Love Resolution - By Michelle Mankin Page 0,38

of music greatly increased. The heavy bass beat from the Guess Who’s “American Woman” pounded into her chest and pulsating ceiling lights flashed, illuminating her path through the darkened interior of the club. She noticed concert posters of classic rock bands lining the walls on both sides of the room and flat low leather couches and oval Plexiglas coffee tables delineating intimate seating areas.

Avery smiled. It was her kind of place. Spotting Sam and JR near the small bar in the back she threaded her way through the crowd to them. When she reached Sam’s side, she shouted to be heard over the music “This is cool. Thanks for inviting me.”

Sam smiled back.

She was staring at the dancers on the chest high elevated ramp in the center of the room when the waitress walked up.

“I’m Jamie,” said the attractive woman with straight brown hair dressed in skin tight black leather pants and a Club Classic t-shirt. “Boss says drinks are on the house for you guys.” She took their order and soon returned with a silver bucket full of iced beers for JR and Sam and club soda for Avery. Avery took off her hoodie as Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” started playing and moved her body in time to the music.

“Let’s dance,” Sam insisted, lifting JR’s and Avery’s hands in the air.

“You guys go ahead,” JR shouted, pulling his hand free. “I’ll watch.” He wiggled his tawny brows while he sprawled out on the sofa, arms outstretched as if he owned the place.

Sam giggled, grey eyes twinkling in the club’s lights.

For a while, Avery was tense and glanced around the room nervously, but as time passed and no one seemed to take notice of them she let herself relax. So much had come at her recently that she just wanted to forget about it all for a while, let loose, and have a good time.

Dancing with Sam was fun. As they laughed and shimmied with abandon, Avery slowly but successfully relegated her concerns to the back of her mind. After an hour, she began to suspect Sam of being more than a tad tipsy. At the end of each song the cute intern turned tour manager would drop down onto JR’s lap, wrap her arm around his neck, and plant a kiss on his lips. The kisses were getting embarrassingly longer and sloppier each time, not that JR seemed to mind.

“You guys need to stop or get a room,” Avery chastised, tugging lightly on one of Sam’s curls.

Sam shook her head and giggled.

When Aerosmith’s “Walk this Way” came on, Avery played along with Sam, both stretching out their arms pretending to be Frankenstein’s monsters.

JR mouthed, “Kids,” and rolled his eyes at them.

They were bumping their hips together toward the middle of the next song, when Avery noticed Bryan and War walk in. Both stopped near the entrance. Dressed as they were, they garnered their fair share of attention from the women in the club.

Aviator sunglasses covered War’s eyes, a dark bandana tied back his hair, and he wore a military inspired jacket open with no shirt and leather pants. Bryan appeared to have just rolled out of bed, which with him was a distinct possibility. His faux hawk was flattened down on one side, and his sleeveless shirt was only half tucked in.

Bryan scanned the room. When his eyes met hers, his lips tipped up into that sexy half smile of his. He lifted his hand to his forehead in a mocking salute, the silver and leather bracelets he wore sliding midway down his arm.

Avery spun back around. She knew that he knew damn well that she liked what she saw. Heck, she was pretty sure it wasn’t a stretch to say Bryan was well aware that he had that effect on most women. He was a player and apparently he’d decided she was his next play. Why else would he be here?

Suddenly, a warm hand dropped on her shoulder just as Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” started playing.

“Hey, Red,” Bryan spoke low and near her ear.

She gulped and turned to face him. “Hey,” she offered in return.

Up close in the low seductive lighting of the club, Bryan Jackson was a bit intimidating and very, very male. His jeans hung low and clung to his lean hips while his sleeveless shirt was definitely a calculated choice to show off arms that were tantalizingly corded with muscle as well as covered with ink.

“What happened to your female entourage?” she asked with