Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians

by Chase, Deanna

  I know, lucky me.

  I love them like crazy, but they aren’t little babies any longer, and sometimes it’s a lot to deal with. The two of them are going to send me into an early grave one of these days.

  The situation with Pete is pretty much self-explanatory, given the fight we just had; he’s a confused, angry young man who lost his mother too soon. But April I worry about for another reason entirely. There’s been a couple of men way too old for her sniffing around. I feel like a guard dog half the time, barking at them to keep away.

  Speaking of dogs, our family Jack Russell terrier, Specky, is trotting her way down the hall to me. We all named her Specky because she’s got two little patches of brown around her eyes that look like a pair of glasses. She nuzzles my hand and I pet her soft head, picking her up and carrying her with me to my room. I don’t normally sleep with her, but after what just transpired with Pete, I feel like I need her company.

  “I was with a man tonight, Specky,” I confide, and she lets out a little yip upon hearing her name. “He just might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

  Inside my room, I plop Specky down on the bed and strip off my clothes. I use a makeup wipe to remove the rest of the paint from my face and hands, but it seems I’ve sweated most of it off already anyway.

  Climbing under the cool sheets, I rest my head on the pillow, and Specky snuggles into me. Seconds after I close my eyes, I’m dead to the world.

  At ten o’clock the next morning, my alarm clock chimes and I reach out, grumpily shutting it off. My shift at the concert hall doesn’t start until twelve, so I allow myself an extra half an hour’s sleep. When the scent of male cologne hits my nose, memories from last night come flooding back to me in vivid detail. His hand on my breast, his mouth on my neck, his eyes on my eyes. Smouldering.

  It was unlike any casual sexual encounter I’ve ever had. I mean, the sex was actually good — really good. And considering it happened in a dirty alleyway, standing up, that’s saying something.

  Once I’m thinking of these things, I can’t get back to sleep, so I get up, throw on a robe, and shuffle my way into the bathroom to take a shower. As usual at this time on a Sunday morning, the house is blessedly silent.

  I work through my morning routine: shower, dress, breakfast, and by eleven-thirty I’m out the door. The walk to work takes fifteen minutes, so I go slowly, perusing the news headlines in a corner shop and buying a packet of mints.

  I’m on duty in the first-floor bar today. There’s a lunchtime concert on, attracting elderly and middle-aged couples mostly. Young people don’t really go in for classical music, which is a shame, because getting to listen to it on a weekly basis has become something of a love affair for me. Just the sound of it gives me hope for a better life for me and my siblings. A life where I don’t have to worry about my kid brother going to prison or my teenage sister falling pregnant.

  It’s funny that I’ve become the parent figure in our house, because I’m actually the only member of my family with a different father from the others. That’s why there’s a slight gap in our ages. My dad was a plumber from Galway whom my mother met at the wedding of a mutual friend. Two months after I was born, he got knocked over by a car and killed while walking home from the shop.

  My siblings’ father’s name is Patrick. Unfortunately, he’s still alive. I don’t mean to sound callous, but it would probably be better for all of us if he weren’t.

  He’s a drinker and a gambler who lives with his girlfriend, Greta, on the other side of the city in East Wall. Every once in a while he’ll show up looking for money, or a place to stay if he and Greta have had a fight. I can’t stand the man.

  Making my way inside the building, I slip in the back and put my bag away. Then I head out to the bar. The place is already filling up, and I serve the patrons their drinks. A whole lot of white wine (for the middle-aged couples) and orange/cranberry juices/tea (for the elderly.) Once the concert begins and everybody’s in the main hall, I go to take a break and have a chat with my friend Lara, who works in the box office out front most days.

  We sit down in the staff room with a cup of tea and some sandwiches, Lara telling me about her three-year-old daughter’s latest attempt to escape her crèche. When Lara works during the day, she has to use child-minding services, and little Mia is constantly trying to run away from them.

  “I don’t blame her,” I tell Lara, laughing. “I wouldn’t trust some of the women they employ in those places to mind my dog, let alone my child. I remember Mum tried putting April in a crèche when she was little, and she took her out of it after only a week, said the workers were way too pushy and shouty.”

  “God, that’s the perfect way to describe them. But I haven’t got another choice at this point,” she says, rubbing at her temples. “It’s a nightmare.”

  “Hey, maybe I could get April to babysit for you. You know she finished school a couple of months ago and still hasn’t managed to find a job. That way Mia could be kept at home where she’s comfortable. I bet it’s the strange environment and all the other kids that upset her.”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea. Run it by April and see what she says.”

  I smile and sip on my tea, feeling like I’ve just killed two birds with one stone. This babysitting thing will help out Lara, and will also keep April busy and away from all those older men.

  “So, did you go out busking last night?” Lara asks, breaking my thoughts.

  “Yep. Made eighty quid. Not too shabby. It was a godsend, actually. I’m screwed money-wise for at least the next month. The bills just keep piling up.”

  “Ugh, I know the feeling.”

  Soon it’s time for the intermission, so I make my way back out to the bar. A man in his fifties wearing a wedding band orders two glasses of pinot grigio and eyes the top of my shirt, where there’s a small hint of cleavage showing. He tells me I have nice hair and very pretty green eyes. I take all his compliments with a polite but reserved smile, wishing older men wouldn’t always pigeonhole me as the young blonde they can have a wild, midlife crisis–style affair with. I seem to put out certain vibes without being aware of it, because I get hit on by these types all the time.

  Once the concert ends, the building slowly empties out, and I go about cleaning up and restocking the bar for the evening event. Lara and I take the same break again, and chat some more about this and that.

  Hours later my shift is almost done when the floor manager, Ciaran, comes and asks if I’ll make up refreshments for the musicians, who will be spending some time at the bar once the building has finally been emptied of patrons. I give him a quick nod and begin preparing some water and juices, alongside a couple bottles of wine. I also set out some peanuts and crisps in case they’re feeling peckish.

  Slowly, the men and women from the symphony start filling the seats by the bar. Noeleen, one of the trumpeters, slides into the stool in front of me and asks for a shot of vodka. She’s a talkative middle-aged woman with red hair, and one of the few musicians who I’m on first-name terms with. She’s one of those people who will chat with anyone; there could be a three-year-old sitting beside her, and she’d start telling the kid about her recent colonic. I like that about her.

  I chat with her for a minute before I get swept up serving drinks. I’ve just handed two men their glasses of orange juice when I feel someone’s eyes on me. Glancing quickly up, I get the most unexpected surprise.

  For a short while time seems to move in slow motion, because standing before me is my next customer, who also happens to be my handsome stranger from last night. I pray that he doesn’t recognise me without the face paint, but the look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly who I am. How long has he been watching me? More to the point, what on earth is he doing here?

  Chapter Three

  My voice comes out scratchy when I say, “Uh, hi, what can I get you?�
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  He tilts his head, eyes hot, perusing me from top to bottom before he allows his gaze to rest on my face. Suddenly, I feel flushed in my work blouse and skirt.

  “Hey, Bluebird,” he says, voice low. “Isn’t this a surprise? I’ll have a gin and tonic, if you don’t mind.”

  I nod and go about making up his drink. A surprise is right. One of the violinists takes a stool beside him. I recognise her because she sits in the lobby a lot, drinking fancy coffees and reading bridal magazines. I once asked Noeleen when her wedding is, but my trumpeter friend simply gave me a wry look and shook her head, telling me the woman’s name is Avery and that she’s not getting married, she’s just obsessed with weddings. It made me feel really sorry for her when I heard that.

  She’s got straight brown hair and nice eyes, but a slightly long nose that makes her face less conventionally attractive than it would be otherwise.

  “Hi, Shane,” she greets my stranger politely. “How did you find things? If you need any help getting settled, just say the word.”

  Shane. Now I know his name and why he’s here. He’s in the orchestra. He must have taken the place of the violinist who left. It dawns on me that I had sex with a man who can create the beautiful music that bewitches me. Suddenly, I feel this urgent need to witness him play, to see him hold his instrument with those skilled hands of his. I shake myself out of the thought.

  Shane turns to her with a pleasant smile. “I had a great first night, thanks, Avery,” he says, his eyes landing on me for a moment as he continues in a low voice, “And it just got better.”

  Avery misinterprets his statement as being directed at her, blushing and letting out a delighted titter. Now I feel bad. Oh, well, I’ll let her enjoy it. I set Shane’s gin and tonic down on the bar and then look to her to see what she wants.

  “Oh, could I have a sparkling water, please?”

  “Sure, hon,” I reply, turning to the fridge to grab a bottle. I slide a slice of lemon onto the rim of a glass, pour in some ice, snap open the lid of the bottle, and put them down in front of her. All the while I can feel Shane’s attention on me like a warm caress.

  Everybody seems to be set for the time being, so I wipe down the counter and turn to talk with Noeleen again. I think I see Shane perk his ears up to listen in to our conversation.

  “What was the symphony you played tonight?” I ask her while drying glasses. “I know I know it, but my brain is on a go-slow.”

  “It was Beethoven’s Ninth,” she answers. “What did you think of the choir?”

  “What I could hear from the bar sounded wonderful.”

  “I agree,” she says, sipping on her wine. “My hand didn’t act up, either, so it was an enjoyable performance all ’round.”

  I give her a sympathetic look. Noeleen has some wear and tear damage in her fingers from years playing the trumpet. Her doctor says that it’s most likely only going to get worse as time goes on; however, it doesn’t stop her from playing. She’s been in various orchestras for more than two decades now.

  “Isn’t there anything the specialists can do about it?”

  “There are some therapies, but mostly they just throw painkillers at me and hope for the best.”

  Shaking my head, I turn to serve a man who’s asking for a red wine. Shane’s voice fills my ears then, requesting, “Oh, barkeep, could I get another gin and tonic?”

  I give him a polite smile, wondering if he’s trying to be funny with the “barkeep” bit. “Sure.”

  Avery chats away to him about brands of strings for the violin. As I’m about to slide the glass across the bar, he instead reaches forward and takes it from my hand, allowing his fingers to touch mine briefly. My face gets hot and flushed. It’s like we’ve switched places. Last night I was in the driving seat, and now he is. It’s just really thrown me for a loop to see him here.

  I never thought I’d see him again, to be perfectly honest. I mean, it’s one thing to proposition a guy on the street in the middle of the night, but it’s another entirely to have him show up at your place of work. Not only that, but he works here as well.

  A memory hits me of how I saw the orchestra musicians out last night, and it was right before I’d noticed Shane watching me. Now it all makes sense; he’d been with them.

  He’s looking at me now like he wants to go for round two, and no matter how nice that would be, it can’t happen. I swore myself off relationships when I stopped drinking. It’s kind of like that saying, once burned, twice shy. Only in my case I was burned over and over again, making me a million times shy.

  The whole point of last night with Shane was that he was a random stranger. Someone I could have a heated encounter with and then let drift into the recesses of my memory. Yet here he is, flesh and bone and sexy, pretty manliness.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  Avery’s chatter dies down as she realises he’s not paying attention to her any longer.

  “What’s yours?” I counter.

  “Shane.”

  I give him a smirk. “Funny how we managed to forego first names, isn’t it? I’m Jade. Pleased to meet you, Shane.”

  I reach out to shake his hand, and he takes my fingers into his warm palm before releasing them.

  I think he’s blushing a little because of my comment, that adorable shyness creeping back in that’s so at odds with his polished confidence.

  “So I guess I can stop calling you Bluebird, then,” he whispers.

  I smile and joke, “I have you pegged. Women are all birds and bitches to you, right?”

  He gives me a startled look, and I hold back a grin.

  “I’m pulling your leg, hon,” I tell him, and the startled look fades.

  Several moments of silence ensue before he regains his confidence. “So what’s with the living statue thing? They don’t pay you enough here or something?” He’s trying to be flirtatious now.

  “That’s a hobby. And no, to answer your second question, they don’t pay me enough here. Not when I’ve got two mouths to feed at home.”

  His brow furrows before he asks, “Are you a mother, Jade?”

  I let out a small laugh and shake my head. “The look on your face! No, I was referring to my younger brother and sister.” I lean against the bar so that our faces are inches apart, then whisper, “I’m a poor little orphan, Shane. You want to come rescue me?”

  He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. My eyes flick to Avery when I hear her make a small noise of surprise. Damn, I’d almost forgotten she was listening to us.

  “In what way do you need rescuing?” Shane asks back, his voice gravelly.

  I stand up straight then and return to drying glasses.

  “Contrary to popular belief, not all orphans need to be rescued,” I tell him with a wink, and walk to the other end of the bar. Soon the musicians begin to head home, and I finish closing up for the night. When I look back to where Shane had been sitting, I find he’s gone. Avery has left, too. Hmm, I wonder if he went home with her.

  I call goodbye to a couple of other workers, hitching my bag up on my shoulder and making my way out through the employee exit. I give a surprised yelp when somebody emerges from the side of the building. Clutching my chest, I see it’s only Shane carrying a violin case and a small backpack.

  “Shit, you scared me,” I exclaim, my breathing fast.

  He gives me a sheepish grin. “Oops, sorry.” He pauses, biting at his full bottom lip. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Smiling now, I reply, “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. I was, uh, wondering if I could take you out some time?”

  “Aren’t we past all that?” I ask.

  He looks to the ground and then back up at me, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t think so.”

  I take a step closer to him, putting my hand on his arm and let
ting it drift lightly downward. He closes his eyes at my touch. Wow, this guy really likes me. Like, really likes me. All those posh women in his line of work must be prudes. Perhaps that’s why my overly forward ways have him so affected.

  “You don’t think so, Shane? So it wasn’t you who fucked my brains out in the back of an alley last night?” I whisper.

  “Bloody hell, Jade,” he exclaims, looking around to make sure there’s no one within hearing distance. Breathing heavily, he continues, “That wasn’t my initial intention. I did actually mean it when I said I wanted to have a drink with you. You’re amazingly beautiful — in your costume and out of it.”

  I smile softly now. “You like my wings, honey?”

  He nods. “Very much so. Your appearance as a living statue is striking, to say the least. I couldn’t look away when I saw you. You had this expression on your face like you were imagining heaven.”

  I give him a full-on grin for that one. I don’t think I was imagining heaven last night, but it’s a nice idea. Now I’m trying to remember what I had actually been imagining, but it’s not coming to me. I think I was just noticing him and thinking he was incredibly attractive — him fucking me was pretty heavenly, though.

  I smile up at him. “Are you a bit of a poet, Shane?”

  He smiles back, and I see a dimple deepen in one of his cheeks.

  “Nope. Just a lowly violinist.”

  I start walking now and he moves, too, keeping pace with me. “Ah, I like a bit of modesty in a man. So, you must be thrilled to have snagged a place in the symphony. Where did you play before?”

  His eyes light up at the fact that I’m asking questions about him. “Yeah, I was over the moon, actually. I had to do a number of auditions and interviews. Up until about a year ago, I was in a string quartet. We had a fairly large European following, so I got to do lots of travelling.”