Arrogant Brit

stead of sniffing around my tenant as you so respectfully put it.”

I wanted to lash out.

I wanted to hit him.

But I bit my tongue.

When I didn’t snap at his words, the owner visibly softened – even if only by a little. With a deep sigh, he pointed over at Angel.

“Don’t get me wrong: you saved her. I’m grateful. The sheriff told me what you did, and I shudder to think what would have happened if you weren’t here.”

I couldn’t help myself.

“This sort of thing happen often?”

Old Greg soured.

“Not usually, no. I have no earthly idea what got into them tonight. You see, now I have to go through the trouble of figuring out a bouncer for a little while…”

“Right. Not a bad idea. Better than leaving her here alone with patrons you two clearly can’t control.”

He looked me in the eyes, deciding whether or not to jump into a fresh round of passive-aggressive arguing with me. Only, I was prepared to back it up a little more viciously this time, fueled by a rock-hard cock that demanded release.

This idiot had fucked it all up.

Things had been going great.

“Yes… you’re right,” he conceded. “And I will figure out what to do about that very soon. Now then, I’m going to politely ask you to leave my bar. Make me ask again… maybe it’s not so nice next time.”

“Can she walk me out?” I asked him.

The crusty bar owner turned to her, and then nodded. “If Angel wants, so long as she’s back inside shortly. She’s got a damn hole in my roof that needs patching. I’m amazed, frankly, that you didn’t blow my whole fucking bar down.”

Pushing my confidence and arrogance aside, I decided to leave on a high note. “I’m sorry for the trouble, sir,” I extended my hand. “I’ll be on my way.”

Old Greg nodded quickly, but ignored the gesture all the same. “Two minutes,” he assigned me. “More than enough time for the two of you.”

I let his blatant disrespect slide, and instead just walked out the door. Angel dejectedly fell into step beside me right afterwards. We hung around at the jeep for a moment.

“You’re not coming back, are you?” She asked morosely as she twisted her hair in her fingers. It was kind of sad to see, even for me.

“Do you have a cell phone?” I redirected the conversation. “Some way of getting in touch with you?”

“No, no phone,” she responded quietly.

Wow. No phone, living in the back of a bar, and I barely saw anything that looked like it could be hers…

“That’s a shame, because I still owe you for trying to patch me up,” I told her. An opportunity was already formulating in the back of my head. “RipFest doesn’t shut shop tonight. We’re playing another set tomorrow night. You should come.”

“But that’s so far,” she mumbled, glancing vaguely in the right direction. “There’s no way I can walk that, and I have to patch that hole tonight...”

“Don’t need to walk it,” I replied calmly. Yes, this is all falling into place. “You’re staying here, right? I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“You’d do that?” She was stunned.

“Of course. Least I can do,” I smiled. It was hard to keep my wickedness out of my voice.

Angel apparently saw that, and hesitated for a moment. It was enough for my smile to falter. Fuck. Did I just overplay this? “But I, well… I guess it’s true that I’m not working tomorrow night…”

“Want to see a real rock star in his element? I’ll get you a backstage pass. You’ll watch the show from the sidelines. No fighting through sweaty crowds and mosh pits. You’ll be safe with a view to kill for.”

“That sounds incredible,” she murmured, still carefully watching my eyes. “What time?”

“I’ll have someone pick you up here around 4 o’clock. That’ll get you there in time to see our set… And all the other sets, too. We’re sharing the stage with some fucking legends.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Old Greg is out of town tomorrow. He probably won’t even know that I’ve left. This could work.”

“You think so?” I asked.

“Alright,” Angel nodded, not without some reluctance. “Yeah. I guess it’s a deal.”

“You bet it is,” I whispered, slipping a fingertip below her chin. She shivered at my touch, staring into my eyes fearfully. It would be so easy to kiss her right now.

No. I’ll wait.

There’s a better time for this.

Instead, I told her goodbye, slipped into my jeep, and whipped out of the parking lot. Before she disappeared from view, I turned over my shoulder to give her one more little wave. I smiled knowingly to myself.

Just a brief delay.

No big deal.

I felt my usual confidence rush back into my veins, my swagger emboldened by my understanding of where I belonged in the universe.

Where she belonged.

Which was around my cock, tomorrow night.

Who needs the back of a rickety old bar?

I’d rather fuck you in the tour bus, anyway.

Chapter 8

Angel

When I woke up hours later in my familiar old cot, I crawled out of bed and brushed my teeth. Peering at my sleepy gaze in the mirror, I wondered why I was so exhausted. But then, it all came flashing back, in a slideshow montage of events in my head.

The bikers, trying to rape me.

The rocker, shirtless and oh so handsome.

The seductive way he looked at me.

How close I’d been to giving myself up.

Sweet Caramel Jesus on a stick.

How fucking stupid had I been? I could barely believe it. Hot or not, no boy had ever had that kind of effect on me. I mean, yeah, I felt like I was a little indebted to him for rescuing me and taking those punches. But…

Old Greg had been right.

I’d almost fucked him.

I’m such an idiot.

That look in his eyes…that seductive, low yarl of a baritone in his singing voice… and then there was all that bullshit at the end of the night. He’d been putting serious moves on me, coercing me to come along to see him play life. I could see the burning lust in his eyes, and I knew that he didn’t really give a rat’s ass about me.

No.

Nuh-uh.

Ain’t happenin’.

I groaned angrily at myself. I held myself to a higher standard than this. Sure, I owed him for what he did for me – but did I owe him that?

I mean… he was really hot.

UGH.

No.

Still mentally grumbling to myself, I went on with my morning routine. After brushing my teeth, I hopped into the freezing cold shower for the millionth time. I’d learned to clean up fast without access to hot water in the improvised bathroom for over a year.

It was only while I was toweling off that I thought back to the concert he’d mentioned. Didn’t he say that he was going to send someone for me?

I looked over at the time.

It was coming up on 11 AM.

Great. Only five hours of waiting.

Throwing on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts, I cracked a few eggs, slapped on some bacon, and made myself fried egg sandwiches for breakfast. A tumbler of frigid tap water from the bar rounded out my breakfast of champions.

As I dwelled on recent events, I found myself savoring the warmth of the eggs. Alabama rarely got what you could consider cold, but there was a slight chill to the air outside – a cold front must have snapped through.

Didn’t help that this bar had the approximate insulation of a paper bag.

Should I go? I wondered to myself.

Could I have been wrong?

Does he REALLY want to see me again?

Trent probably saw me as just another notch in his bedpost. It had been a long time, and he was really hot. Could I be okay with that? After all, I thought to myself, maybe he’d alread

y lost interest from being interrupted by my landlord.