He crossed his arms on his chest, leaned a hip against the counter and again didn’t answer.
“Who is she?”
“She’s not a Rock Chick,” he told me. “She’s rich. She’s unbelievably f**kin’ beautiful. She made the first move and then shut me down so she’s gonna have to make the second move too.”
I blinked.
This seemed a lot of sharing for a badass tough guy, a badass tough guy I barely knew.
I was curious to know what shutting Hector down entailed and why any woman in her right mind would do such a ridiculous thing but I was too much of a scaredy-cat to ask.
“And what do you do until she makes the second move?” I asked because she would make the second move, no doubt about it, she’d be crazy not to.
He was back to grinning and he answered, “I have fun.” Oh lordy be.
I knew what Hot Guy Fun consisted of. I’d had a dose of it that morning with Mace’s hand in my panties.
Whoever-she-was, she better hurry up.
Al of a sudden, Hector said, “You’re good.” I stared at him, my mind stil on whoever she was and hot guys’ hands in my panties, I wasn’t fol owing.
“What?”
“I’ve seen you play, at The Little Bear, Herman’s, The Gothic. You’re good.”
I had compliments before, even compliments from hot guys, even compliments from hot guys who wanted to get in my panties (likely, they were complimenting me because they wanted to get in my panties).
But something about the simple way Hector shared his opinion felt different, more honest. I knew innately that he wasn’t the type of guy who threw meaningless compliments around for the ef of it.
I felt my cheeks getting warm, turned away to look at the fil ing coffeepot and muttered, “Thanks,” hoping he’d move on to a different subject. This one was even more uncomfortable than the last.
Then I felt his body heat and it was both immense and close.
I looked up to see he’d closed the distance and was inches away.
Yikes!
Before I could say anything, he spoke.
“What I wanna know is,” he started softly, “what the f**k you’re stil doin’ in Denver?”
I was finding it hard to breathe, seeing as he was close, his heat was hitting me, he was seriously good-looking and I had nowhere to retreat.
I persevered, “I live here.”
“No, I mean you and the band. Anybody who sees you play knows they got a bargain. They should be payin’ top arena prices to watch the likes of you.”
I was no longer finding it hard to breathe, I was just not breathing at all.
Did he real y say that?
He kept going. “You need a decent manager. You should be on the road. You should go to LA. You should get under the nose of some scouts.”
“I’ve talked to scouts,” I broke in.
“And?”
“I like where I am.”