Huh. I kept my mouth shut.
“Sounds like someone had a bad day.”
Nope, I still had nothing. A brain-dead stare was the best I could do.
Why was he out here in the dark? From all reports, the man was the life of the party. Yet here he was, drinking alone, hiding like me. Slowly, he stretched, rising out of his seat. Thank you, Lord. He’d go back inside and I’d be off the hook. I wouldn’t have to try and make conversation. Fortunate, given my sudden bout of starstruck stupidity.
Only he didn’t leave.
Instead, he walked toward me, his lean, muscular frame moving with careless grace. He had maybe five, six inches on me height wise. Enough to intimidate if it was his purpose. Muscular arms put the sleeves of his shirt to the test. Drummer’s arms. They were certainly nice as body parts went, covered in ink and bulging in all the right ways. I bet they felt good, too.
And I was so obviously checking him out someone should slap me.
If I kept this up, I would slap me. Hard.
“What’s your name?” he asked, joining me at the railing. God, even his voice felt good. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood on end with delight.
“My name?”
He stood close enough that our elbows bumped. His bare elbow, since he wore only jeans, a pair of Chucks, and a fitted “Queens of the Stone Age” T-shirt. Mal Ericson had touched me. I’d never wash again.
“Yeeeah, your name,” he drawled. “The point of me telling you my name, even when you already knew it, was so you’d give me yours. That’s how these things go.”
“You knew I knew?”
“The crazy eyes kinda gave it away.”
“Oh.”
A moment later, he groaned. “Never mind, this is taking too long. I’ll just make one up for you.”
“Anne.”
“Anne, what?
“Anne Rollins.”
A brilliant grin lit his face. “Anne Rollins. See, that wasn’t so tough.”
I gritted my teeth and tried to smile. Most likely I resembled a lunatic. One that had spent way too much time imagining him naked. Good god, the shame.
Gently, he tapped his bottle of beer against mine. “Cheers, Anne. Nice to meet you.”
I took another sip, hoping it would calm the shaking. The booze wasn’t hitting me hard enough fast enough to deal with this. Maybe I should move on to something stronger. One’s first intimate conversation with a rock star should probably be conducted over hard liquor. Ev was definitely on to something with her tequila-fueled antics in Vegas. And look how well it had worked out for her.
“What brings you here tonight, Anne?”
“I came with Nate and Lauren. They brought me. They’re my neighbors. They live next door.”
He nodded. “You’re friends with Ev?”
“Yeah, I, well … I’ve always been friendly with her. I wouldn’t want to presume … I mean, I don’t know that I’d say we were close friends, exactly, but–”
“Yes or no, Anne?”
“Yes,” I answered, then snapped my mouth shut against another outbreak of verbal diarrhea.
“Yeah, Ev’s good people. Davie was lucky to find her.” He stared off at the city lights in silence. The amusement fell from his face and a frown creased his brow. He seemed sad, a little lost, maybe. For certain, his much-vaunted party-rocker personality was nowhere in evidence. I should know better. People had painted Ev to be the next Yoko Ono, riding on David’s coattails, sucking him dry of fame and fortune. I didn’t have to be her BFF to know it couldn’t be further from the truth. Chances were, whoever Mal was had little to do with the nonsense flowing freely on the Internet.
But more important, how badly had I embarrassed myself?
“I didn’t really get a crazy look in my eyes, did I?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Yeah, you did.”
Crap.
“So you’re a friend of Ev’s? I mean, you’re not in the music business or anything?” he asked, focusing on me once more. His face had cleared, his mood shifting. I couldn’t keep up. With the flats of his palms he beat out a swift rhythm on the balcony railing.
“No. I work in a bookshop a few blocks from here.”
“Okay.” He gazed down at me, apparently pleased with my answer. “So what was that phone call about?”
“Nothing.”
“No?” He stepped closer. “What happened to your nose?”
Immediately my hand flew up to block his view of my face. It was only a small bump, but still. “My sister broke it when we were little.”
“Don’t cover it. I think it’s cute.”
“Great.” I lowered my arm. He’d already seen the flaw, so what was the use?