Rhythm of the Road (Lost Kings MC 16)

“It’s not exactly like we publish a yearbook.” He grunts. “Let ’em track me down. Ain’t gonna like what they find.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Jigsaw is coming out to the show with us tomorrow. Dex is coming too.”

“He’s the serious, quiet one, right?”

“That’s Dex.” He glances over. “Actually, Z asked them to go with me. Is that gonna cause problems for you?”

I blow out a long breath. “More people might try to grab pictures now. Why did Z want them to go with you?”

He drums his fingers against the steering wheel for a few seconds before answering. “It’s in another club’s territory. We’re friendly with this club. Pretty close relationship that extends before my time, actually. There’s also some business we need to take care of on the way home.”

“Oh.”

“Since he’s coming anyway, I asked Jiggy to help me out at your meet and greet.”

I blink. “You did? But I can’t pay him—”

“He’s not taking your money.” He dismisses it like it’s a non-issue.

“Rooster, I appreciate that, but I can’t ask him to work for free. I felt bad enough having you do it.” I reach over and run my hand up his thigh. “But I had a form of payment in mind.”

He closes his hand over mine. “I don’t like what you’re implying on several levels.” He raises my hand, kissing the back of it before letting go. “You didn’t ask. I did. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t hesitate to help him out. It’s what we do for each other.”

“Greg’s going to shit himself.” I smile with glee.

“Tough. He needs to do a better job protecting you. You’re his artist. Your safety should be his top priority.”

“Pfft. Every now and then I get some crummy, creepy letter or weird present. Besides that, and the occasional guy who wants to play grab ass, I’m fine.”

“Wait, what? What letters? And no one should be grabbing your ass. Jesus Christ, we don’t allow ass-grabbing at our strip club. It sure as fuck shouldn’t—”

“What strip club?”

He glances over. “I told you upstate runs a strip joint. Crystal Ball.”

“Do you hang out there a lot?”

“I work there when the club needs me to help out.” He glances over and gives me a playful smirk. “You’re not jealous, I hope.”

“Nah. I was thinking if this singing thing doesn’t work out, maybe I can audition at your place since I’ll have an in with the owners.”

“Fuck that,” he growls. “That’s not even funny.”

“Why? It’s honest work.”

“Yeah. Hard work too. High turnover rate.” He flicks his gaze my way again. “You got a need to dress up and twirl around a pole, you can do it for me. And only me.”

“I was kidding. But it’s cute that you’re all riled up.”

He makes more growly noises, which make me laugh harder.

“I’m way too shy to get naked in front of a room full of people, Rooster. So settle down.”

“You have nothing to be shy about. Trust me.”

“Are you trying to talk me into it?”

“Fuck no.” He glances over. “How can you say you’re shy? Don’t you basically take the stage and get emotionally naked every night?”

Unsure of how to respond, I stare at him. From someone not in the entertainment business, it’s an awfully accurate description. “That’s exactly what it feels like sometimes.”

He reaches over and rests his hand on my leg. “I think that’s why people relate to you so well.”

“You think they do?”

“I know you don’t draw the same crowd Dawson does—yet—but yeah, you captured their attention last night and kept ’em hanging on ’til the last note.”

My eyes water and I turn to stare out the window. Huh. Must be allergic to something in New York. “Thank you. That’s really sweet.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I appreciate what you said is all.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it was true.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t. You’ve already been in my panties. Several times.”

He busts out a laugh. “I’ve been in more than your panties, chickadee.”

No joke. Rooster’s slowly, but surely taking up residence in my heart.Chapter Twenty-ThreeRooster

Shelby and I don’t run out of things to talk about on the way downstate. Usually this much conversation would have me crawling the walls, but I can’t get enough of her voice and stories.

She reaches for her water bottle, taking a long sip. “I should probably pipe down or I won’t be able to sing a note tomorrow.”

Shit, why didn’t I think of that? “I should do a better job holding up my end of the conversation, huh?”

She laughs softly. “You’re a good listener. Even my mom can’t listen to me for long without offering an opinion.” Her gaze shifts to the window. “Whether I want it or not.”

“You two have a fight this morning?”

“No.”

Obviously, that’s a topic of conversation she wants to avoid. Which probably means I should investigate it more.