I turned away before he could catch me gawking at him and ignored the irony that I’d been staring googly-eyed at him when he used to do the same to me.
Not that I didn’t catch him checking me out from time to time. I particularly felt his eyes on my ass as we made our way through the back and into the dark and surprisingly smoky club. Even though California was strict about smoking inside, the patrons of the Coppertank didn’t seem to care. And, as I did a quick once over of the place, I could see why. They were a ragtag bunch comprised of goths, punks, rockabillies, and gearheads, and judging by the way they were drunk at seven in the evening and talking trash to each other, it was obvious that this was a bar where the customers called the shots.
That made my plan a lot easier.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked me after he placed his equipment in the back room.
“Sure you can,” I told him and I followed him to the bartender. Camden gave him a nod which signaled for the guy to make him what I guessed was “the usual.”
I leaned toward Camden, tilting my chin down coquettishly. “Do you play here often?”
“As often as I can.” He responded by leaning in closer, his bare arm brushing against mine. There were no sparks, but I did feel a few tingles that shot up along my arm and pooled between my legs. I clamped them shut and tried to ignore it.
“Where’s the rest of your band?”
“They probably won’t be here till nine or something. We don’t go on till eleven.”
I raised my brows at him as the bartender pushed two glasses of what looked like Coke toward us. “Eleven?”
He looked a bit sheepish, which was adorable with his glasses. “Yeah, we usually play after the smaller bands finish. I just wanted some alone time with you before the show, that’s all. You know, for old time’s sake.”
He placed a glass in my hand and nodded at it. “It’s got booze in there, don’t worry. I’m not that much of a saint.”
“I never doubted you for a second,” I told him slyly and sniffed the drink. It was strong, fizzy, and fruity. I took a sip.
“Bourbon and Cherry Coke with a splash of lime,” he said.
It was good stuff and I wondered how he knew I liked bourbon, though I probably reeked of the moonshine when I got in the car.
“Want to go get a booth?” he asked. Before I could say yes, he grabbed my hand and led me across the bar toward the red leather booths that lined the side of the stage. I couldn’t help but notice the faces of the women as we walked past them. They all needed a bib from the amount of drool that was coming out of their mouths and I felt a tiny prick of pride that I was being seen with him.
I also couldn’t help but notice how firmly he was holding my hand, how warm and strong his grip was. I was met with a rush of cold separation when he finally had to let go once we reached the table.
I scooched in along the squeaky seats and settled back against the shiny cushions that had seen better days. Camden sat beside me, our legs touching, and we had a view over the whole bar. It was a great place to scope out the joint, though his proximity was distracting.
It was always best to steer any potential conversations away from me, so I got the ball rolling by asking him about life in Los Angeles and if he preferred it to Palm Valley.
“I did,” he nodded thoughtfully, his full lips wrapped around the straw of his drink. “I loved the beaches and the weather…warm enough in winter, cool enough in summer. I loved the culture, the bars, the shows, even the people when they weren’t being righteous assholes.”
“So why’d you move?”
His eyes narrowed briefly. “It’s a long story. A…complicated story.”
“Those are my favorite types of stories,” I encouraged him.
“In a nutshell, it was cheaper and more advantageous for me to open up my shop here.”
I leaned in close and coaxed him with my eyes, trying not to inhale too much of his intoxicating scent.
He looked up to the ceiling. “And I needed to start over. Isn’t that why you came back?”
I looked at him quizzically. “What makes you think I’m trying to start over?”
“Isn’t that why people return to their past?”
Our eyes were locked together, each of us trying to suss the other out and poke around for the hidden meanings.
“So, then why were you trying to start over?” I asked, ignoring his insinuation.
He licked his lips and slowly twirled his glass around in his hands. I had to stop thinking about his hands, the heavy silver ring on his right thumb, the freckles that dusted over his knuckles. It was like I suddenly had a fetish.
“I went through a bad divorce. I couldn’t be in the same city as her anymore.”
I didn’t know why I found it surprising that he had been married—why wouldn’t he have been? Even though we were only twenty-six, he was too handsome not to have been snatched up.
“Oh,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “I’m sorry.”