dressing room A.” He shoved my hand holding his twenty back at me.
I frowned. The drummer might be cute in an I look like a famous actor kind of way, but his manners needed work.
“Sure,” I said sweetly. “Just let me get permission from my boss to make a delivery.”
“Your boss is out in the corridor talking to Journey.” He took a step back with his drink in his hand.
“Who?” Puzzled, I frowned at him.
“The guitarist in my band.” He shook his head. “The one you stared at the whole time we were performing.”
My heart pounded fast as I remembered the colossus who’d taken the stage and destroyed my equilibrium.
Journey, huh? So that’s his name. Wonder if that’s his real name or just a nickname.
The fascination lingered . . . I hadn’t been able to put him out of my mind. He was the best-looking guy I’d ever seen, but there was something else, something almost familiar about him. It wasn’t only the audience Journey had captivated with his guitar.
“They seem to be having a serious conversation.” The rude Ryan Gosling lookalike snapped his fingers at me, not appreciating my inattention. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an interruption from a cute thing like you. Tequila.” He snapped again like I was his servant or a pet. “Now.”
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath, but I grabbed two Cuervo bottles by the necks.
I was a dutiful employee and a good bartender. I’d been bartending steadily for a year, waitressing before that, long enough in both service industry jobs to know how to deal with entitled shits like this guy. I pasted on a neutral expression and followed him, but I squeezed the necks of the tequila, imagining his neck instead.
A few of the Dirt Dogs were hanging out in the hall.
“Hey, Lotus.” Ramon Martinez, the handsome Latino guitarist, lifted a finger and gave me a slow smile. That grin had dropped many a pair of panties back in the day—still would, truth be told. But nowadays he was only interested in one woman, his surfer girl.
“Everything okay?” Lincoln asked, raking his blond hair out of his narrowed sea-blue eyes. The Dirt Dogs’ lead singer looked enough like Ash to be his biological brother rather than just his adopted cousin. He seemed to disapprove of my companion.
Good to know I’m not the only one.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” I lifted the bottles. “Just taking some booze that’s been requested to the Skulls’ dressing room.”
“Not sure Ash would want you making a delivery like that alone.” Linc’s disapproving gaze narrowed more.
“I’ll go with her.” Diesel Le, the ex pro surfer turned Dirt Dogs’ bassist, pushed away from the opposite wall where he’d been leaning and rapid texting. Probably sending a message to Hollie, his celebrity fiancée. Fanny’s sister was on location doing a film in Brazil.
“Thanks, Diesel.” I lifted my chin in greeting.
He stepped beside me. “No problem.”
I followed the Black Skulls’ drummer, who led the way. He turned the corner just before the end of the hall, and I did too. He kept going, but unlike him, I stopped. Journey stood directly in front of me, talking to Ash. Both men turned their heads to look at me.
My gaze and my suddenly mushy brain swept all but the one aside.
Twice in one evening, looking at Journey made me dizzy and brought all my forward momentum to a complete halt. I took all of him in like I had from my vantage point in the pit. And even a second time, it took me a while.
There was a lot of Journey to take in.
He wore the same clothing he’d had on earlier—black muscle tee, silver wallet chain in a long loop over his muscular denim-clad thigh, and scuffed black boots. But somehow he seemed bigger now, more imposing than before.
When his eyes locked on mine, my mouth went completely dry.
“Hey, Ash,” Diesel said to his bandmate, placing his hand on my shoulder.
The contact startled me. Not because his touch was unpleasant. I knew Diesel from the work I did, taking care of the plants at the studio and from bartending at the Deck Bar, which was the band’s favorite hangout.
“Lotus got a request to deliver booze to the Skulls. That okay with you?”
“Hell no,” Ash said, frowning at me. “Hold up, okay?”
“Sure.” I nodded, and he returned his attention to Journey.
“Think over what I said.” The creases at the outer edges of Ash’s eyes deepened. “You know it’s business, but I’m also speaking truth