My ass is freezing. I’ve been out in front of Gracyn’s building for the past half hour.

Part of me was afraid she wouldn’t come back to the hotel. To my hotel even though her clothes, all her stuff, are there. I didn’t want to gamble with losing her on a whim. It’s like she’s a flight risk.

The minute the little hand hit seven, I grabbed one of the taxis at the curb and posted up against it to wait, looking casual as fuck.

“Take us to Valhalla, man. Hell’s Kitchen, Fifty-Fourth and Ninth,” I tell the driver before turning to Gracyn. “Bar food and beer okay with you?”

God have mercy, she is fucking gorgeous. That purple scarf looped around her neck, caressing the skin I want to lick and suck on, wrap my palm around again, feeling the rush of her desire.

Focus on something other than that face she makes when she …

“Sounds perfect,” she says, reaching for my hand.

My freezing-cold hand that will totally give away the fact that I was out there, waiting a hell of a lot longer than I told her.

“Maybe some whiskey to warm you up. You’re a lot colder than you should be. How’d your meetings go?” Gracyn asks.

Her warm hands clasp my frigid one in her lap, softly rubbing it back and forth. With my time in New York coming to a much quicker conclusion than I planned, the last thing I want to talk about is leaving. I want us on the same page this time. I need it.

“Good. We, uh … we have studio time lined up soon in LA. And the last of the songs is about ready to go. It’s different from what the guys are used to from me, but they played with it a little today, and I think they’re good. It’s gonna be good when they each get to put their spin on it.”

She slides her eyes at me as the cab lurches forward, trying to make it through the intersection. “So … what you’re saying is, it’s good. Like good, good or just good?”

Fucking smart-ass.

I guess I might have overused the word.

“It’s going to be fucking spectacular. European market is going to lose their goddamn minds over it. Is that better?”

She blows a warm breath into the tangle of our hands, resting her pillowy lips on the rough skin of my fingers. “That sounds a whole lot better than good.”

I feel the words as much as hear them—and not just where her lips brush across my skin. Heat blooms in my chest and flows through me, settling low in my gut.

Two days. I only have two days left with her before my schedule goes to shit for months. The similarities of where we are now and where we were in Destin is not lost on me.

I toss some bills at the driver as he screeches to a halt across from the sports bar. “Thanks, man.” The rush of cold air sweeps into the car as I open the door and pull the strap of Gracyn’s messenger bag across my chest. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I shoulder through the people trying to get into the cab before we’re even truly free of it.

Inside the bar, I slide my hand from Gracyn’s waist to her hand, holding on like my life depends on it, and guide her over to the corner of the bar. Two seats backing up to the plate glass window are open, allowing us to huddle in the corner. It doesn’t get any more perfect than this.

Going out publicly can get dicey, but this should be as mellow as it can get. Small neighborhood pub. Tucked in the corner and having a couple of beers with a beautiful woman.

Hell, maybe she’ll take the attention off me.

We order a couple of amber IPAs and some burgers and wings before Gracyn turns in her seat. She wiggles out of her jacket, settling it on the back of the stool, and then props her elbow on the bar, taking me in.

Shedding the armor of my jacket, I take a quick glance around the place and hunch forward. Arms resting on the bar, hands clasped loosely. All looks good, still.

“Where are you, Gavin? Where’d you just disappear to?” Gracyn wraps a hand around her pint glass and lifts it to her lips. A bit of foam rests on her lip for only the briefest moment before her tongue darts out to clear it away.

“I’m here … just trying to blend and not be noticed.” I shrug and pull my beanie lower on my head, trying to tuck my hair away.

“That’s so weird.” She laughs. “Does that happen a lot? I mean, I saw the madness outside the hotel last night, but when did that stuff start happening?”

Our wings are set down in front of us, the tang of spicy buffalo sauce swirling in the air. Gracyn subtly pulls her hair over her shoulder and quickly twists it into a loose braid before grabbing a stack of napkins with one hand and a big, saucy wing with the other.

“Yeah, it happens more often than you’d think. Definitely depends though,” I tell her as I dunk a carrot stick in the house-made blue cheese dip. “A place like this, we should be okay, but around hotels, clubs … or, Jesus, if all of us go out together? Shit can go sideways in a hot minute. And that loses its appeal really fucking quick, especially when your shirt gets ripped off, your ass gets fondled, or, Christ, I’ve had my fucking dick grabbed,” I grumble.

The stripped chicken wing hits the bone bowl, and she slaps a napkin over her mouth, laughing. “Oh my God, you’re kidding me.” Her words are muffled by the napkin, her eyes wide.

Chuckling, I shake my head. “Nope. The dick grab is their favorite. Like that’s at all okay.”

She is full-on belly laughing at me now, and a couple of heads have turned in our direction.

“Tone it down, G,” I mumble. “I want my burger before we have to hoof it out of here.”

Smile still firmly in place, she looks around the room and notes the lingering stares. People doing that glare where they try to figure out if one of us is someone they should know. Or maybe they’re just mesmerized by the beautiful woman with the obnoxious laugh, sitting next to me. I drain my beer and nod at the bartender for a couple more. With as hot as the wings are, Gracyn will need a fresh one in no time.

“People actually do that?” She reaches for her glass as the heat of the spice hits her.

“God, yes. They have no boundaries.”

The bartender comes back with our burgers and dumps the growing pile of chicken bones from our devouring.

“And they really do think I’ll bone anything with tits and a short skirt.” Juice runs down my chin as I bite into my burger.

“Don’t even tell me you were a saint on tour.” Gracyn hands me a napkin and pops a fry in her mouth.

Well, isn’t this uncomfortable territory?

“Not a saint. But it’s not like I turned into Kane or anything either. I swear, he’s the reason we have groupies following us around.”

My shoulder stings from a sharp slap. Gracyn’s hand rests on the spot, and she’s looking at me, shock painted across her face.

“You have groupies. Gav, you’ve made it. You’re the shit now, baby.”

Make that fake shock.

“I pick you up from work and buy you dinner, and this is how you thank me? By beating me and mocking my success?” It’s hard, holding back my smile.

She rubs my shoulder and across my back until her fingers are tangled in the hair not tucked up in my beanie. Grabbing a handful, Gracyn turns me, so our faces are inches apart.

“I think you get off on a little pain now.” Her eyes dip down to the front of my shirt, the outline of my piercings visible beneath my tee.

“Mmm …”

The low hum brings her gaze back up to mine, and I reach out for the scarf still wrapped around her delicate neck.

“I think we’ve both changed”—I lean in and brush my lips across hers—“in the things that get us off.”

She gasps, and I trap her bottom lip between my teeth, biting down and then soothing it with my tongue before sitting back in my barstool.

It doesn’t take long for Gracyn to recover and take my breath away.

“Maybe I should get a matching set.”

And, at that thought, my dick goes all Grinch at Christmas, growing and swelling and shit.