Beat (Life on Stage 2)

“See something you like?” She arches an eyebrow.

“You have no idea,” I reply with a wry grin. “Is it wrong to say that you have an amazing ass?”

Smiling, she cocks her head to the side. “I’m not sure. Last week I was wearing those leather pants I just bought and I asked Avery how I looked. She made me do the spin move and then she told me my ass looked great. So I suppose it’s acceptable to give your honest opinion on body parts to friends.”

“Good to know.” Then I make a slow inspection of her—starting at the bottom and leisurely working my way up. My eyes linger at the sliver of skin showing between her yoga pants and the tank top she’s wearing. Traveling further, I openly steal what can only be considered a leering look at her full breasts and then, eventually, my eyes lock with hers.

She raises her eyebrows in question, but says nothing.

“I’m a good friend. Just wanted to make sure I was ready to give you more honest opinions on your body parts.”

She shakes her head. “Come on, pal.”

We spend more than two hours roaming through FAO Schwarz, yet I haven’t even picked out a gift for Laney’s birthday party tomorrow yet. The giant piano floor mat that I’ve seen in movies like Big kept us occupied for more than an hour. The two of us jumping around and playing real songs with our feet eventually attracted a crowd. Lucky grabbed my hand and whisked me away when she noticed some of the moms were whispering and taking out their cellphones.

We’re almost through the entire store when we stop in front of a display. There’s no deliberation or discussion, we both just smile at each other and I pick the box up and head to the cash register—even though I know my sister is going to kill me.

I walk Lucky back to her apartment, not ready to leave her yet. We stroll casually, laughing the entire time. Until we reach her building. She fidgets for a minute, playing with her keys before looking up at me.

“Do you want to come up? I could wrap that for you. I have a stash of wrapping paper and I’m guessing you don’t.”

I know I shouldn’t. Because, let’s face it, I really want to. I’m just about to accept her offer when her phone goes off. The ring tone leaves no doubt who is calling. “Betrayed.” Easy Ryder’s most popular song blares from her hand. She stares at the picture flashing on her phone.

“Sorry. I can call him back later.”

“No. It’s okay. I should probably get going anyway.”

Her face falls a little, but she recovers quickly with a conciliatory smile. I lean down and kiss her cheek. It’s innocent enough, my lips don’t linger, but when I start to pull back, Lucky wraps her arms around me and hugs. Tight. I’ve never been one to put my private life on display, but the urge to kiss the hell out of her in public is almost primal.

“Thank you again for last night, Flynn. It meant a lot.”

Pulling back, our eyes meet just as the song abruptly stops midverse. Dylan Ryder may have stopped singing, but he’s standing right between us now. And damn if I don’t want to push him out of my way.

Chapter Twelve

Lucky

I thought about contacting Flynn all week, but in the end, I didn’t. On Tuesday, I went as far as typing out a text, although my finger ultimately hit Delete after hovering over Send for a long time. How did Laney like her gift? The text was innocent enough. Yet, the reality is, anything related to Flynn Beckham stopped feeling innocent about ten minutes after I met him.

I disembark from the plane to Atlanta in a daze. Dylan is picking me up at the airport. We haven’t seen each other in two weeks. I’m looking forward to it. Well, mostly I’m looking forward to it. But there’s something churning inside my belly that also makes me nervous about our reunion, although I’m not completely sure why.

Riding the escalator down to baggage claim, I’m surprised when I see Dylan at the bottom. I assumed he would be in the car and one of his security guys would be meeting me. He’s wearing a baseball hat, sunglasses and a grey hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled over the hat, masking some of his face. Couple the look with a pair of faded jeans and sneakers and he actually blends into the crowd. Easy Ryder has had seven platinum albums in ten years, five consecutive sold-out tours, and most people have at least one of their songs on their iPod—even men. Blending into the crowd is definitely not the norm for Dylan Ryder.

He’s playing with his phone but looks up just when I hit the bottom. The sunglasses he’s wearing shield his eyes, but I know from the curl at the corner of his mouth that he’s looking at me. He doesn’t step forward; instead he waits for me to come to him.

Neither of us says a word, but when I reach where he’s standing, he wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me to him, his mouth sealing possessively over mine. It’s more a welcome-home-from-the-military kiss than the greeting of a man who is attempting not to call attention to himself.

“Well, this is a surprise,” I breathe when he releases me.

“That I’m standing here or the kiss?”

“Both, I suppose.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. I told you I would pick you up.”

“I know, but I guess I expected you to wait outside.”

“Guess I missed my girl.” He gives me a chaste kiss. “I have more surprises for you later.” He winks.

Trying to avoid any more attention than he’s already garnered, Dylan looks down as we make our way to baggage claim and, lucky for us, my suitcase is one of the first to come out. A few women on the other side of the conveyor belt are already whispering and pointing in our direction by the time we’re heading to the car.

“Hi, Johnny,” I say to the Hulk-like man in the dark suit who steps out of the car to open the back door of the Escalade for us.

“Miss Valentine.” He nods. Dylan’s security team are their usual friendly selves, I see.

Before Johnny pulls away from the curb, Dylan’s hand is already slipping under my skirt.

“Stop,” I whisper a warning and glare at him.

“Why?” He tugs me closer and his lips find my neck.

I pull back. “Umm…because we’re not alone.”

“He’s seen a lot worse.”

I’m dating a rockstar, it’s not like I think he’s a virgin. Far from it. But the reminder of the carefree things that have happened in the presence of others still stings. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Come on, Lucky. I didn’t mean it like that. You know what I meant.”

I try to shrug it off. I haven’t seen him in two weeks, and I should be excited he’s so eager to get his hands on me. “I know. Just…not here.”

“But I have to go straight to sound check,” he pouts.

“Then it sounds like you may have to wait until tonight.”

Dylan groans. “I hate waiting.”

I lean in and whisper in his ear, “But good things come to those who wait.”

I may have spent half my life in a bar, but I’ve never been good at drinking. Perhaps it was the years of watching drunks make fools of themselves at Lucky’s that soured me against public intoxication. It’s not that I don’t drink…Lord knows Avery and I have had some nights that turned into morning-afters I’d like to forget. My drinking just tends to be limited to when I’m not at a public event. Tonight I make an exception to my normal sober policy—my nerves getting the best of me for some reason.