Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,38

thinking about his family that clashes with the killer playboy side of him. “That’s too bad. Although I used to think love was overrated.”

I’m almost afraid to ask it. “Used to?”

He smiles, and for a split second his intensity reaches a place inside me most things don’t. A hidden place that’s not so much forgotten as never even discovered. “Yeah.”

But then I remember the woman he came to Key West to see. The models and the heiresses and the girls in the article who raved about his endowments then cried because he’s never there by morning. So I keep it light. “What do your brothers do in Ann Arbor?”

“Bo is still in college, studying business, playing quarterback. Like Caleb did before he joined up and deployed. And like I did.” This information hits me hard, right in the middle of my gut. He’s a quarterback. Of course he is. “Caleb just got back from a year in Afghanistan.”

“Oh. I’m … ” My heart is beating fast. I take a drink of my champagne and end up drinking half the glass.

Gage notices. “You okay?” He puts a big, warm palm on my bare arm, as though to calm me.

I try not to jerk away from him. I ease back until he’s no longer touching me. “I’m fine.” Except that he was a quarterback too. A quarterback who made sure I now have an unreasonable aversion to football, hometowns and, come to think of it, men in general. “Just, um … really thirsty.”

It was a long time ago, Luna. You really need to get over it.

Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m just … broken.

I wait for my heartbeat to slow as he tops up my glass again. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

I don’t want more champagne. I want to go back to my apartment. I want to vent to Josie. I want her to give back the money and cancel this whole thing.

But the limo pulls to a stop and I can see out the tinted windows that we’re in a back alley.

The driver is already opening the door for us.

“We’re here,” Gage says.

Inside, there’s already a crowd. It’s a large, funky venue with low ceilings and distressed wood that’s been decorated with license plates, maps, photos and retro Americana knickknacks. A long bar runs the full length of the left side of the room, where some of the barstools are already occupied. Around thirty square tables are crammed into the space, each with a little red lamp on it, and there’s a raised wooden stage in one corner. Roadies are tinkering with the sound system and beefy security guards are manning the front door. Outside its small, barred window I can see the crowd gathering.

“Where’s the band?” Gage asks one of the roadies, and the guy points to a doorway.

Gage stays close to me, in a way that could almost be … protective. He’s not as relaxed as he was before, not at all. He hasn’t touched me again since my mini-meltdown in the limo but he’s watching me. It makes me wonder if he gets things, like he has a radar for understanding that people come with baggage. Maybe because his brother is a soldier. Or because his parents “checked out.” There’s a story there I wouldn’t dream of asking about, but I could tell the whole topic was something that weighs heavily, not surprisingly.

We walk into another room, crowded with people and loud music, where there’s a pool table. I recognize them even before they see Gage.

It’s the Tucker Brothers Band.

Wow.

It’s crazy to walk into a room and see people whose music you’ve been listening to religiously for almost two years, standing here, playing pool. I listen to their music most nights as I’m falling asleep. Their melodies are inked into my brain at this point. Their songs dig deep and there have been many times when I’ve used their words to feel better and to lift myself up. Everyone gets the blues sometimes. Everyone feels things harder some days than others. Their music reminds me of that.

They’re even more good-looking in person than they are in their videos. Hot and edgy in a wholesome but rocket-fueled kind of way. Country boys with a rock and roll vibe.

But it’s a funny realization: Gage, as they man-hug him and pat him on the back, seems somehow even more technicolored. Larger than life and more in sync with my own emotions. Maybe because I’ve spent time with him. Or