Fall to You (Here and Now 2)

FANS MOURN the death of actor, producer, Dritts Crane.

The tequila warms my throat and belly as I glare at the screen and the picture of my father with his wife and three youngest children.

My phone buzzes with a text alert.

Janelle: Can you believe this bullshit? Like he was the world’s best father or something.

Looks like my sweet twin sister is watching the national coverage of my father’s funeral too. She doesn’t have a concert to perform in three hours, though. I, on the other hand, am going to be on Asher Logan’s shit list if I don’t stop drinking and start sobering up real fucking soon.

Nate: Turn off the TV. It’s only going to piss you off. Go out with your friends or something.

Janelle: I would bet money that you’re no better. Probably drinking in your hotel bar and glued to the TV, just like me.

Nate: Affirmative on the hotel bar. But why be glued to the screen when I can be glued to a willing groupie?

Janelle: I hate you.

Nate: Love you too. Turn off the TV and get out of the house.

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I scan the bar. Truth is, I have no interest in groupies. I’m here incognito in a hat and sunglasses, and I’ve done a rather fine job of avoiding them thus far. If I didn’t have to perform tonight, my date with a bottle of tequila would start now.

I’m debating another drink when she walks in. Dark hair. Sunglasses. Strappy heels. Snug-fitting black dress and curves from here to California. Damn.

She heads straight for the bar and slides onto a stool two down from mine. “Vodka cranberry, please?”

I move toward her, taking a seat next to her as the bartender hands over the drink. “Meeting someone?”

She downs half the pink liquid in one long pull before settling it on the counter and studying the contents. “Just killing time while my sister screws her boyfriend in his suite.” She doesn’t sound spiteful or jealous, just matter-of-fact.

“And where’s your boyfriend?” On the scale of lame to rock star, that line lands me closer to a pasty-faced gamer at his first Comic-Con.

She pulls off her sunglasses and studies me. Her eyes are a dark chocolate brown and her face sweeter than I expected—down to the faint freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose. “If you’re trying to pick me up, could we just skip to the hot-but-regrettable make-out session in the coatroom?”

My lips curve into a smile without my permission. It might be the first time I’ve smiled all week. And another first for the week? There’s finally something that sounds better than another shot of tequila. I’m already imagining my hands on her curves as I taste those sweet lips. There’s something about the fact that she said make-out session and not fucking that makes her even more appealing to me.

She’s sweet, I realize. Sweet women are such a rare breed in LA. It’s hardly something I have to worry about. But sweet means off-limits to men unwilling to part with promises and tomorrows. I can’t remember the last time I kissed a sweet woman. Not worth it. And yet…

I stand and offer her my hand, but she just frowns at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Let’s go find that coatroom,” I say.

She grins—a big smile that stretches across her face and shows her white teeth. As far as smiles go, it’s stunning. She’s stunning without it. She doesn’t need anything beyond all her long, dark hair around her shoulders and those killer curves. But that smile nearly knocks me off my feet.

“You are just that accommodating, huh?” she asks.

“I aim to please.”

When she laughs—not a giggle, but a rich, deep belly laugh that carries across the room—I’m once again thinking, Sweet. And I’m feeling one hell of a sweet tooth coming on.

She shakes her head and offers me her hand. “I’m Hanna.”

“Nathaniel,” I reply. I’m not sure what makes me use my full name instead of Nate, but it’s probably because I don’t want this moment with this woman to have anything to do with my identity as a musician.

“Nathaniel,” she repeats, as if testing the weight of it on her tongue. “You look like a Nathaniel. Honest to God, I don’t know many guys who’d come on to a girl while wearing a Star Wars shirt.”

“You should see my Incredible Hulk tattoo. It makes all the chicks swoon.”

She grins again. “You’re kidding me.”

“I would never kid about the Incredible Hulk.”