I’m in hair and makeup, wearing a black tank top and designer jeans, playing the cute, but tough-as-nails bartender in a music video.

Dylan Cotter introduces himself. He’s ridiculously hot - blonde hair, muscular build, right arm covered in thick, black tattoos, intense big blue eyes.

And he’s lucky he’s hot because he’s cocky as hell. And incredibly bossy.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re totally beautiful,” he tells me, “But is there any way we can give her some ink. Or some streaks in her hair. This girl, er… this character isn’t so clean-cut.”

It’s obvious that this song is about a very specific woman.

Jasmine and her crew are incredibly professional and efficient. And are willing to cede to a demanding rock star. We get the majority of the shots done in the mere few hours allotted and I, thankfully, can still get to my shift at the club on time.

“Thanks, Cora,” Jasmine says, “You’re a doll to work with.”

She shows me some of the footage. Dylan and I look pretty at ease with each other in the scenes.

“We’ll cut you a check for today and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

“A check?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she says, surprised. “When people work, they generally get paid. That’s kind of the basis of our economy.”

“Sorry,” I say. Could you be more of a dork, Cora? “This is my first paying gig.”

“You don’t say,” Jasmine says, knowingly.

I grab my bag. She continues to watch the playback on her laptop. Something catches her eye.

“Or should I just give the check to your boyfriend to hand off to you?” she asks, clearly implying something.

“What?” How much does she know? “I don’t have a…”

Ian and I didn’t discuss anything more than our one-night-stand. And, hell, I thought we were doing a pretty good job of keeping it professional on the set.

She plays me a clip of video where Dylan and I are flirting and Ian is visible in the background. The expression on his face is pure jealousy. He’s staring daggers at his bandmate. It’s clear as day.

“Ian’s a good guy. Fuck it, they’re all good guys. Cocksure and totally ridiculous sometimes, but good. I’ve known them for awhile now. I know Ian’s made some mistakes, but after all he’s been through this last year…”

“What? What happened?” I ask.

“He didn’t tell you about the accident?”

I shake my head no.

“Forgive me,” Jasmine says, “It’s not my place to tell his story.”

I understand. But I’m dying to know more.

Her eyes go back to the screen to a shot of me wiping down the bar top, watching Dylan walk away.

“The camera loves you,” she says. “Keep your phone on, the calls are going to start pouring in.

I smile ear to ear.

* * *

My shift at the club just will… not… end. Thankfully, Aya is working tonight also and I have somebody to gush to. I tell her all about the video and my interaction with Jasmine and the band and how she’s going to see my face on TV soon.

Oh, yeah, and about rolling around in bed with Ian and the two earth-shattering orgasms.

I’m thankful when Dan finally sends me on my break. I fish my phone out of my locker and check for messages.

I have a text from Ian.

Ian: Come over after your shift.

Cora: It’ll be really late.

Ian: I’ll be up.

I smirk to myself. I have no doubt about that.

Cora: Maybe.

Ian: It wasn’t really a question.

Cora: Demanding, aren’t we?

Ian: Are you going to be the pot or the kettle?

Cora: Hey! I said please.

Ian: Several times if I remember correctly.

Cora: Have you been doing a lot of “remembering?”

Ian: Fuck yes. I’ve “remembered” last night at least twice today.

Cora: It’s going to be pretty late. Close to 3am. I’m going to fall asleep immediately.

Ian: So sleep here. My place is closer.

Cora: I’d need to borrow some pajamas this time.

Ian: Don’t have any.

Cora: Then what do you sleep in?

Ian: Come over and find out.

My shift finally ends. I change clothes and get ready to call a Lyft when I hear a familiar deep voice call my name. I turn to see Ian, leaning against the building. He’s wearing his usual jeans and boots, a white tee shirt and leather jacket, and tonight, he’s sporting a slight five o’clock shadow.

Do I kiss him? Is that what we’re doing now?

I mean, we had that incredible night together, but that certainly doesn’t mean that we’re… people who kiss hello.

Before I can overanalyze greeting him, Ian’s lips are on mine.

Just a peck, but it still gives me chills.

“How are you up at this horrible hour?” I ask.

“I don’t sleep much,” he answers. “Long story.”

“Jasmine mentioned something. An accident,” I tell him, “I don’t want to pry, but…”

“I’ll tell you,” he gets somber, “Not now, though. I don’t want anything to bring us down tonight.”

We start walking and he puts an arm around me. I nestle my head against him. I can’t help it, it feels too good. He kisses my hair.

“Let’s get home first.”