I believe in my heart.” He thumped his chest. He was in an OB tank and board shorts post-performance, his hair slicked back from a quick shower. Like Journey, his arms were pure muscle.
“Respect that.” Journey lifted his chin. A light brown glossy curl that had been hanging over his right eye slid back over his ear. He had two piercings in the lobe on that side, a silver hoop and a plain stud.
“You have my number.” Ash clapped Journey on the back. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
Curious, I tilted my head. It seemed like they knew each other well.
“Sounds good.” Journey pounded Ash’s back companionably.
My stomach pitched as his speaking voice resonated deep within me. A rich baritone like his singing voice, it made my mind spiral round and round with hot, sensual thoughts I didn’t usually indulge in.
“What exactly did the Skulls request?” Ash turned toward me, and so did Journey.
Gosh, he’s pretty.
“So, they, um . . .” I stammered, losing higher brain and speech function with him looking at me.
“You look unsteady,” Journey said low, stretching out his arm. Bracelets, a leather braided one and a chunky silver link one, dangled from his wrist. “Let me take those heavy bottles off your hands.”
“What?” Dazed, I just stared. Every inch of the skin on his arm, from bulging bicep to thick wrist, was covered in colorful tattoos. Even his knuckles were tattooed.
His sculpted lips slowly curved. “I’ll deliver that alcohol to the band for you.”
I swallowed to moisten my throat. It’s hot in here. Isn’t it hot in here?
Journey reached for and removed the bottles from my hands. His touch sent an electrical current straight up my arm.
“Uh, thanks,” I managed to say, rocking where I stood, even though I wore my sensible work shoes.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” His voice rumbled in amusement, and his eyes twinkled. They were a rich brown with a sprinkle of vibrant green.
“You ready to close down the VIP room?” Ash asked, and my gaze reluctantly shifted to him.
“Yes, of course,” I said with a nod.
“Good. I’m beat, and I’m sure you are too.” He threw his arm around me, and Diesel moved to my other side.
Flanked by the Dirt Dogs, I retraced my previous steps, but somehow everything was different from before. Plus, I knew Journey was watching me. I could feel the intensity of his gaze, boring holes into my back between my shoulder blades.
As we turned the corner, the intensity dissipated, and I managed a couple of easier breaths. At the event room, Ash pushed the door open, holding it for me. I stepped through.
“Surprise!”
“Happy birthday!”
I startled as roadies and a couple of studio musicians I knew stepped forward. Linc and Ramon were in front of everyone, carrying a huge cake between them, the candles lit.
I frowned at Ash. “You shouldn’t have done this.”
“Wanted to. We appreciate you.” He grinned as he tucked an envelope into a pocket of my bartending apron. “Birthday bonus. There’s a little something extra in there from all the Dogs.”
“Thank you.” My eyes brimmed with tears.
I could really use that money. Rent was coming due, and it was always a stretch to come up with that large amount of cash each month in addition to everything else.
“You’re welcome,” Ash said.
“Make a wish,” Diesel said from beside me.
“No Deck Bar mermaid here.” Ash’s blue eyes twinkled brightly. “But birthday mojo and candles oughta do the trick for any wish to come true.”
I closed my eyes and made the same impossible wish I’d made for the last nine birthdays.
I had other wishes, sure. Big ones. But I believed if Storm ever returned, my life would get better, and my other wishes would somehow come true too.
Lotus
I ATE CAKE with Ash and everyone. Afterward, I worked with the event coordinator to total up the alcohol receipts, then changed clothes in the employee locker room.
As I did every year on my birthday, I tried and failed not to miss my father. He’d always done so many little things on my birthday—and every day—to make me feel loved, things that were so special to me.
“Let it hurt. Then let it go. Only keep the good things.”
My childhood friend was right. But those good things were few and far between without my dad.
I had no one to share the hurt and letting-go process with anymore. Sophia was a good friend, a great one, but she wasn’t that type of friend. Maybe there weren’t many people like Storm. Maybe my memories