“Where to?” she asks, shutting the door and facing me. Before I get a turn to speak, she gasps. “Shit. I didn’t get us a car.”

“You’re fired.”

I feel like a dick when her face blanches and her mouth falls open.

Chuckling, I lift my elbow for her to take hold of. “I took care of everything. You’re off duty tonight.”

She glares before hooking her arm around mine. “I’m never off duty. Besides, this isn’t a date.”

My chuckle rolls into a laugh. “There’s that word again. We should get something straight right now. You don’t have to worry. I sing. I fuck. I eat. I don’t fall in love, Lyric. I don’t date. I don’t play games either. You can always count on me to be straight with you. Some women find it refreshing; others hate it. You strike me as the type who might find me refreshing.” I wink at her.

“A bad boy who is honest and doesn’t fall in love. Interesting combination.”

“Thanks to my amazing mother and dirtbag father, I’m a hybrid.”

We're silent the rest of the walk to the car, which is waiting for us at the curb. Rex slips into the passenger seat and I turn back to Lyric. By the look on her face I can tell she’s thinking, probably about what I confessed about my parents. It’s not exactly a confession, but it’s telling enough. I know that. I’ve never hidden the fact that my father wasn't around when I was growing up, but I usually leave my mother out of things. It’s not her fault that my father disappeared on us, that she spent a good portion of her life silently heartbroken.

She hid her pain to protect my feelings, but I knew. As hard as she tried to be the perfect role model, I wanted to hunt my father down and hurt him for what he had done to her. I still shake with emotion every time I think of the day I went through her call log. My heart felt as if someone had used it as a punching bag. So many attempts to reach out to him. All unanswered. No return calls. He just … disappeared.

It’s not even like my dad was the biggest rock star. He was the drummer for an okay eighties throwback band. It was cute when I was younger, but the older I got, I realized they weren’t a band that would ever take themselves seriously. They wanted the lifestyle, not the hard work.

We slide into the backseat, Lyric first, and I signal to the driver, letting him know we’re ready to go. It’s then that I face her and smile, hoping to bust through the tension. “It’s nice to go to dinner with someone other than the band for once.”

She’s smirking, and I know whatever she’s about to say will make me regret my last sentence. “Maybe you should rethink your no-dating rule. You’d get out more and, you know, get to know people. Preferably before they sneak onto your tour bus and go down on you.”

I almost choke on my own air as I breathe. “I have nothing against taking a woman out to dinner, but then it might give the impression that I want more than just food and sex. That’s never the case.”

“You’re having dinner with me.”

“You’re safe.”

Her face falls but hardens quickly. “Never? There's never been a female you thought maybe, just maybe, could turn you from One-Night-Stand Man to Monogamy Man? I find that hard to believe.”

“Monogamy Man sounds like a disease. No wonder I’m not suited.” She doesn’t laugh at my awful attempt at humor, so I shrug. “You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true.”

“You use women.”

“Women use me.”

She scoffs. Her mouth is hanging open in shock and maybe a little disgust. “Most of the women you sleep with are probably hoping for something more, but they’re content with what they’re getting at the time. I’ve never understood how one-night stands can end well, ever. One person has got to be into it more than the other.”

Okay, now she’s hooked me. I give her my bewildered stare. “You’ve never had a one-night stand?”

She shakes her head as if I’m the crazy one. “Absolutely not. Someone is bound to get hurt.”

“Not from one night. That’s the point. It’s a one-time event, a release of pent up energy. It has nothing to do with feelings. Feelings stay out of it, and it’s just a good time.” The more we talk about sex, the more I want to prove to her how great a one-nighter could be.

We pull up to the curb in front of the restaurant before I can shove my foot in my mouth. I help Lyric out of the car. She looks up in surprise at my chivalry and then smiles. I’m not an asshole. I want to tell her this, but we’re escorted into the restaurant and to our private table in the back of the room faster than I can speak.

“Is it this bad?” she asks, peering around us in bewilderment.

I cock my head as I pick up the drink menu. “Is what this bad?”

“You. Getting recognized. Having to request special accommodations everywhere you go.”

I shrug. “If I want privacy, it’s necessary.”

She lets out a rush of air, and I think I’ve finally succeeded in impressing her. At least for a moment. “You really are a rock star, aren’t you?” She smirks into her menu. It’s infectious. I smile, too.

A moment later, we’re ordering a bottle of wine and appetizers and talking about the tour. Somehow we get onto the subject of the crew. There are more than two dozen people on our tour, and she already knows every single one of their names and job descriptions. I don’t think she studies this shit. I get the distinct feeling that she simply has a superb ability to listen and retain information.

After ordering our food, there’s a pause, so I jump in with a question I’ve been wondering since we left San Diego. “You still writing lyrics, Lyric?”

“Don’t do that.” She cringes. “It devalues me.”

“How so?”

“Your name is Wolf. Does that mean you love wolves? It’s an expectation that wouldn’t exist if we were named something else. It just so happens I love music and write songs. My name has nothing to do with that. However, since my name is Lyric, it’s implied that I should love music. That I should write lyrics.”

“Names can tell a lot about a person. I’ll have you know, wolves have a sharp intelligence and strong instincts.”

She smirks. “Wolves also symbolize fear and distrust.” She cocks her head. “Maybe you’re right. Names do tell us a lot about a person.”

Interesting. So, she’s been looking up the meaning of my name. I’m certain she didn’t come up with that on the spot. My eyes wander across her face, down the base of her throat, and to the rise and fall of her chest before returning to her lips. Those kissable lips. I shake my head, biting back another laugh as I clear my thoughts. “I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this. How about you just answer the question?”

“I am always writing lyrics.” She says it quietly, confessing. “Since I was a little girl. I never kept a journal, just a songbook. I write poetry and lyrics.”

“Do you play any instruments?”

She freezes. I catch the moment of fear that splotches her chest, and then she breathes through it as if it were nothing. “It couldn’t be avoided when I was younger. Usually when parents shove something down a kid’s throat, the kid rebels. Not me. I learned piano first and then guitar, and I loved every second of it. But I haven’t played in a while.”

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

Lyric makes a face. “Not quite. Disappointment is a better word for it.”

I want to lean over the table, take her face in my hands, stare deeply into her sage-colored eyes, and tell her she’s crazy. Instead of terrifying her, I remain in my seat, but I decide to let her know what I’m thinking. “You, Lyric, are the furthest thing from disappointment. Whoever helped you reach that conclusion is the problem—not you.”

She takes a sip of her wine, not tearing her gaze from mine. “My parents had expectations. I couldn’t fulfill them.”

“Couldn’t? Or didn’t want to?”

“Does it matter? Perception is everything.”

Her eyes gut me. They’re terrifying and beautiful and honest. I’m not sure if Lyric could hide an emotion if she tried. Not with such transparent armor.

“There is a difference. You could have fulfilled their expectations, but maybe you realized you’d rather fulfill yours.”

Her cheeks turn a rosy pink. “That’s what I’m doing. At least I think that’s what I’m doing. I don’t really know. It’s nice being around the music 24-7, but I’m not sure what’s in my future.”

“Don’t worry about that. You’re doing what you love now. The rest will fall into place.”

I watch her as she takes this in, wondering how on earth her douche of an ex could have traded her in for someone else. Whoever he cheated on her with must have had some magical pussy juice because Lyric is insanely hot, smart, and fun to be around. I’ve never felt so comfortable around a chick before. Not like this. Sleeping with someone is one thing, but talking to her, having her open up to me, is a whole other level of friendship I’ve never had with the opposite sex, besides Lorraine—but she doesn’t count since she’s like a sister to me. I can see that Lyric will change my opinion of the female species. Maybe she already has.

Conversation flows through dinner as I learn about the places she’s been and the places she wants to go. She tells me about the first song she ever wrote.

“It was called ‘Star Light.’ I was eight. My dad used to tell me that if you looked hard enough, you could find messages in the sky. It was silly, but as a little girl I clung to that. When he sent me to live with my mom, I’d stare at the sky every night, thinking maybe he was looking too. That way we would still be connected, somehow.” Her eyes are hazy for a second before she shakes her head and smiles. “Sometimes I still look up.”

I swallow, surprised by the tightness in my chest.

“Where do you get your inspiration when you write?” she asks.

I shrug. Something about Lyric makes me feel like I can trust her with anything, but I’m not sure I have an answer to give her. “It depends. You know well that inspiration can strike at any time. I’ve actually been having trouble writing lately. Maybe being off the road has something to do with it. So I’m hoping it comes back. The guys are begging for more.”

She seems to be considering my words. “It will come back.” She smiles, stealing my breath. “I can feel it, Wolf. Your inspiration will be found on this tour. You’ve only just begun.”

Funny. As she says this, I wonder if I’ve already found my inspiration. Maybe it’s sitting across the table from me.