Storm - Michelle Mankin Page 0,17

breath and held it, and I looked back at him. The green in his eyes sparkled brighter than the traffic signal that switched from red to green as he watched me.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

The truth was . . . I never got over Storm leaving.

Lotus

“SO, YOU LIKE Journey?” Sophia linked her arm with mine as we followed the guys across the sand.

“Yes,” I said, after checking to see that he and the others were out of listening range. “He’s gorgeous and mysterious. And nice.”

“How do you know he’s nice?”

“He’s thoughtful. He helped me while I was working. And he’s a gentleman. Opened the door for me and made sure I was belted in before he drove. We talked some on the way over.” I shrugged. “He plays the guitar like Bryan Jackson from Tempest, and you’ve seen him, hung out with him tonight. What’s not to like?”

“The guitar part ranking so high with you doesn’t surprise me. You didn’t even notice Saber until he strapped on his Les Paul.”

My heart twisting at the mention of my ex, I winced.

Noticing, Sophia sighed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered. It wasn’t, really, but I was going to get there.

“It’s the mystery part with Journey and you thinking that’s an attribute that worries me.”

“Why?” I gave her a puzzled look.

“The Black Skulls are an LA-based band. LA’s not far from OB, but Journey isn’t a permanent member of the band.”

“He told me.”

Sophia’s eyes widened. “Surprised he mentioned that.”

“Why?”

We stopped a couple of yards away from the others. Reese was digging a pit for a fire, and Tristan was laying out beach blankets around it. The bassist stood nearby, talking on his cell.

Journey knelt before the large ice chest he’d dragged across the sand. His biceps flexed as he opened the lid. His tight ass was perfection in his jeans, and errant curls swept his tatted neck.

I swooned. Inwardly, of course.

Sophia squeezed my arm. “Rocker guys don’t usually like to point out that it’s unlikely you’ll ever see them again.”

“I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought.” Being dazzled by Journey had taken up most of my brain capacity.

“You really going to go there?” Sophia’s gaze drifted to him, and mine did too.

Journey seemed to be done with his task at the ice chest. When he stood up, he turned, holding two beers, and his gaze met mine. I could feel his heat, his interest. Or was I just projecting my own?

“I think I might.”

“Wow, I’m surprised,” she said, a waver of trepidation in her voice.

I hadn’t taken my eyes from Journey. The guy looked like a pirate on the beach with all his tats and his cutoff tee fluttering in the wind like a black flag, but without the skull and crossbones.

“You gonna go there with Reese?” I asked, turning Sophia’s question back on her.

“I might.”

I studied her for a second. “You don’t usually.” For all our adventures, we were mostly talk and not a lot of action.

“It’s an unusual night for both of us,” she said with a thoughtful crease in her brow, and I nodded.

Tonight felt unusual. Significant. Important.

Feeling the pull of Journey, I wanted to go to him, but I lingered another moment to tell her, “If you go anywhere alone with Reese, keep your cell-locating function on, and your ringer.”

“I will.” She gave me a long look. “You do the same.”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

Sophia skirted the now-flickering campfire to join Reese on the other side. The bassist passed me on his way to the parking lot. I never got his name, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t staying.

“Corona okay?” Journey asked when I reached him.

“Yes, that’s fine. Thanks.”

He studied me closely as he offered me a can. “But it’s not your preference?”

“No.” I shook my head. “My favorite is Pizza Port pale ale on draft.”

“Not available in LA.”

“I know. This is nice. Thoughtful.” I took a seat on the blanket and glanced up at him. “What’s to eat?”

I didn’t mean my question to be sexual, but the way Journey’s gaze darkened on me made me wish I had.

Let loose. Forget Saber.

Sex with Journey was a consideration. Why not sexual innuendoes beforehand?

“Just sandwiches.” Journey lowered himself onto the blanket beside me and stretched out his long denim-clad legs. “Though I’m guessing from your comment that ale and pizza from Pizza Port is a favorite of yours.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m a simple girl with simple tastes.”

Tristan moved toward us, and Journey’s head snapped up. He shook it at the drummer.

“Fucking hell, man,” Tristan said,

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