Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

The stranger lifted his brow and shrugged before replying in a deep, sexy voice. “I guess I’ll have to.”

“See? It won’t end well. So, let’s not pretend we’re friends, Dec. Let’s not pretend we ever will be. I’m nothing to you, and you should know the feeling is mutual.”

“Listen to me, Jus—”

Xena stuck her head out the door just then and called for Declan. “We’re on. Let’s go.”

Dec nodded before turning to me. “Come inside. We can talk after our set.”

“No.”

He growled angrily. “Fuck, you’re stubborn. Remember tonight ’cause you’re gonna need me someday, Justin. And you’re gonna be very fucking sorry you didn’t pay attention,” he snarled before finally moving away.

I balled my hand into a fist and pulled my arm back. But before I could punch the wall like a real dumbass, the stranger called out, “Boyfriend. Cool it.”

I jerked around and froze as if I’d been slapped. I raced through a series of breathing exercises and swallowed hard before moving toward the man under the lamplight. I paused a few feet away and stuffed my hands into my pockets. Damn, he was even more handsome up close. And a little intimidating.

“You’re still here,” I said lamely.

The stranger turned to me with a slow-growing smile that lifted one corner of his mouth. And fuck, I was right. He was hot.

“Well, I thought you might need someone to rescue you.”

“Yeah. No, um…”

“Yes and no?” he teased.

“No. I’m fine. I just—can I bum one of those?” I asked, gesturing to the cigarette in his hand.

He nodded, then reached into his pocket. He slid one from the package and lit the end from his cigarette before handing it to me. I found myself watching his every movement—the bend of his head and the flick of his wrist. There was something old-fashioned and intimate in the ritual that made me think of black-and-white movies where a shared smoke and a drink were the ultimate icebreakers.

Truthfully, I didn’t know why I asked. I didn’t smoke. But I needed something to do with my hands. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making it harder than normal to stand still. Between my solo gig and my run-in with Dec, my brain buzzed ominously. I wondered if I’d forgotten to take my meds.

“You okay?” the stranger asked.

I blew out a stream of smoke and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. He’s not my favorite person. No big deal.”

The man studied me for a long moment. He made me nervous. The air around him seemed to crackle with electricity. Or maybe that was the switchboard in my cranium firing on all cylinders at once, because he wasn’t really doing anything. He just stood there looking so…self-assured, put together and calm. Like a buoy in a storm.

“You done for the night, Boyfriend?” he asked conversationally.

I chuckled softly. “Yeah. Thanks for embracing your role.”

“Anytime. You were good in there,” he said, inclining his head toward the club.

“Thanks. I was.”

The deep timbre of his laughter moved through me, warming me from within. “Modesty’s overrated.”

“It was four measly songs at a dive bar. Nothing to get excited about.”

“Original material?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

We were silent for a moment. I watched the tendrils of smoke cross his features as he exhaled. He looked mysterious, like a detective or someone who knew things. The deceptively cool type who thrived under stress or—

“Are you a producer?” I blurted.

“No. Are you looking for one?”

“Fuck, no.” I leaned my arm against the chipped stucco and gave him a thoughtful once-over. He was built like a football player, but he had the eyes of a poet. There was something earnest in his gaze that made me think he was taking internal notes. The way I sometimes did, but with a less manic edge. “I know I should say the exact opposite, but I’m not exactly ready for that stage in the game. I need a few other things first…like a bassist. Oh yeah, and a manager to take the reins from me before I sail this ship into an iceberg.”

His eyes twinkled. “You’re not dramatic much, are you?”

I huffed. “Unfortunately, it’s all true.”

“So you’re in a band?”

“We’re trying. It’s safer to say I’m in between bands at the moment,” I corrected.

“That’s right. Gypsy Coma. What’s your name again?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I sighed, feeling suddenly defeated. “That’s not who I am anymore. I’m starting over.”

“Without a name?”

“Yeah. Anonymous.” I cocked my head. “What about you?”

“I’m not tellin’. I don’t want a name either,” he quipped.

I snickered. “Sounds fair. I’ll call you Boyfriend or…Blue.”

“Blue?”

“Yeah. You have pretty eyes.” I winced. “Wow. I can’t believe I said that out loud. I’m not flirting with you. I just—”

“Was that your ex-boyfriend?” he intercepted.

“No. He’s my ex-girlfriend’s new guitarist. Maybe they’re together, but nah, I doubt it. They both need the spotlight. Sharing a stage for an hour or two is one thing. They’d never manage it in real life too.” I waved impatiently. “Whatever. I don’t want to talk about them. I’d rather hear about you. What do you do for a living? Or is that top secret?”