Nat looked around her, spooked. “Something like The Godfather,” she repeated. “Not the actual Godfather. Obviously.”
We all relaxed.
***
A half hour later, I was sitting with my back to the room when I heard the door to the street crash open. A blast of cold outdoor air froze my ankles. Three male voices started singing—an old love song from the nineties, with the notes flattened out by alcohol. In their heads, I’m sure they sounded great.
“Shut the door!” yelled someone.
The voices came closer, moving towards the bar. Actually, if you ignored the slurring, one of the voices didn’t sound too bad, its Irish lilt making it stand out from the rest. I groaned inwardly as I realized who it was.
Conversation at our table had died when the singing started. It sounded like the same had happened across most of the bar—it was impossible to ignore, since you’d have to yell to talk over it. I could feel the irritation building inside me. We’d come for a quiet drink, and he had to burst in and spoil things, not just for us but for everyone in the bar. I hated drunk people.
They finished their song, and there was applause. I rolled my eyes. Why were people encouraging them?
I realized that Jasmine was one of the ones clapping. She caught my look. “What? They’re not bad.”
I kept my voice low. “They’re drunk.”
“So?” Jasmine leaned across to Natasha. “Would,” she murmured, looking at someone behind me.
I couldn’t resist turning around, even though I knew who it was. Connor Locke was standing at the bar, talking to a busty, blonde-haired girl who was serving. Probably asking for her phone number. Connor had two other guys with him, guys I didn’t recognize from Fenbrook.
I turned back to the table. “Why?” I asked Jasmine.
“Are you kidding? Look at him!”
I sighed and took another look. He was turned half away from me, his leather jacket pulled tight around his waist as he twisted, showing off his wide, muscled back. I hadn’t really noticed that before. Or—what Jasmine had probably been focusing on—the fact that his jeans were snug over his firm, athletic ass.
There was a mirror on the other side of the bar, and I glanced at it, wondering if I could get a glimpse of his face. Only to find him staring straight back at my reflection.
I whipped back around to the table, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“He’s at Fenbrook, right?” Clarissa asked. “Music.”
“I barely know him,” I said quickly.
“Karen!” Connor’s voice behind me. He was suddenly looming over our table. I mentally willed the others to circle the wagons and block him out, but of course they slid their chairs back and turned and smiled. Dan, who’d been sitting next to me, had slipped away—probably chatting to some cute actor—and that had opened up a convenient gap for Connor to slide into.
I slowly lifted my head. He was grinning down at me, his jacket slung over his shoulder, and as he leaned in close his thick bicep was only a foot from my face. I found myself focusing on the tattoo there, to avoid having to look him in the eye. A name, picked out in elaborate lettering. Ruth.
I knew that talking to him was a mistake, but I couldn’t help myself. “You’re drunk,” I told him.
“And you’re beautiful. But in the morning—No, wait. I got that wrong.”
I ignored the jibe and shook my head. “It’s only eight o’clock. When did you start: six?”
“Four!” he said, sounding almost offended.
I sighed and shook my head. He’d been out partying all afternoon while I’d been stuck in a practice room. Didn’t he have practice to do?
“Rock n’ roll,” he said, with an extravagant gesture. “That’s Connor Locke. Too wild for you?”
“You could use a little taming, Connor Locke,” I said without thinking.
He leaned over me. “You going to be the one to tame me?”
I flushed, unable to think of a comeback, and cursed myself for talking to him. Then it got worse.
“Have you recovered from this morning?” he asked.
I blushed, which wasn’t the signal I wanted to send at all.
“What happened this morning?” asked Jasmine with forced casualness.
“I had Karen flat on her back,” Connor told them.
“That’s not….” I trailed off, unsure how to explain, and feeling myself going redder by the second.
“Don’t you remember?” asked Connor. “At one point, we were like this.” And he squatted down right in front of me, his face about an inch from mine. I didn’t have a choice—I had to focus on his eyes, those beautiful, blue-gray jewels. They were….