Her cheeks flush with pink, and I see a flash of my girl as she ducks her chin. “Uh…yeah. I mean, Chaz comes up with the melody, and I write the lyrics.”
“Can I at least buy you a drink?” I blurt.
Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, she glances over at the bar where her band members wait. Her prick guitarist catches us looking his way and throws her a flirty wink. A blinding wave of jealousy slams into me, coming out as a quiet growl.
“I don’t think Chaz would be good with it,” she decides.
“Are you two together?” I don’t have the right to ask, but I need to know.
Rolling her eyes, she shrugs. “Not in the way he wants. We started the band together a few years ago.”
Eyes lit with uncertainty, she stops to study my face. I hold my breath, hoping the conversation will continue its sudden laid-back pace and she won’t ask me to leave again.
For the first time since she stepped off the stage, I allow myself to wonder what would happen if I asked her to give me another shot. It’s shit for timing considering the tour starts in less than twenty-four hours and I’ll be on the road for six months. Would she even consider taking me back? Could she learn to love me again?
“I don’t want to say goodbye yet.” I don’t give a shit that I sound pathetically desperate when I add, “Please, Belle.”
Her head drops back and she makes a little frustrated noise. “I must need my fucking head fixed for agreeing to this,” she mutters. When her eyes dart back to her band mates, I suddenly worry this Chaz guy has anger issues. Is she afraid of him?
“You need his permission to talk to me?” I snap.
She holds her chin high. “Hell no. I just don’t want to get into it with him. He’s…protective. Go wait for me at the place a block down on the right called Stoners. I’ll come meet you in fifteen minutes or so.” Then her eyes roll to the lofted ceiling. “One drink, Roman. That’s it. I’m not interested in picking at old wounds that healed years ago.”
Nodding, I bite back the smile trying to stretch across my lips. Maybe coming here wasn’t a mistake after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Isabelle
After two shots of tequila for courage, meanwhile convincing Chaz that I’m off to meet Melanie, I spend ten minutes trying to collect myself in Vinnie’s bathroom. Hands trembling, I place them on either side of the mirror and take a hard look at what Roman could possibly want.
My emotions were out of control the second I discovered him watching me perform. Suddenly I was on a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows, alternating between wanting to jump his spectacular body and wanting to slap the shit out of his gorgeous face for coming back into my life. After seeing him kiss Brooke, I was so shook up that I called in sick to Vinnie’s for my next two shifts and canceled lessons with my four students. Of all the goddamned bars in New York, why did he have to walk into mine?
On the road to fame he became so untouchable and…severe looking. It was almost impossible to see the gangly teenage boy I fell for all those years ago who was just learning to play guitar. Standing near his massive body, immersed in his scent of spicy cologne and leather had me unnerved and painfully turned on. The rockstar persona fits him like a glove, just as I always knew it would.
I never should’ve agreed to meet him for a drink. What could he possibly hope to accomplish? Does he think we’ll reminisce before hooking up one last time? The only thing I see happening is that I’ll fall for his charm all over again and it’ll remind me why I love—loved—him. What good will that do either one of us? If I can’t protect my heart, I don’t want him coming anywhere near it. Especially if he had his dick inside Brooke.
But my feet are in motion before I can convince myself to be rational. Before I know it, I’m stepping into Stoner’s in search of the only man I’ve ever loved. The little dive bar is relatively quiet with only a handful of customers on bar stools and oldies rock and roll playing from a local radio station. As if it wasn’t already obvious the place is literally known for patrons who come stoned in search of food, a flag with a marijuana leaf and a Grateful Dead poster hang over the bartender’s head. The enticing scent of fried food as booze sloshes through my gut suddenly reminds me that I haven’t eaten dinner.
Roman slides out from a booth, a wide smile set on his beautiful lips. I’m helpless to stop my eyes from wandering down to the t-shirt stretched across his sculpted chest beneath the same leather coat he wore the last time I saw him. And Lord help me, those jeans…they accentuate every muscle of his legs and the large bulge between them. My heart skips a few beats when I realize he’s hard with the sight of me.