Brushing everything off before my emotions ended up blowing shit even further out of proportion, I made my way through the crowd. It was so thick in here, I opted to use the side door that led out to the side alley versus battling my way to the front of the club.

As soon as I shoved the push bar, cold, fresh air filled my lungs.

“Sweet, sweet relief.” The mad chaos of the club muted as the door closed behind me. Then I heard the sharp shout of a woman from farther up the alley, closer to the street.

“Leave me alone, Cal!” she yelled.

They were far enough away that I could only see shapes—a tiny woman with her back against the wall, and a much larger guy trapping her there. It could’ve just been a lover’s quarrel, but the guy should’ve known better than to use his bulk to intimidate her.

Already walking toward them, I called out, “You alright, miss?”

They turned toward me, their faces still in the shadow.

“Mind your own business,” the guy yelled back. “She’s fine.”

“I’m going to need to hear that from her, actually.” My steps sped up the closer I got. “Miss?”

As soon as I could make out her face, I stopped. What were the chances I would run into her again, a week after she’d fled my apartment?

“Hey. Are you okay?” I asked more softly.

Sara didn’t nod, and she didn’t shake her head—it was kind of a mix of the two, which meant I wasn’t leaving.

“Do you need help?”

“Back off, idiot,” the guy said. “We know each other.”

“Cool.” I kept my eyes locked on Sara’s. “Except knowing someone and wanting to be cornered in a dark alley by someone are two very different things.”

“Back the fuck off.”

I hadn’t even realized my feet were still moving—my entire body tense and ready for anything.

“You need to follow your own suggestion, Cal,” she finally said. “It’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said in weeks.”

“Jesus, Sara. I just want to talk to you,” he whined. “Alone.”

“Hey, man,” I said. “I think there’s something wrong with your ears.”

“Thanks for your help, idiot, but we’re fine.”

“No, I don’t think you are.” I was within swinging distance now and waiting. “The lady just told you in a straight-forward and fairly amusing way that she wasn’t interested in talking to you anymore. But you didn’t seem to hear her.”

“How ‘bout you mind your own business and let us finish our conversation?” Sure, it might’ve sounded like a question, but I didn’t think he’d like my answer.

“Now I’m really starting to worry about your ears, Cal. You should get them checked. Do you get headaches? Ever hear ringing?”

“Are you a fucking optometrist?”

I would’ve laughed if the guy weren’t being such an asshole. Okay, I laughed anyway. I mean, come on—an optometrist? For ears?

“My ears are fine. We are fine. Now, go away.”

“Cal—”

He pushed her against the brick wall and then shoved me in the chest.

I swung, my fist connecting with the guy’s jaw, sending him barreling back into a dumpster. “How about now, Cal? Headache? Ringing in your ears? You feeling better or worse?”

“Motherfucker!” he cried. “I think you broke my nose!”

“Shoot. You should probably get an optometrist to look at that.”

Blood dripped out from between his fingers and onto the pavement. Right next to about six small baggies filled with white powder that Cal snatched up and slipped into his pocket with a blood-covered hand.

“Serves you right, asshole,” Sara shouted at him, her foot lifting as if she wanted to kick him.

I glanced at her, wondering if I’d just stepped into a lot more than I bargained for. Was this creep her dealer? Fuck it. Even if he were, I didn’t regret helping her.

While Cal was busy blinking, stumbling, and cursing, I grabbed Sara’s hand and led her to the sidewalk in front of the club, ducking under the covered awning. I could tell she didn’t want to stay anywhere near the ass in the alley, but when she yanked her hand out of mine, I got the feeling she didn’t want to stay anywhere near my ass either.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded at the ground, then took a deep breath and smoothed down her shirt. When she looked back up at me, she was smiling.

“What just happened?” I asked.

Good thing I didn’t expect an answer because she didn’t really give me one.

“That was a case of an asshole acting like an asshole. And a good guy acting like a good guy.” She reached out and took my hand gently. “Does it hurt?”

“Oddly, no.” I looked at my knuckles, expecting to see a lot of blood and finding nothing. “Cal must have soft bones.”

I opened and closed my fist a few times to check for damage, then sighed in relief. I’d never hit anyone in my life. And not to be prissy, but my hands were important to me. I couldn’t play guitar without them.

“I don’t mean this to sound ungrateful,” she said, “but are you stalking me?”

I laughed. “Nope. Purely coincidence.” Not sure why her comment seemed so funny. Maybe because, in the split second between seeing her face and realizing why I recognized her, I’d wondered the same thing about her. Even in my relatively short time as the front man of the band, I’d already had to deal with potential stalkers. Fans who were just a little too attached or a lot too unstable.

“Not a stalker, I swear.” I held up both of my hands, hoping Sara understood that the last thing I’d ever do was hurt her. “Honestly, I didn’t even recognize you at first.” Shit, that sounded cold—like I’d slept with her and, a week later, had already forgotten her face. “I mean, it was too dark to see you until I got close enough.” What was it about her that made me feel like I had to over-explain everything?

“So, I shouldn’t call the cops?” she asked.

“On me? Definitely not. On him?” I flicked my head back toward the alley. “Absolutely.”

“I think he learned his lesson.” She shrugged. “Besides, if the police were involved, you might get in trouble, too.” She had a point but not a good enough one. “I doubt he’d tell them very many nice things about you.”

“I never claimed to be nice.”

She laughed. “You’re totally nice.”

Doug would’ve flipped if he heard that. After everything he and his team had done to make me seem one hundred percent bad boy.

I held my stomach as if she’d slugged me. “Again with the painful jabs—first you tell me you’re not going to give me your number, and now you say I’m nice.”

“You are nice. A lot nicer than that asshole is.”

“That’s not exactly a high bar. Please tell me you didn’t give Cal your number either.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve known him since I was in high school, so he already had my old one. Back in the days before I was smart enough to never give it out.” She didn’t offer more.

But I had to know. “Is he your dealer?”

Her face squished up in disgust. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t buy Nutella from that prick, even if he had the last jar on earth. Besides, I don’t do drugs.”

I let out a sigh of relief. If I had a real problem with people doing drugs my best friend wouldn’t be my best friend, and I’d never speak to my bandmates or almost anyone in the music and club industries ever again. But I’d tried dating an addict once. It’d worked for a day and a half. A day and a half of constantly thinking that there was nothing worse than having to stop what we were doing because her buzz was wearing off and she needed a top-off.

Of course, that was before I’d experienced something worse. Specifically, not knowing if the woman was with me because she was attracted to me, or if she’d just popped some Ecstasy and would’ve jumped on a seventy-year-old politician if she’d seen him first. Yep, that was actually the worst…that I’d encountered so far anyway.

“What about you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Do you do drugs?”

“Never really saw the point of taking something illegal to make me stupider. That’s what booze is for. Just as effective, and legal in more places.”

“Amen,” she said, laughing. “Speaking of… Something about Cal always makes me need a drink. Can I buy you one as a thank-you for”—she flicked her head in the direction of the alley—“saving me from that highly unpleasant situation?”

“Absolutely not. But I’ll buy you one. As a you’re-welcome for doing my civic duty.”

She studied my face for a moment. “It’s just a drink, you know? Nothing else.”

“Thanks for the clarification, but I actually know what a drink is,” I said. “And I also know that, unless it’s clearly stated on the menu, it doesn’t automatically come with sex. You’re welcome to add that on as a side at any time if you’d like, though. It’d be on the house.”

She smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry tonight.”

“That’s too bad. Because I’m famished.”

---

I didn’t touch her as I followed her back into the bar, even though my hand twitched, longing to feel her, hold on to her a little while. But I kept my hands to myself and my face tilted down as we made our way through the crowd, hoping no one would recognize me, including Trevor. Being recognized was never fun, but being spotted with a woman meant people would talk, rumors would get started, and something casual could turn into a problem.

Plus, this woman was different. I wasn’t sure casual would be enough. No, that’s not right. I knew casual wasn’t enough. I wanted to get to know her, figure her out, understand why I couldn’t get her out of my head.

I’ve been lucky in my life—not too many rejections from women, jobs, venues, fans. Maybe that was it. Maybe I liked her because she’d rejected me. Because she rejected me for who I was, not who people thought I was. How’s that for fucked up? I was actively looking for a chance to fail and rub my own face in it. Shit.

Since the barstools were all taken, I used my body to make some room for her, then waved the bartender over. He wasn’t the same guy who’d served me earlier. His eyes widened briefly when he saw me—either gay or a music lover. Or both. Whatever got us our drinks faster worked for me.

He slid a napkin in front of me, frowning and adding another when he nodded toward Sara. Definitely gay. No straight man would frown when he saw her face—beautiful, pure, but with a little wickedness in it somehow. Smooth skin. Long, blond hair spilling down her back, messy as if she’d just come from the beach…or had an argument with an ex-boyfriend in the alley.

“What are you drinking?” I asked her.

“Vodka tonic.”

Would’ve thought she’d go for something sweeter, something with more mix than booze since she was so small. But I let it go. Stupid to assume I knew anything about her.

I ordered her drink and a ginger ale for myself.

“You don’t drink?”

“Not tonight. For some reason, when I’m around you, it feels like a good idea to keep my wits about me.”

She laughed lightly, a lock of hair falling over her eyes. Before she could brush it back, I did. I had to touch her, any way I could. When she flicked her head, I wasn’t sure if it was to avoid my touch or to move her hair.

When someone pounded my back, I spun around, expecting it to be the asshole from the alley again. Nope, different asshole.

“Hey, Trev,” I grumbled.

Damn it. That had happened fast. Between when I’d said goodbye and now, Trevor had found the time to empty one too many glasses—I could see it in the gloss of his eyes and the way he leaned on me for support. Along with the way he leered at Sara.

“You look familiar,” he said to her. “Who are you?”

With a look of doubt, she answered, “Who are you?”

“Declan’s best friend, ally, and wingman.”

Her brow lifted when she glanced at me. “You need a wingman?”

I shook my head slowly. “This is Trevor, who won’t be my friend much longer if he keeps embarrassing me in front of beautiful women.”

“Why not?” She smiled. “You look cute when you’re embarrassed. I think you should keep him around just for that.” She held out her hand out to Trevor. “Nice to meet you. I’m Sara.”

Trevor gasped and turned to me. “The Sara?”

I shut my eyes. “How cute do I look now?”

“Yep,” she said. “The Sara. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, considering what a rare name I have.” She’d meant it as a joke, but I couldn’t even fake a laugh. It just reminded me that since my name was pretty rare in the States, people did recognize me by my name, at least people who followed music. And they thought they knew me—the real me, not just the guy they saw onstage. The person I pretended to be.

“Wow, Dec, you weren’t kidding. She’s gorgeous. She’s got a really great body, too.”

“Dude!” I smacked him in the arm. “Apologize.”

“You know what else she has?” she said. “A brain. And a severe dislike of people who talk about her like she’s a horse at auction.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Sorry. That was me getting a little too excited and forgetting to use my brain.” Leaning toward her, Trev cupped his hand and put it on one side of his mouth. The wrong side of his mouth if he’d actually been trying not to let me hear what he was about to say. “This is the first time in years that Declan has introduced me to a woman he likes.”

“I heard that,” I grumbled.

She mirrored his position exactly. “Maybe he was worried they’d all be overwhelmed by your excellent manners and intense sexuality.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Heard that, too.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Poor guy. So, the Sara, are you overwhelmed yet?”

She tilted her head side to side. “I’m about fifty percent there.”

“Let me know when you hit seventy-five percent, so I know when to leave.”

“Now, Trev.” I grabbed him by his shoulder and pulled him away from her a step. “How ‘bout you and your intense sexuality leave now?”

“I like this one.” Trevor caught his mistake. “I like you, the Sara. I like you a lot. And I don’t want you to hate me. So, can we start over?”

After a brief pause, she nodded. “What do you have in mind?”

“Hi.” He stuck out his hand again. “I’m Trevor, Declan’s friend. He’s told me a lot about you—but nothing too graphic. And all of it was good stuff.”

Not sure that was any better, I pushed him into the crowd. “Go somewhere else, Trev. I’ll see you later.”

With a nod, he turned and left me to do damage control.

“Sorry,” I said once he was absorbed by the crowd. “He’s not normally like that.”

“An idiot?” At least she was smiling.

“No, he’s always an idiot. But he’s usually less of an asshole. When he celebrates something, he really celebrates.”

“No worries. The friend I came here with tonight is a sociology major and would find him fascinating.” She took a quick look around the place, probably looking for her friend. “Wherever she is.” Hearing that pronoun was a relief.

“We may have to get our friends together sometime then. Trevor loves anyone who thinks he’s fascinating.”

“What’s he celebrating, anyway?”

I didn’t want to tell her about the promised contract, or being done with the tour, or anything else about the band. If I brought her into that side of my life, she wouldn’t be mine anymore. Not that she was actually mine now. But I liked having a little normalcy in my life, someone who wasn’t trying to use me for something.

“Trevor and I work together. We just got some good news about a potential new project.”

“Congrats. So, why aren’t you celebrating with him?”

“Because I’d rather celebrate with you.”

“That’s sweet. Thanks.” She held up her drink for a toast. “And congratulations on your good news, whatever it is.”

Anyone else would’ve probed for more information, but not her. Like she didn’t want to know or didn’t care. Or maybe she still wanted to keep her distance. After everything we’d done to each other.

I couldn’t really fault her for it—I was doing the same thing. Could I have it both ways? Could I keep her away from the music and share everything else? Was that even possible?