Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

"See you later, Ansley."

"See you--" She whirled around, her gaze meeting his. A slow grin lit his face.

She pressed her finger to her lips. "Shhh."

He nodded, returning his gaze to the football game. The longing from a moment ago twisted deeper.

Her path had just crossed with one of the good guys. Too bad it was only for a few moments in a crowded, crazy airport.

He watched her go, back straight, her guitar swinging from her hand. She was quickly swallowed up in the crowd, but the amber highlights in her brown hair lingered in his vision.

She was petite, determined, and pretty. Not beautiful. But pretty. In the way a man likes a woman to be pretty. Casual or decked out, pretty girls were always easy on the eye. On the soul.

But it was her lyrical voice that vibrated in his chest. Too bad they wouldn't ... Naw, man, don't even think about it.

You're better off alone.

Romance complicated life. Love hurt every bit as much as it healed.

Drew ordered another soda from the server and checked his watch. Three more hours before his flight. If they didn't cancel it. His trip from Hawaii started two days ago. Nice and smooth. Easy. Then he landed in San Francisco. What a madhouse. Twenty-four hours later, he boarded a flight to Melbourne by way of Atlanta.

In some sort of conciliation, the airline boosted him to first class for the hour flight, but until then ...

Another weary traveler took Ansley's seat. Drew greeted him, then noticed Ansley had left her phone at the counter, charging.

"That yours, man?" The traveler said. "I need to plug in."

"Go ahead." Drew gathered Ansley's phone and plug. He'd take it to her, though he hated the idea of losing his bar seat. He had a perfect view of the game.

Living in Hawaii, he didn't connect much with stateside college ball. He missed the days of watching Big Ten play all day Saturday.

"Hey, you." Ansley tapped his shoulder. He peered up into her anxious hazel gaze, her high cheeks flushed. "Have you seen my phone?" She stooped looking around her stool and the counter where she sat. "I can't lose it. All of my new songs are--"

Drew held up her phone. "I was going to bring it to you."

"Thank you!" She snatched it from his hand, exhaled deeply, and reached into her bag. "You don't know what this means to me." She passed him a hundred dollar bill.

Drew recoiled. "What do you take me for? Go back to your lounge." He cut a glance at her. A mistake. Something in her hazel eyes made him yearn for more than a life of a bachelor.

The server set down his drink. He thanked her and turned the glass in his hands. He wasn't thirsty. He just needed something to do while he waited.

"Say ... aren't you Ansley Moore?" A thirty-something woman dressed for business leaned through two men and a woman to fix her gaze on the singer. "I saw you on the music awards. You were--"

"No, no, just a resemblance." Ansley stepped closer to Drew.

"What? You're carrying a guitar case." The woman motioned to Ansley's instrument.

"That's my guitar." Drew slipped his hand around the handle, his skin touching hers. What's a white lie when rescuing a distressed damsel? "Drew Callahan, singer, songwriter, troubadour. For five hundred bucks and a good meal, I'll sing at your next party."

The woman gaped at him. She wasn't buying it. "I never heard of Drew Callahan."

"Man!" Drew smacked the counter with a glance at Ansley. "Some publicity agent you turned out to be."

"Well, some talent you turned out to be." A smile tugged the edge of her lips.

The woman started to ask another question, but someone from within the throng called her and she left with a final glance at Ansley, frowning, calculating if she'd been made a fool.

"Publicity agent?" Ansley reached for her guitar and the brush of her hand against his was soft, smooth.