Very Twisted Things

He grinned. “Truth is, I actually wore this necklace in a video I made, and it is lucky. Our video made us huge.”

Music video? My interest was piqued, but I dampened it. “Cool.”

Suddenly, he took it off from around his neck and draped it over mine, his fingers brushing over my collarbone. “Wear it for me when you play again.”

A hush settled over our table at his words, and my heart took up its crazy pounding as I imagined playing for him wearing nothing but the necklace.

Maybe he was a mind reader because his eyes went low and he leaned in over the table. “This is going to sound crazy, but it feels like we have this thing between us—” he stopped, indecision working his face.

“Thing?”

“Never mind. It—it’s stupid.”

I let it go.

“Why do you do that?” he asked later, nodding his head at my tapping fingers as they beat against my thigh.

I stopped as heat washed over my face. God. I hadn’t even been aware of it.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “It’s just you did it yesterday when I saw you at Wilson’s and now, so naturally, I’m curious.”

“Uh, yeah. I have a tapping problem.”

“Kinda like an eye twitch?” He laughed. “I get those all the time, especially when my roomie does crazy shit. Which is more often than you’d think.”

I smirked. “I’d explode if I tried to stop. Mostly, it soothes me … kinda like a baby that sucks its thumb.”

“Or a gunslinger who’s getting ready to fire off a shot.” He mimicked the action of pulling a gun from an imaginary belt and firing it at me.

I giggled and then cocked my head in surprise. “You’re not like I expected,” I said, biting my lip at the words. Maybe it was a sixth sense or a gut feeling, but I knew Blond Guy wasn’t judging me for my eccentricities.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, you’re overwhelmingly gorgeous—I’m sure you know that—yet you’re kind. It’s refreshing. Surprising even.” I spilled more. “My tapping was worse when it first started—I’d get blisters on my fingers I did it so much. Some of my friends, even my ex … were embarrassed by it, or maybe they just didn’t know what to say.” I stared down at the table. “I appreciate you not making a big deal about it.”

A gentle look came over his face as he picked up my free hand and stroked my palm. “There are worse things in life than tapping your leg. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m glad you’re still here. Your tapping makes you unique. Also—” he grinned and wiggled his eyebrows “—I happen to dig different, Violin Girl.”

A bolt of electricity zapped through my insides and went straight to my lady parts. “Violin Girl?”

Just then a commotion at the door caught his attention, and I angled my head and took in Blair Storm, sweeping inside the entrance in a tight white sundress and skinny stilettos, entourage in tow. Perfect. Guess they’d moved from the coffee shop to here. Dammit. I sighed.

Patrons pulled out their camera phones and started clicking away as she waltzed around, her mane of white hair caressing her shoulders as she pranced by like a My Little Pony. A group of young girls squealed and ran to her with paper and pen out. She obliged with a sweet smile on her face.

Only I knew better.

I wished I didn’t let her bother me.

He let go of my hand and snapped up out of his seat, nearly knocking down his chair. His eyes careened from me to Blair and then back again, as if he couldn’t make up his mind about what to do or say.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He popped off his hat and ran a hurried hand through his hair. “I—I have to go. My friend’s here now.”

My eyes flew to Blair. “She’s who you’re meeting?” I hissed, filling in the gaps.

“Look, I wish I could explain, but it’s complicated.”

Disappointment settled in me, and I held my hand up. “Wait. Is she your girlfriend?” Maybe he wasn’t the sweet person I thought he was.

He shrugged, his mouth thinning, and I waited for him to explain further, but he just stood there.

“So what you’re not telling me is that you and her are a thing?”

He eased off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket with care as if weighing his words. “Do you mind if we talk about this later? I can’t explain—”

“No. Just tell me the truth. Are you and Bubbles going at it?”

“Bubbles?”

I waved my hands at him. “Never mind that. Just answer the question.”

“What do you mean?” He crossed his arms.

And then I started babbling. “Are you doing the bedroom rodeo with her? You know, bumping uglies? Rolling in the hay? Playing hide the sausage? Churning butter? Making love?”

His jawline tightened, and his eye definitely twitched. “I don’t owe you an explanation of my love life. How do I know you won’t spill what you know to the media?”

“I guess you don’t. Maybe I like to keep my own name out of the papers. Maybe you and Blair aren’t the only famous people in this room.” I groaned at my own stupidity. I’d said too much. I picked up my purse, eyeing the paparazzi who’d come into the shop. They weren’t here for me, and I hadn’t even been on their radar in a long time, but I still wanted to avoid them.