Fall to You (Here and Now 2)

Will grins. “Good point. See you later. I’m sorry about Hanna, but hang in there. She’ll come around.”

I pretend hearing her name doesn’t make me want to double over. I follow him to the door, shutting it behind him. When I’m left alone in the silence, I sink to the floor and cradle my head in my hands.

Because this is my life now. Alone in this shit excuse for an apartment, up to my eyeballs in debt and secrets, and in love with a woman who wants nothing to do with me.

A YEAR ago, if someone had told me that my life would soon involve hanging out backstage with Asher “Sexy Beast” Logan right before one of his performances, I would have accused them of peeking into my fantasies. Of course, in those fantasies I would have been the one on the gorgeous rocker’s arm, not my sister, Maggie. Also, in those fantasies, I was grinning and joyful, not sipping my vodka cranberry and quietly nursing a broken heart.

Asher’s been touring to promote his new album, Unbreak Me, and though his fifty-show tour at small colleges across the US is small beans compared to the tours he used to do with Infinite Grey, he’s still on the road more often than he’s at home, and that’s hard on Maggie.

So I agreed to drive the four hours to the tiny liberal arts school outside of St. Louis so we could see Asher perform. Because that’s what I do. I make decisions that make people happy. Regardless of what I might need myself.

“Chin up, buttercup,” Maggie says. “I want to introduce you to Nate Crane.”

I lift my head and suddenly I’m sucking in air because my eyes are connected with the man who flirted with me earlier. He’d had a hat and sunglasses on in the bar, and I hadn’t recognized him, but this time his identity is clear.

“Hanna, this is Nate Crane. Nate, this is Hanna, my sister.”

His eyes sweep over me the way a guy’s eyes are supposed to sweep over a girl. The way Asher’s eyes sweep over Maggie every time she enters a room. The way William’s eyes sweep over Cally when he doesn’t think she’s looking. It sends a little buzz through me that’s not quite a chill but not quite electric either. Just a nice, warm shimmy of sensation that starts at my core and radiates out through my limbs.

Then I check behind me because I’m sure I’m mistaken. He was just playing around at the bar, right? I mean, guys don’t look at me like that. They look at my sisters like that; they look at my best friends like that.

“Maggie never told me her sister was so gorgeous,” Nate says, putting an end to any debate over his attraction to me.

My cheeks warm with a flush I can feel all the way from my chest to my hairline.

“Maggie, I did tell you I have a thing for sweet girls who blush, didn’t I? Is she my birthday present? I’d s

ay you shouldn’t have, but I’d be lying.” He says all this without taking his eyes off me. His gaze drifts over me again, slower this time, lingering at my waist, my hips, my feet in strappy, heeled sandals. “I was a good boy this year. I deserve her.”

Maggie thumps him in the chest with the back of her hand. “She’s a woman, not some trinket or object that can be given.”

“Oh,” he says, his voice so low I can barely make it out, “I noticed she’s a woman.”

“We met earlier,” I say quickly. “In the bar. He’s just teasing.”

Maggie huffs. “Deserve or not, you can’t have her. Hanna has a boyfriend.”

Oh, no. No, Hanna doesn’t. But I didn’t tell Maggie about Max. It hurt too much to share what I’d learned. I’m too proud to share it. And if I want to keep our split a secret, I couldn’t really tell her if I wanted to. I can’t risk telling anyone.

Nate takes my hand, clearly undeterred by the mention of competition. “Tell me she’s lying. Please? It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“And you wanted me to jump out of a cake for you?” I retort, but I let him play with my fingers and try to keep my breathing steady. His touch brings back something I didn’t think anyone but Max could make me feel.

“I wouldn’t complain.”

I’m fresh out of spunk, and stare stupidly. Nate Crane is six feet some-odd inches of deliciously tatted, freshly showered rocker. In ripped-up jeans and a Star Wars tee, he exudes a geekiness that’s only amplified by the tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves. The rest of him is essentially a catalogue of every woman’s fantasy. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, shaggy, dark hair still wet from his shower and curling slightly at the ends. Those intense eyes that seem to be smiling at me as he follows the lines of my palm with his calloused fingertips. He hadn’t really been on my radar until this year, when he started performing with Asher at a lot of his tour stops. They’re old friends, apparently.

“You didn’t tell me you were a rock star,” I murmur.

“You didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend,” he counters.

“Come on, Crane,” Asher calls. “It’s time.”

Maggie drags me back to the dressing room, shoves me toward the bar, and wraps herself around Asher. I’m not sure I’m up for watching them grope each other, but I don’t want to rush them either.

The concert was great. No, it was effing amazing. Standing on the side of the stage while watching Nate and Asher perform was the experience of a lifetime.

I’m glad I didn’t let my broken heart keep me at home.