“I’ll give her attention.” Jesus, what does he think I am, an asshole?
On second thought, yeah, he probably does.
“Doesn’t mean I have to text or call her every five minutes all day.”
“Look, if she’s what you want, good luck with her.” Ben claps his hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be fun to watch you navigate this, especially since you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.”
“I’ve had girlfriends,” I protest, but they just laugh. “I have.”
“A fuck buddy is not a girlfriend,” Ben says. “But if you want Callie to be a regular booty call, nothing wrong with that either.”
I definitely want her to be a booty call. I’d like to spend as much time between her long, slender legs as I possibly can.
But I don’t think that’s all I want, and it’s confusing the fuck out of me. I don’t do strings. And then it occurs to me: I didn’t have the you know this is just a fun time conversation with her so she knew the score beforehand, the way I always do. Why didn’t I do that?
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Gonna be fun to watch,” Ben says again, right before he surprises Beau with a body slam to the ground.
I have a feeling I’m in way over my head.
***
After my night with Callie, the week took a serious nose-dive into the pit of hell. I’ve been down with food poisoning—I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the flu—and still had to perform every night this week. So I basically spent every minute not performing wishing I was dead in bed. Now that the weather is starting to cool down from Satan’s neighborhood to just normal warm, tourist season is ramping up again, and with that comes gigs. I am fortunate to not have to play every night to make ends meet, but I love it. The music, the audience, all of it. And I refuse to cancel a gig with only a few hours' notice.
I’m finally beginning to feel human again as I walk into The Odyssey Friday night for my gig. There is a decent crowd already enjoying drinks and the small but delicious bar menu offered. My eyes skim the room, looking for a certain tall blonde. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since Tuesday morning, and I need to get an eyeful.
Maybe even a handful.
Adam waves from behind the bar as I make my way through the tables.
“How’s it going?” I ask.
“It’s busy, so it’s good,” he says with a grin. “You look like shit.”
“And here I thought I covered it up before I left the house.” I scrub my hand over my face and sigh. “It’s been a hell of a week.”
“I don’t think it’s going to get better in the very near future,” he warns me then gestures for me to turn around. Callie, draped in a killer red dress with matching red lips and black heels is marching across the room. She’s stunning.
And her amazing blue eyes are… cold.
“Adam, can you help me get some cases of Corona in the elevator so I can stock the bar upstairs?”
“Sure.”
“Hey,” I say and slip my hand on her waist, but she backs away and cocks a brow.
“Declan.”
“How are you, Callie?”
“Busy.” The fun, sweet woman from Monday night is nowhere to be found, and I’m smart enough to know that it’s my own fault.
“I think we need to talk.”
“I’m working.” Her tone is calm and nothing but professional, her face passive, and yet I get the distinct feeling she’s telepathically telling me to go fuck myself.
Callie marches back across the room and up the stairs just as Adam returns from the elevator.
“I think I screwed up,” I mutter with a sigh.
“Probably a safe bet,” Adam says, with way too much joy in his voice.
“Fuck.” I stalk toward the stairs and climb them, eyes scanning the rooftop for Callie. They haven’t opened the roof yet, so it’s deserted. Her blond head pops up behind the bar where she’s currently stocking beer. “Can I help with that?”
“This isn’t in your job description,” she says without looking over at me. She’s pissed.
Really pissed.
“We need to talk,” I say again.