“We’re going to slip down that aisle on the far side and out through the kitchen.” He threw a wad of cash on the table, grabbed her hand and hauled her from the booth. “Do not look at him.”
Shit. She couldn’t leave. Not without making contact with Jay. Where was he? She arched her neck, couldn’t see through the horde of people.
Nathan tugged her toward the door. “Look. The. Other. Way.”
Laz surveyed the room, making a show of eyeing each woman with his charming smile. Two others joined him on the table. The bald drummer, Rio Ketch and surfer boy bassist, Wil Sima. Where the hell was Jay?
She dragged her feet, her heart sinking.
Three pairs of well-known eyes locked on hers. Her heart sprinted into a marathon, urging her to run, but her legs were paralyzed. She didn’t know what had led Jay Mayard into her shop three years earlier, but this possibility of seeing him again might be the only one she’d ever get. She couldn’t walk away.
18
An arm wrapped around Charlee’s midsection, lifted her, and carried her toward the kitchen.
“Wait.” She bucked against the unbreakable hold. At twenty-five years old, she could behave like a swooning fan just like the squealing girls across the room. He didn’t need to know her true intentions. “I want to meet them.”
He growled in her ear. “I know you know the singer.”
“What?” How the hell would he know that? She elbowed him in the ribs. “Put me down.”
“Hey, Red. Wait. Don’t leave.” Laz pointed at her, jumped from the table, and pushed past the grabbing arms of the crowd. If she continued moving toward the back exit, would he follow? She hoped, because escaping the camera phones that would soon be turning her direction was the priority.
A team of stiff, plain-dressed men held back the fans as Laz closed the distance.
Nathan reached around her waist and pulled her through the kitchen doors. “This is the worst scenario imaginable. What if the paparazzi show up?” He spun them in a circle, likely scanning for an exit. “Great, just great.”
“Hey there. Don’t hide.” A few feet away, Laz’s smile filled his adorable face, the doors swinging behind him and muffling the screams. She dropped her hands.
“Sweet God in heaven, you are undeniably—”
“My wife, Maylynn.” Nathan held out his hand, his jaw clenching in her periphery. “I’m Hank, the guy who cost you a bet. And we were just leaving.”
Hank and Maylynn McGraw. Nathan’s ridiculous aliases made her fist twitch.
“Is Jay here?” She couldn’t keep her anticipation from pitching her voice.
Laz ignored Nathan’s hand and dropped his smile. “No. Why is he always the ladies’ first pick?
“Where is he? Is he in New York?”
“You’re wounding my pride, babe.” He spread out his arms. “What do you say? A date with Laz Bromwell? Since you’re married, I’ll do you both.” He shrugged. “I’m magnanimous like that.”
The body pressed against her back turned to stone, pushing her to the side and out of view if the door opened.
She patted Nathan’s hand where it clenched on her arm. “I think we’ll pass on the date.”
Laz hung his head, shuffled to the door and poked his head into the dining room. “Shut down, folks. This bet is going to hurt like a motherfucker.”
They responded in a roar of boos that rallied into “Pick me. Pick me.”
Nathan grabbed her hand and moved them deeper into the kitchen, weaving around cook stations, his eyes probing the hallways and doors.
Laz ran behind and skidded into her path, stopping her. “Just my luck I find the most beautiful woman on the fucking planet, and she’s taken.” He brushed a strand a hair from her face.
The bold gesture made a slow curl through her stomach. She was such a glutton for tender touches. “What did the bet cost you?”
His face flushed. “A tattoo.”
A thrill kicked through her. “Any tattoo?”
Nathan’s hand pulled her elbow. “We need to go. Now.”
Laz laughed, and it had a nervous hitch to it. “The tat has to be a ruler.”
“Like a king?”
“Like a standard unit of measurement.”
Weird. “Where?”
He looked pointedly at his groin and back to her. “Know a good tattoo artist?”
Nathan squeezed her hand. “Absolutely not.” He stopped a passing server. “Which door leads to the access road out back?”
Charlee snorted. “A ruler on your dick?”
Laz lifted his shoulders. “Marked off in inches. Or feet.” He grinned. “My friends are sick, I know. Change your mind about that date?”
She needed money, but more than that, she needed to see Jay. “I’d consider doing the tattoo for the right price.”
“Maylynn.” Nathan’s warning tone.
“No shit? You do tattoos?” He pushed his hands through his hair and the spikes bounced back. “Five grand.”
A Hell Yes tried to jump out of her gaping mouth. She caught it with a snap of her jaw. Think first. Then leap.