NINE

Rock Shop

“Eden, do you want another drink?” Asha ducks her head around my bedroom door and frowns when she sees me working on my laptop. “Hey, come on. It’s Sunday night. Time to kick back and let your hair down.”

I gesture to the funky hairstyle she and Joanna inflicted upon me half-an-hour ago. My regular frizz has been flat-ironed into smooth, sexy curls. “It’s down, even though I would have rather put it in a ponytail and been done with it.”

“Don’t be grumpy. We’re going to a club. You need to look club-hot.”

“Is that different from normal-hot?”

“Of course. How do you not know this?”

“Because I don’t go to clubs.”

“Okay, then just take my word for it. Do you want another cocktail? We have time for one more before we have to leave.”

I look back at my computer screen and shake my head. “No, I’m good.”

“K. Be ready to go in twenty.”

“Will do.”

When she leaves, I continue sifting through some of the information Toby sent me regarding the warehouse we found in Greenpoint. There’s so much stuff here, I don’t even know where to start. There are deeds to the building, leases, past tenants – but trying to find a thread that will lead me to Max’s real identity is like finding a needle in a haystack. He must have some connection to Reggie Baker, or else why was his name registered to the mailbox?

I’m searching for more info on Reggie when an email alert pops up. I click it open.

 

From: Maxwell Riley <[email protected]>

To: Eden Tate <[email protected]>

Subject: Behavioral Guidelines

Date: Sunday May 7

Dear Miss Tate,

Further to our conversation yesterday, following is a list of guidelines to be used in our upcoming dates. Please do your best to strictly adhere to them.

1. When you encounter me in the coming days, I may look/sound/act differently than you expect. Please respect the integrity of my characterization and do not block or dispute the information I give you. For any role-play to be successful, the participants need to suspend their disbelief. I know you’re a natural skeptic, so accepting me as a different character may be difficult, but I’d ask that you do your best to immerse yourself in the experience.

2. Whatever character I choose for our date will be attracted to you. Please put your mistrust of me aside and accept the truth of that scenario. The only way for you to write a balanced article about me and my popularity is to fully understand my clients and their thinking, and that means opening your mind to a world of uplifting and life-affirming romance. Pretending and deception are two totally different beasts, and for you to understand why I believe my work isn’t immoral, it’s important you learn the difference.

3. Trying to break my concentration or pulling me out of my chosen character will not succeed. I advise you to mentally catalogue burning questions you have regarding my methods, and I will answer them in a separate interview session after the date. Addressing me as Max or breaking the illusion for any reason will result in the termination of the date, and our arrangement.

4. Until we reach the end of this experiment, describing my methods to outsiders is strictly forbidden. I understand that your sister is privy to sensitive information regarding me and my identity, and that’s partly due to my choice to involve her in the Kieran scenario, but please, no one but her must know. By all means, keep notes of what you discover for the purposes of research, but make sure that research remains confidential.

5. Our dates may involve physical contact. I want to reassure you that I will not force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I do not engage in, nor do I condone, sexual assault. I may have threatened to kiss you yesterday without your consent, but I had no intention of going through with it. To that end, if at any time you feel I am overstepping my bounds regarding intimate physical contact, simply use the word, ‘veto’, and I will stop. These experiences are designed to empower you, not make you feel threatened or frightened. If you are in extreme distress, saying veto three times in a row will immediately end the role play. Because you’ve made it clear that you do not wish to be kissed during our interactions, I will require a verbal directive from you to overturn this decision.

6. As I’ve previously mentioned, clients are free to touch most of my body. This includes, but is not limited to, my face, hair, arms, chest, and back. You may not touch me below the waist without express verbal permission. Any violations of this guideline will result in the immediate termination of our date. I will also limit my physical interaction with you to the aforementioned areas. I will naturally refrain from touching your chest unless expressly invited to do so. Overt sexual contact is not part of my service. You may ask me to touch you in more intimate ways, but it will be at my sole discretion as to whether or not I comply. My decision on these matters is final. Prolonged or continued coercion on your part will result in the immediate termination of our date.

If you have specific problems or objections to anything contained in this correspondence, please let me know by return email immediately. Lack of response will be interpreted as a tacit verbal agreement to abide by this document.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

Regards,

Max.

 

As I finish reading, I shake my head. How the hell do women find this process romantic? There are so many rules about how to behave and what to think, it must suck all the joy out of being spontaneous. I know I should keep an open mind to get the story, but I’m still skeptical that going on these dates will achieve anything except reinforce my idea that what Max does is tacky and unscrupulous. I don’t care how attractive he is. There’s no way he can create a real, meaningful connection with someone while being constrained by all of this nonsense. I’d be willing to admit that women fall in lust with him, but not love.

I look up as Joanna knocks on my door. “Hey! You might want to get dressed. We’re heading out soon.”

I look down at my skinny jeans and gray V-neck T-shirt. “I am dressed.”

Joanna raises her eyebrows and gives me one of those smiles that has a definite edge of, Oh, God, really?

She smiles at me, and I smile back, until she finally says, “Okay, then. Let’s go get our party on!”

Asha calls out that our car will arrive in ten as I pack away my computer and pull on my boots.

Conscious that Ash and Joanna look like they just stepped off the set of Young, Hot, and Hip in Manhattan, I slap on some smoky eye makeup and clear gloss before the girls drag me downstairs and out into the street to meet our car.

Half-an-hour later, we pull up in front of The Rock Shop, one of NYC’s trendier live music venues. Even though we’re an hour early to see the headline act, the building is already teeming with people.

“God, I’m soooo excited,” Joanna says as she bypasses the huge line waiting to get in and leads us straight up to the two enormous bouncers. “This night is going to rock!”

The bouncers barely glance at Joanna before lifting the velvet rope and ushering us inside. Asha and I exchange a glance.

“How?” I whisper.

Ash shrugs. “I have no idea, but the more time I spend with her, the more I realize she knows everyone. Maybe all those tall stories she’s famous for are true after all.”

We push through the heavy door and are immediately hit with a wall of sound. Within five minutes of stepping into the packed space, I remember why I rarely see live bands. If the ear-splitting noise, sticky floor, and huge crowds weren’t enough to turn me off, then the faceless ass-grabbing as we push toward the bar is.

“Let’s line up for shots!” Joanna yells over the music. “I’m buying!”

We’ve all downed two cocktails already, but I’m still feeling stone-cold sober. I smile when Joanna gets the bartender to line up shots of Patron.

I lean into her. “Now we’re talking!” I figure that if all else fails, switch to tequila to let the good times roll.

We all slam back a shot, and I shudder as it burns in all the right ways.

“Wow, these guys are really good!” Asha says into my ear as she points to the guys rocking it out onstage. “They’re just one of the opening acts, but they’ve really got the crowd pumping!”

I look out over the sea of bodies in front of the stage. They certainly seem to be having a good time.

After I down my second shot, I start feeling no pain. Then Joanna suggests we get closer to the stage, so we all hold hands and push our way through the gyrating throng.

I must admit, this music is growing on me. With some alcohol in my system, I can understand how the energy of this kind of event could turn people on. The lights, the sound, the seething mass of passionate people. It’s all working for me.

I have a brief look around for Max, but I can’t see him anywhere. In fact, there are few guys here tonight, and those that are seem to have taken up permanent residence at the bar. There are several women nearby who look high-end enough to be among Max’s clientele. I edge close to one who seems to be wearing way too much diamond jewelry to be here just for the music.

“This is great!” I say to her, and she smiles and nods. “Are you here with someone?”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Oh, sweetie, you’re very cute, but I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’ll be here in ten.”

I sigh in mock-disappointment. “Oh, well. Bummer for me. Enjoy your night.”

Okay, so she’s a potential.

I move away but make sure I still have a clear view of her, just in case.

Asha pokes me. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop hassling strangers and dance with us.”

I continue scoping the room as I dance with the girls, but I still try to have good time. When we’ve pushed to the front of the stage, we join everyone in throwing our arms above our heads in time with the music. I don’t think I’ve ever done this before, and right now I can’t figure out why it’s taken me so long. Max may have had a point about me not having enough fun in my life.

I scream and clap along with everyone else as the band finishes their set. The M.C. comes onstage to chat to the crowd and cover the next setup, and we silently agree to have a well-deserved rest.

“Do you guys want water?” Asha asks.

Joanna and I nod vigorously.

“I’ll come with you,” Joanna says.

They look back at me to see if I want to follow, but I’d rather scope the room for Mr. Riley.

“I’m good,” I say. “I’ll wait here.” I keep my eye on my mark, who’s now talking to a couple of other luxe ladies. Perhaps they’re all a part of the exclusive M.R. fan club.

While they chat, I push my fingers through my hair and move to lean against the giant stack of speakers, so I can catch my breath. There’s a flurry of movement onstage as they swap over equipment for the next act.

After a few minutes, the M.C. comes back on to address us. “And now, we have one of our most popular singer/songwriters here to take us up to show time. Please give a huge Rock Show welcome to Caleb Sykes!”

The women around me scream their heads off, and it makes me wish I’d brought earplugs like I’d planned.

I head over to the stage just as a driving rock beats starts up, followed by a voice so appealing, it immediately has all of my attention. When I move out to get a better view of the stage, a rush of shock and disbelief hits me. The tall, muscled singer with the dreamy voice, chaotic hair, and two-day scruff is ... Max.

“Holy goddamn Mother of Shit.”

* * *

My mind is reeling. What the hell is happening right now? Maybe this is just someone who looks like Max, and I’ve been so obsessed with him and this story, I’m making myself see things that aren’t there.

I study the guy in front of me. Dark, low-ride jeans with thick belt, snug black T that shows an impressive range of tattoos. Muscled arms strum a Gibson guitar as sensual lips brush against the microphone. There’s no denying it anymore. It’s Max. Just a totally different Max than the version I know.

I look around, desperate for Asha to confirm what I’m seeing, but I can’t spot her anywhere. It doesn’t help that the women around me have taken it upon themselves to swarm the stage, and even as I try to move toward the bar to find my sister, I’m swept forward until I’m standing just a few yards away from Max’s crotch.

I stand there gaping as the first song ends and the next one starts. So, this is the date he had planned for his client? A classic rock star fantasy? Man, Asha was right. Everybody does have one. And judging from how my body is reacting to this whole situation, that includes me.

The luxe women are still in a group, gazing at him with fierce adoration. Max seems completely oblivious to anything but the music. That pleases me, because I have a strong suspicion that if he looks down and spots me, I won’t get a positive reaction. I flat out told him I wasn’t coming so he could work unobserved, and he doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d appreciate bald-faced lies.

For good measure, I try to hide behind the girl in front of me. She’s shorter than I am, so it’s not a great fit, but I do what I can. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, I turn to the blonde girl next to me, who’s staring at Max like he’s a sexy rocker messiah.

“Do you know this guy?” I ask.

She nods. “I’ve seen him play here a few times. So gorgeous, right? And his voice ...”

“Yeah, he’s great. Have you seen him play anywhere else? Does he have an album?” I want to find out exactly how meta this setup is.

The woman nods. “He sells CDs after the show. He’ll sign them and everything. In my opinion, it’s worth the twenty bucks just to talk to him for a few minutes.” So, he sells furniture and now CDs? How many revenue streams does this guy have?

The woman looks over my shoulder. “Don’t tell my boyfriend, but I’ve bought his album three times in the past few months.” She winks at me, and it doesn’t do a single thing to convince me I haven’t fallen through some sort of weird wormhole into an alternate universe.

I look back at rock-god Max. He seems so comfortable up there, singing and playing like he was born to do it. Nothing about it looks even remotely fake. I thought his speaking voice was sexy, but I have no words to describe his singing voice. It’s rough and smooth at the same time. Black velvet wrapped around sandpaper.

I have no idea if the songs he’s singing are his own, but he sure as hell sells them. He’s one of those people who looks like every word is coming from deep inside. He’s not singing words, he’s expressing emotions.

I continue to marvel over the scope of this illusion, as well as his talent, as he and his band mates play another four songs. By the end, I don’t even care if this whole thing is pretend. I’m a fan of Caleb Sykes and his sultry, heartfelt music.

After they finish up their fifth song, Max pushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles. The women around me scream and clap.

“We’ve only got time for one more. Any requests?”

Without any hesitation, at least a dozen voices yell out, “Deep!”

Max raises his eyebrows. “You want ‘Deep?’” They all scream that they do. “Really?” They scream again. “Are you sure? I mean, we always do ‘Deep’. Don’t you want something different tonight?” They yell that they don’t, and Max shrugs in defeat. “Well, okay then, but you know what that means, right?” They all scream again. God, I’m seriously on the verge of going completely deaf. “It means I need to bring a lovely lady up on stage to be serenaded.” More screaming, louder now as they all throw up their hands and jump, trying to get noticed.

Ooooohkay. Now I’m going to find out who his date is. I grab my phone in preparation. If I can take a quick picture, I might be able to figure out her identity. I doubt someone high profile would allow themselves to be involved in such a public display, but you never know. Some of these society women have influential connections. She may be famous by association.

Max scans the crowd, pretending to consider all of his options.

Yeah, nice acting, buddy.

I keep an eye on the rich chicks. Like every other woman, they’re all holding up their hands and jumping in the air, desperate to be chosen.

Just when the crowd has reached the climax of their frenzy, Max looks me dead in the eyes and points. “You, pretty redhead. Come on up here.”

My jaw hits the floor. “Ah ... I ... uh...”

“Now please, sweetheart. Don’t make me wait.” The crowd whoops and hollers their approval, and I feel hands pushing me forward as voices yell how lucky I am and how jealous they are.

God. This isn’t how I saw this night going at all.

Max walks to the front of the stage and holds out his hand. “Don’t be nervous.” He gives me lusty smile. “I’ll take good care of you.”

Goddamn shit bastard crap. So, I’m his client? Oh, for the love of...

Did he pull all that stuff in the market just to reverse psychology me? Tell me I shouldn’t come to make sure I would?

Man, I feel so freaking stupid. And now an entire club of people is cheering as I put my hand in Max’s and walk up the stairs to the stage.

This is insane.

I hover on the verge of hysterical laughter as Max brings me behind the mic stand. Being the center of attention isn’t something I’ve ever enjoyed.

“So, what’s your name?” he asks and tilts the mic toward me. I flash him a glare but he doesn’t react.

“Uh, hi ... I’m ... uh ... Eden.” Everyone screams. Goddamn, none of these women are going to have voices tomorrow.

“Nice to meet you, Eden,” Max says with this slow-lidded blink that makes me feel like he’s imagining me naked, but not in a disgusting way. More of an I’d like to see if you taste as good as you look way.

To reinforce my suspicions, he licks his lips before saying, “So, do you play guitar, Eden?” When I swallow and shake my head, he gives me a mischievous smile. “You do now.”

He pulls me in front of him and loops his guitar over my shoulder. “Let’s get you set up here.” I shiver as he sweeps my hair out from under the thick leather strap. He’s close behind me, and the heat of the stage lights is nothing compared to the heat coming from him. I tense up when he puts a pick in my right hand and guides it over the strings.

“Just like this,” he murmurs as he envelopes my hand in his and makes me strum in an even rhythm. “Very good. You’re a natural.” His head is nearly on my shoulder, and the ladies in the audience whistle in response. I shut my eyes and breathe evenly.

Okay, this is the part where I have to remind myself it’s all pretend. I know Max told me to suspend my disbelief, but that was before I fully understood what the hell I was in for. I thought Kieran was one of the sexiest men I’d ever met, but this Caleb guy makes Kieran seem like a virgin choirboy. He even smells different. Kieran smelled like lemongrass. Caleb smells like pine. Fresh, sexy, phallic pine.

“That’s perfect,” Max whispers as I continue to strum after he takes his hand away. “If you keep stroking like that, I’ll be a very happy man.”

Sweet Horny Jesus.

He takes my left hand and places it on his left wrist. “Now, hold on tight, Eden. We’re going to have some fun together.”

He curls his fingers around the neck of the guitar and changes chords as I continue to strum, and then the drums and bass kick in with a slow, seductive riff. I’ve barely had time to register the thrill of making music before Max’s front presses flush against my back, and he leans forward into the microphone.

 

“I can feel you on the inside. I lose my fingers in your hair.

Your body’s my religion. Your name’s my favorite prayer.”

 

God, the sensation of his chest and throat vibrating against me, not to mention the timbre of his voice. His freaking dark, sensual voice.

The ladies in the audience are no longer screaming. Now, they’re all watching in rapt fascination, mesmerized by ‘Caleb’ and his insane sex appeal. The lyrics and music vibrate through me so powerfully, my whole body feels it.

 

Deep is how I want you.

Deep is where you live.

Wrap me in your legs now

Drown me in your kiss.

Keep me safe inside you.

Let me see your soul

I’m half a monster without you.

When I’m deep, you make me whole.”

 

The song continues to build, and by the time it climaxes and ends, I’ve never felt the need for a cigarette more in my life. As the final chord dies away, there’s silence for a full three seconds before the audience erupts. My hands shake from the adrenaline firing in my system. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Is this why musicians are so passionate? Because performing makes them feel like they’ve taken a whole crate of high-quality drugs?

Max is still close, mouth near my ear, when he says, “You were amazing, Eden. Thank you.” Then he lifts his guitar off me and steps away, but I can still feel the echo of his body on my skin.

“Give Eden a hand. Wasn’t she great?”

They all scream again, and I look around in a daze. As Max escorts me back down into the audience, I feel lightheaded and groggy, like I’ve woken up from an intense dream.

What the actual hell did I just experience?

I push through the crowd toward the bar as the M.C. says, “Give another hand for Caleb Sykes! If you want Caleb’s album, he’ll be signing them in the foyer in just a few minutes. We’re going to take a short break while we reset for the main event tonight, Kingdom of Stoooone! So, refill your drinks, and we’ll see you back here in thirty minutes.”

The lights come up as pre-recorded music filters through the room, and people murmur and laugh as they wander off the dance floor.

I look up and down the length of the bar, but there’s still no sign of Asha and Joanna. On unsteady legs, I signal to the barman to bring me a beer.

“What kind?”

“Anything. I don’t care.”

He places a bottle of craft beer in front of me, and I drink half of it without stopping. It does nothing to help bring me back to reality.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I’m coming down from whatever screaming cloud of bizarre my rock star experience put me on, and am feeling mostly like myself again. A few ladies come up and gush about how jealous they are of me getting so close to Caleb, and I try to be polite, even though I’m starting to panic that I still can’t find Joanna and Asha. I’ve texted Ash three times in the past five minutes and haven’t received a response, which is worrying considering I know for damn sure she rarely has her phone out of her hand, even when she sleeps. Her not texting me back is a definite red flag.

Leaving the bar behind, I push through to the lobby and search every corner of it. Still no Asha.

“Shit.”

I’m about to head outside when I see ‘Caleb’ standing among a throng of women, signing CDs and Rock Shop T-shirts. I have to hand it to Max. This setup is pretty extensive. He certainly goes the extra mile to make his scenarios believable.

He glances over at me. “Eden, hey. Thanks for waiting for me, sweetheart.”

A very loud WTF is on the tip of my tongue as he hands a CD to a busty brunette. She gazes up at him the same way Asha gazes at Sprinkles cupcakes; which is to say with deep and abiding lust. All the ladies make a groaning noise as he extricates himself from them and heads over to me.

“Sorry, ladies, I’d love to stay and chat, but I promised my beautiful girlfriend we’d go to dinner after the show.”

So, it would seem that the onstage cameo wasn’t the full date. I guess that makes sense. Not to diminish the smoking-hot experience of having Max wrapped around me while he crooned about being deep, but as a client I’d be pissed if I paid five grand for four minutes.

“Oh, she’s your girlfriend?” the brunette says, not even bothering to conceal her envy. “I thought you two looked too cozy on stage to be strangers.”

“What can I say?” Max says as he puts his arm around my waist. “I just can’t hide my feelings when she’s near, no matter how hard I try.” He bends and grazes his lips over my cheek. It sends a rush of tingles through me that are so powerful, I suppress a full-body shiver.

The brunette’s friend lets out a snort. “Oh, I bet it’s hard when she’s around.” They all gaze at his crotch then giggle again.

See? This is exactly what I’m trying to avoid becoming. I’m sure all these ladies are strong, accomplished, and clever in their own ways. And yet, right now, they’re like a gaggle of school girls.

My face must show my inner thoughts, because Max whispers, “Just smile and nod. And don’t show any fear. They can smell it.” Then he turns back to his admirers. “Well, gotta go, ladies. Nice to see you all. Have a great night.”

There’s a general murmur of disappointment as he takes my hand and leads me past two burly security guards monitoring the door to the backstage area.

“Thanks for the cover,” he says as we walk down a long corridor. “Getting away from them can be tough.”

His hand is warm around mine.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

He stops, confusion coloring his expression. “Back to my dressing room to fuck, of course. I’m sorry, have you not read the groupie handbook? It’s one of the first things they teach you.”

I pull my hand back. “What?!”

He holds his serious expression for half a second before breaking into a smile. “Jesus, I’m kidding. I was going to take you into the green room for a drink. Don’t worry. Fucking is strictly prohibited in there.”

He goes to take my hand again, but I pull back. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to find Asha.”

“And Asha is ...?”

Oh, right. Even though Max knows Ash, Caleb doesn’t. I have to get used to this new reality. “She’s my little sister. I came with her and a friend, and they’ve disappeared.”

“What does she look like? Maybe I can help find her.”

“Five foot six. Red hair. Red lips. Gorgeous.”

“You’ve just described yourself. Is she a twin?”

I roll my eyes. He’s quick on the draw with those corny compliments. As I finish the thought, he hits me with a self-deprecating smile, and for some reason, ‘corny’ is instantly transformed into ‘charming’. How weird.

“Wait,” he says and snaps his fingers. “Was your sister with a blonde girl wearing an ugly eighties necklace?”

I nod. “You’ve seen them?”

He gestures for me to go with him. “I take it your sister is a fan of the Stoners?”

“Yes. She’s crushing on the bass player.”

“Yeah, I already guessed that part.”

He leads me into a big room filled with couches and lined with tables of food and drink. He points to the far corner where Asha is sucking face with a guy I’ve never seen before.

“That her?”

“Holy crap. Yes.”

My first response is total surprise that she’s acting like a regular horny twenty-three-year-old for a change, followed closely by the urge to chew her out for not letting me know where the hell she was. However, before I can open my mouth to yell at her, Max puts his hand on my arm.

“I don’t know your sister, but she seems to be enjoying herself. Maybe now’s not the best time to pull the big-sister card.”

“So that’s the bass player?”

“Bingo.” He points to the other corner, where I can see the back of Joanna’s head as she sits next to another band member on a giant couch. “And that’s the drummer.” He goes to the impressive table of alcohol and grabs some beers. “They’ll be going on for their set soon, so it won’t be long before your sister and friend are out of their clutches, but until then ... why don’t you come to my dressing room for a drink?”

I look over at the girls. “Are you sure there’s no weird stuff in here?”

“Positive. The security guys have cameras all over this place, and I’ve seen them swoop on a guy for adjusting himself too often. The girls will be safe.”

“And your dressing room? Is that safe?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “There are no cameras in there, but also no fucking. Just drinking. Maybe a little unrestrained adjusting if the mood hits me.”

His eyes actually sparkle as he says this, and against my better judgment, I smile. I suppose ‘Caleb’ is a required part of my research, and I could think of worse ways of spending my time than having a beer with him. “Sure. Why not?”

Max nods and leads me out of the green room to a nearby dressing room. Then he pushes open the door and holds it so I can step past him.

“Nice,” I say, taking in the surprisingly clean and stylish decor. “Forgive me for saying it, but this doesn’t seem very rock and roll.”

He uncaps the beers before handing one to me. “Really? Why not?”

I take a sip from the cold bottle and wander around the room. “Where’s the harem of groupies? The mountains of cocaine? Hell, there’s not even any broken furniture.”

He puts down his beer and packs the guitar lying across the couch into its case. “Well, the furniture in here is sturdier than it looks, so smashing it is more trouble than it’s worth; I’ve been off cocaine for four years now, so that’s out; and as for the whole groupie thing ...” He snaps the guitar case shut and stands. “It’s never been high on my list of life goals. I find it hard to keep any artistic integrity if I devolve into a horny teenager the minute I get some female attention.”

“So, wait ... you’re telling me you’re actually doing this for the music? What sort of maniac are you?”

He chuckles and packs the remainder of his belongings into a large duffle bag. “My band mates wonder the same thing. That’s why we don’t share a dressing room. I like my own space, and all of their cocaine, broken furniture, and groupies cramp my style.”

I laugh and sit on the white leather couch while Max finishes packing up. It’s amazing to me that he can be so different as Caleb. I don’t have any experience with role-playing, but I didn’t think it would be this believable. To be honest, I really like Caleb. He’s rough around the edges, has a great sense of humor, and the scruff coloring his jaw is hot as hell. Also, he’s more open than White-Bread Max, which isn’t a bad thing.

When everything’s packed away, Rocker Max joins me on the couch. Having him this close, I can get a better look at the ink on his arms. I have no idea how he suddenly has tatts everywhere, but it’s damn convincing.

I trace a dragon that snakes from his wrist to his bicep. “This looks amazing. What is it?”

I look up to see Max staring at me, his expression intense. “I was born in the year of the dragon, so ...”

“No,” I say, unable to look away from his eyes. “The ... uh ... ink. How did you get all of this onto your skin?” He had to have gotten them sometime between yesterday morning and tonight.

“A hulk named Brian strapped me into a chair and attacked me with a needle gun for hours on end.” Oh, yeah. His guidelines said if I ask him things out of character, he won’t take the bait. Very good.

“Did it hurt?” I raise knowing eyebrows, expecting another dig might provoke a flicker of irritation, but again, nothing.

He keeps looking me dead in the eye. “I don’t mind suffering every now and then. Pain reminds us we’re alive.”

“Is life something you forget about?”

He looks down at his beer and fiddles with the edge of the label. “I think that when we’re kids, we start out feeling everything. The whole world is amazing and magical. But as we grow up, we’re trained to believe everything is ordinary, and magic only exists in fairytales. That’s total bullshit, of course, but that’s how it goes.”

I lean back and study him. “You believe in magic?”

He nods. “Sure. Not Harry Potter magic, but magic nonetheless. I mean, look at this ...” He extends his finger then gently and slowly trails it from my elbow to my wrist. His touch is so light, it’s barely there, and yet I can feel the thrum of his energy in every part of my body. All of my hair stands on end, and I notice there are goosebumps forming on his skin, too.

“I’m barely touching you, and yet, we’re making electricity. It’s firing in every inch of skin.” He drags his fingers back down, watching it the whole way. “Edison and Tesla worked for years to harness something this powerful, and we just created it out of thin air.” His voice gets softer, and he looks at me with a hint of awe. “If that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.”

He pulls back, but he’s still too close. If he was any other man right now, sitting that close and looking at me with seventeen shades of sex-eyes, I’d be crawling into his lap and tearing off his shirt. But he’s not another man. He’s the one guy I need to keep my distance from, for personal and professional reasons.

He keeps eye contact as he takes a sip of beer then glances down my body. “Sorry. I kind of hijacked the conversation there. We were talking about tattoos. How about you? Got any ink you’d like to show me?”

I lean back and say, “Can you see any?”

“No, but you strike me as the kind of woman who might have something hidden.” His voice gets quiet. “You wouldn’t feel the need to show it off. It would be just for you.”

He’s not wrong, and for a few seconds I sit there and consider what to do.

“You don’t have to show me,” he says. “I mean, we’ve just met, and I’m basically asking you to take off your clothes, but ... I’d love to see it.”

He’s looking at me so earnestly, it’s disarming. I’ve never shown someone my tattoo before. People have seen it, of course; after all, I’ve been naked with my fair share of men. But none of them knew me.

Is that why I’m hesitating? Because on some level, I think this man, who’s sitting there pretending to be another man, sees through the person I’m pretending to be?

Throwing caution to the wind, I put my beer on the table and kneel on the couch next to Max. Then I take a breath and pull up my shirt.

Max leans forward to study the two lines of cursive letters that stretch up the right side of my ribcage from my hip to the band of my bra.

He looks up at me. “May I?”

When I give him a tight nod, he grazes his fingers over the elegant lettering. Stupid move, letting him touch me. My physical reactions are insane. There’s no way a man should affect me like this. Any man. But especially not a man about whom I’m trying to remain objective.

He trails over the letters again, and I close my eyes and clench my teeth.

“‘Screw you and all the ways you didn’t love me.’” When I open my eyes, I find him looking up at me. “Bad relationship?”

“You could say that.” I can’t stand the contact anymore, so I drop my shirt, sit down, and take a large swig of beer to try and calm my runaway heart.

“Did he hurt you?” There’s an edge to his tone, and when I glance over, I’m surprised he’s wearing a hard expression.

I blink as old memories roll and stir, threatening to wake. “It was a long time ago.”

He tightens his hold on his beer bottle. “Do you still think about him?”

“I do my best not to.” The less I think about him, the easier it is to ignore how angry I am all of the time.

When the thudding bass of live music starts up, Max drains his beer and sighs. “Sounds like the Stoners have finally made it to the stage.”

Almost at the same time, my phone buzzes with a message.

<Edie, where are you?! The band is on. We’re waiting at the door.>

I stand and push my phone into my back pocket. “Well, thanks for the beer.”

Max stands, too. “Where are you going?”

“My sister’s waiting.”

When I grab the door handle, he covers my hand with his, and for the second time tonight my back tingles where his chest presses against it.

“Don’t go,” he says quietly. “Come with me instead.”

I look down at where he’s lazily stroking my fingers with his. “Where to?”

“My place.”

“I thought you didn’t do the groupie thing.”

“I don’t. You think all musicians just want women for free, easy sex?”

“Seems to be a perk of the job.”

“Do you think that’s what I want from you?”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

He looks down at our hands. “Neither do I. That’s why you should come with me. I’d really like to find out.”

He reaches behind me and slides my phone out of my pocket. “Text your sister. She’ll survive without you for one night.”

I take the phone from him, and I’m surprised how tight my breathing is as he watches me type out a message.

<You and Joanna go have a good time. I’ve run into a friend. I’ll see you at home.>

I press send.

No doubt Asha will interpret my words to mean I’ve hooked up and won’t be home until morning. Let her believe that.

I’m more comfortable with her assuming I’m sleeping with a stranger than staying fully clothed with Max, and I have no idea why.

Max steps back and grabs his duffle and guitar case. “Come on, pretty Eden. Let’s get out of here.”