not usually a crazy person. There's just no way to recover now, though, so I don't even bother. I've already humiliated myself enough, thank you very much.

  Rubbing a hand across my face, I stare up at the spackling on my ceiling, trying to compose myself. "How can I help you, Detective Lewis?"

  He clears his throat. When he speaks again, the laughter is gone from his voice. He's all business. Still sounds hot as hell, though. "I assume Mr. Gleeson advised you that your name came up as part of a missing person's investigation?"

  "Ah, yes." I sit up again, shoving the blankets off my legs. The room spins, forcing me to bite back another groan. When my head clears, I rise to my feet and grab a t-shirt and pair of panties from my dresser. "Um…a college student, correct?"

  "Yes, that's right. Rory Cl
ark."

  "The name isn't familiar." I stumble toward the bathroom. "But if he came to one of my shows, I wouldn't know his name. They tend to run together after a while."

  He's quiet for a moment. I can hear faint scratching in the background, like he's writing down what I've said to him.

  "So, to your knowledge, you're not acquainted with Mr. Clark?" he asks.

  "Yes."

  "Yes, you know him, or yes to my question?"

  "Yes. I mean no." I'm not even awake yet and I'm hungover. He's talking circles around me. "To my knowledge, I don't know him," I clarify, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is sticking up all over the place. Mascara is smudged beneath my eyes. The usually bright green of my irises is dull and reddened. I look like hammered shit.

  "If he did attend any of your shows, would you remember him?" Detective Lewis asks.

  "Honestly? I don't know," I say, grabbing the Tylenol out of the cabinet and tossing down two before I take a sip of water. "I'd be happy to look at a photograph if you have one, but I'm not sure how much help I'll be to you. When the venue is packed, it's a little hard to remember individual faces."

  "I understand." His pen scratches across paper for another moment. "Do college students come to your shows often, Miss Kendall?"

  "It depends on the venue." I grab a hairbrush and start working through the snarls in my hair. "The bars closer to one of the campuses tend to have more college students than those farther out."

  "Do students ever drive in from out of the immediate area?"

  Lord, his voice is seriously sexy. I can just imagine him whispering dirty things in my ear while he's taking me from behind. An image of the mystery hottie wearing nothing but a smirk with a pair of handcuffs in his hands slams into me.

  God, why do I find that so hot?

  "Miss Kendall?"

  "Um, probably." My face flames with embarrassment. I push thoughts of the hottie from last night out of my mind, trying to focus on the detective's questions. "I'm not sure."

  "Do you always perform in the San Francisco area?"

  "Yes. Well, usually." Juggling the phone in one hand, I twist my hair up into a knot, tucking pieces in to hold the messy bun in place without a tie. Once done with that task, I grab my make-up remover and set to work on the mascara smudges.