“Right. I need to get my woman home and naked before she falls asleep on my ass.” Blake kisses the top of her head.
What a difference a woman makes. One minute the guy’s fuckin’ chicks and keeping secrets; now he’s playing Bon Jovi and having a kid. It’s as if he went from twenty-five to forty overnight.
I fist-bump Blake and give Layla a hug before they turn and disappear into the dwindling crowd. Ready to follow their lead and get home for some shut-eye, I finish breaking down all our stuff. Lane helps me out, but Talon and Ty have wandered off with a group of girls. Something tells me we won’t be seeing much of them for the rest of the night.
I’ve loaded up our van, settled up with the manager, and satisfied a few fans with pictures and autographs when I’m finally headed to my truck. I check my phone. Fuck. It’s two a.m.
So much for an early night.
“Mothereff!” The angry female voice comes from the other side of the alley.
I lean to see around a dumpster and find a tall dark-haired girl limping in a circle and dropping every cuss word known to man. From what I can tell, she’s pissed at the motorcycle parked just a few feet away.
Guess my early night went from late to later.
I stroll up to her, but she’s too lost in her fit to notice. “You need some help?”
She jumps and spins on me, fists raised.
I hold up my hands and try like hell not to crack up at how funny this girl looks with her feminine little hands balled up and ready to throw a punch. “Whoa . . . watch the guns there, slugger.”
She drops her hands to her sides and stares at me. “Rex”—her eyebrows drop low—“are you . . . you’re talking to me?”
Okay, maybe she’s angry and drunk.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you, unless there’s someone else in the alley who’s jumping around and yelling at a motorcycle. Wait, how do you know my name?”
Her dark pink lips part and she locks eyes with mine. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t nail it down. Her long black hair is pulled back, but pieces have come loose and fall in waves around her heart-shaped face. The contrast of her hair against her pale skin with those dark lips . . . she looks like a doll.
I snap my fingers and point. “I know you!”
Her eyes go wide and she sucks in an audible breath. “Yes. It’s me—”
“Sorry, I know you work here, and I feel like a total dickhead for not remembering your name.”
She jerks as if my words delivered a physical blow. “Oh, uh . . . yeah. M-mac.”
“Mac. Right. Sorry, I meet so many people . . .” It’s a crappy excuse, but it’s true. I only know a few of the waitresses by name. I still feel like a dick.
She nods a few times, still staring. Silence expands between us, and her eyes don’t move from my face.
I clear my throat. “So . . . is this your man’s bike?”
Her eyes flutter and she shakes her head. “No, um . . .” She turns to the motorcycle. “It’s mine.”
“Yours?”
Her gaze swings to me, eyes narrowing.
“Sorry, it’s just girls don’t usually—”
“Ride motorcycles. I get it.” She kneels down to look at something around the front tire.
I follow her gaze to see what she’s studying. It’s then I notice the front tire is flat. Really flat. “Ah, flat tire, huh?”
She doesn’t answer me, probably because it’s a stupid-ass question.
“You need air.” I almost slap my forehead at what a jackass I must sound like.
She forks her fingers into her hair. “No shit.” Her mumbled words are barely audible and make me smile.
“What I mean is why don’t I give you and your motorcycle a lift to the gas station so we can get you back on the road?” I don’t know why I’m offering. She could take a cab home and get her boyfriend to help her in the morning, assuming she has a man. From the looks of this chick, all legs and the kind of hair that makes a man want to bury himself inside it, she’s gotta be taken.
But why would she be here alone in a dark alley with a flat and no one here to help her if she did? Fuck! If I had a girl, I’d spank the hell out of her if she put herself in this situation.
Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to decipher the seriousness of my offer. “You want to help me?”
“Unless your man is on the way to pick you up, I don’t see you’ve got any other options.” I motion to the sign in the alley that clearly reads “No Overnight Parking.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Have one what?”
“A man, coming for me.”
“Well then”—I hold out my arms and bow—“looks like I’m your guy.”
Her eyes go wide and she steps back, bumping into her bike.
What’s up with this chick?
*
Mac
Calm down. Don’t freak out. Yes, the object of a fourteen-year obsession is standing less than two feet away. And he’s talking to me. Talking. To me!