Rockstar Baby (Crescent Cove 6)

Crescent Cove was infectious. It sneaked into your blood and before you knew it, you weren’t a grouchy, aloof, serious music dude anymore—minus the few times I got a little too deep into my cups. Exactly why I rarely imbibed.

Here, I didn’t even have to. I had a sense of humor anyway. My step was just a little lighter. LA seemed like it was on the other side of the world.

The bell jangled as I opened the diner door. A harbinger. Of what, I wasn’t sure.

Something country was on the juke. Conway Twitty maybe? Not my usual style of music. The place was half full with families and couples clearly fueling up for a night out. Polly, the waitress who’d waited on us earlier, was nowhere in sight. Neither was Ivy.

My heart started to beat too fast. Probably in the back. She hadn’t skipped out.

“Hey there. Back again?” Gina, the waitress I remembered meeting with Ivy the last time I’d visited Crescent Cove strolled toward me. “Let me guess. You’re looking for something special tonight.” She winked and I narrowed my eyes to keep from flushing like a kid.

“Maybe I just want a chicken fried steak.” I didn’t exactly know what that was, but it didn’t sound appealing.

“Oh, I just bet. Prepared by our sweet Ivy?”

“Perhaps. Is she around?”

“Ah-ha. Trying to play it cool. Don’t worry about that with me. I’ll keep your secret.” She grinned. “If the price is right.”

Something about her joke made my hackles rise. I moved past her and walked down the aisle between the booths, heading straight through the pass-through door into the back of the diner. People were calling to each other, and the guy manning the grill swore a blue—no, purple—streak.

I waited for someone to notice me and toss me out, but everyone was preoccupied. And Ivy was nowhere in sight.

Needing a quick escape, I headed toward the back door. I pushed it open and stepped out onto a small raised patio that fronted the lake.

Bingo.

Ivy was leaning on the railing, her long, flame-red ponytail whipping in the wind.

I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She stiffened and craned her neck to see who was behind her, but she didn’t relax when she saw it was me. If anything, she braced even more.

“You know better than that, Aug. There’s no such thing as being friends with your ex. At least not when it comes to you and Serafina.”

Serafina? That sounded like a Disney princess.

“I didn’t say I was an expert, just warning you to be careful. And you shooing me out of the place tonight says to me that you aren’t planning on keeping it platonic. You know how thin the walls are.”

Hmm. A little late to find out considering our prior romp at the Becks’ place, but good to know. Seemed like sex there was extremely risky.

So, why did that make my cock even harder?

Yes, harder, because I’d gone to stone the moment I’d seen her firm little ass pointing upward as she leaned on the rail. Pity those pants didn’t have the hole in the pocket so I could shamelessly ogle her underwear.

Pervert.

Also, I’d probably better loosen my grip on her waist, since she didn’t believe exes could be friends.

Not even “special” friends? Hmm.

We weren’t exes though. Not exactly. Were we friends with benefits? Strangers with benefits who’d become friends?

This was why I didn’t have relationships. I was such an analytical guy. Exactly why the production side of music suited me so well. It had mathematical aspects that many lay people didn’t realize. Sure, creativity was a big part of it too, but oftentimes mine took a backseat as I figured out the best way to help someone else shine.

Ivy’s hair blew against my face in the breeze and it took everything I possessed not to bury my face in it. In her at the rail where she stood.

So…no labels. We’d just enjoy the moment. That had held us in good stead last time, right?

“Okay, okay, fine, Aug, you do what you want. Me? Uh, why do you want to know?”