by T. K. Leigh
“Maybe I’ve made it big.”
“Have you?” I place my hands on the large island, leaning toward him, my lips pressed into a tight line. If he’d made it big, I would have heard.
He considers my question for a moment, then shrugs. “Not yet, but I’m one step closer.”
“What do you mean?” I look from him to Izzy, an amused expression on her face. I notice her eyes shift ever so slightly and I follow her line of sight, my gaze falling on a glass case in the living room.
I walk toward it, my brow furrowing when I see six Grammy awards enclosed within. Squinting, I read the gold plate, then whirl around, my expression wide.
“You’re in Fallen Grace?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice.
Fallen Grace is this decade’s most popular boy band, five twenty-something-year-old guys from London who girls scream and fawn over everywhere they go. I would have noticed Asher York standing amongst their numbers. I notice everything about everyone.
He shakes his head, laughing. “Certainly not. They’re not really my style.”
“Then what—”
“They hired me to work on their new album with them, and to help with their engagement here in Vegas.”
“If they’re not your style, why are you working with them?”
“They’re going for a more mature sound…less pop, more rock.”
I absorb what he’s saying, my mouth agape as I shake my head. “How the hell did you even land this job?”
“Dumb luck,” he laughs. “About six months ago, I had a gig with my band in Hollywood when one of the guys came by. He grabbed one of our download codes, listened to the tracks, then played it for the rest of the band. After doing a bit of research, they found out I wrote all the songs. Their manager called to see if I was interested in helping on their next album.”
“So you’re… What? Writing their songs for them?”
“More or less. Some of them write their own stuff, too, but I’m helping fill in the gaps and produce the record.” He smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes as he stares into space, his expression thoughtful. “Before I got their call, I was months behind on my rent and facing eviction. I was ready to throw in the towel, tell my parents they were right and I should never have left my teaching job. It goes to show that sometimes good things happen when we least expect it.”
He looks from me to Izzy, admiring all five feet, seven inches of her slender physique, which is now on display in just a black bikini and sheer coverup. She pulled her dark locks into a messy bun, a pair of oversized sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow before he returns his attention to the burgers, his hands shaking slightly. It’s adorable how nervous she makes him. That’s all any woman wants. To know she affects a man in such a way as to completely fluster him.
“So…” He clears his throat. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Wine? Cocktail? You name it, and it’s yours, unless you ask for something strange. I may not have all the ingredients. But considering the parties the guys throw here, I’m pretty well-stocked.”
I lean toward Izzy, whispering into her ear. “He certainly is, isn’t he?”
She slaps me away, hushing me. “I’m happy with a beer.” She looks toward the rear wall that consists of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool area. “It’s a beer kind of day.”
“A woman after my own heart,” he comments with a wink, causing the blush on her cheeks to build even more. Then he lifts his eyes to mine. “Chloe?”
“Beer’s fine with me, too.”
With a nod, he turns toward the refrigerator and opens it, taking out two Coronas, popping the top off them. “Lime?”
“Yes,” we answer simultaneously.
He retrieves a couple lime slices from a bowl on the island, sticks them into the neck of the bottle, then slides the beers toward us. We get to work pushing the lime past the neck, plugging the bottle with our thumbs, and flipping it so the lime sinks toward the bottom.
“Here’s to making the most out of a canceled flight.” Izzy raises her beer.
I mirror her movements. “I’d much rather be here than stuck at the airport.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Asher agrees, bringing his beer toward ours. We clink bottles, then tilt them back, taking a sip.
“Is there anything we can help with?” Izzy asks.
“I have it all under control. You ladies are guests here. Just relax and enjoy yourselves. Come on.”
He grabs the plate of burgers and starts toward the open French doors. We follow him, emerging onto the back patio area, the aroma of burning charcoal filling the air.
“Lincoln!” Asher calls out as he strides toward the grill off to the left, leaving the plate on a table beside it. “Get off your phone and be social.”
I scan the pool area, following Asher’s line of sight. A tall man with dark hair holds up a finger, not looking in our direction as he walks toward a fence beyond the pool, leaning his arms against it as he admires the view of the Vegas skyline from this vantage point on the outskirts of the city. It is quite impressive. I can only imagine how incredible the view must be at night. As much as I hate Vegas, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of it, especially from afar.
“He’ll be done soon, I hope.”
“Who’s he?” I don’t actively follow Fallen Grace, but I don’t recall any of them being named Lincoln.
“Lincoln Moore,” Asher answers, placing the burgers onto the grill. It instantly sizzles. “We went to college together. In fact, he was a workaholic back then, too, constantly studying. He was one of those guys who lived according to the motto ‘work hard, play hard’.”
“I like to think that now it’s ‘work hard, play even harder’.”
When I hear that deep rumble, every muscle in my body tenses, my breath leaving me. It couldn’t be, could it?
I slowly turn around, momentarily disoriented as I stare into those green eyes once more. Izzy pinches my side, just as surprised as me.
“Chloe, Izzy…,” Asher begins, oblivious to the tension. “This is my friend, Lincoln.”
I stare, seeing him differently now that I know his name. It suits him. Strong, yet flirty.
“Lincoln, this is Izzy and—”
“Dick Girl.”
“Dick Girl?” Asher looks between us, confused. “Do you two know each other?”
Lincoln subtly nods. “We’ve had the…pleasure.” The way that word leaves his tongue has my nerve endings stirring. “Or perhaps I should say I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing her sharp tongue.”
“Yes.” I offer him a flirtatious smile, extending my hand toward him. “It’s nice to see you again, to formally meet you, Lincoln.”
He takes my hand in his, raising it to his lips, his pupils dilating as he feathers his mouth against my skin. The touch is subtle, yet it has my stomach doing backflips.
“Likewise, Chloe.” He passes me a devilish grin, then lowers my hand. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”
“Either did I.”
“Funny how that keeps happening, isn’t it? How we keep…bumping into each other. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone, something wants us to keep seeing each other.”
I lift my beer to my mouth. “I’m beginning to think I should buy a lottery ticket.”
Chapter Six
“Careful. Careful,” I caution, biting my lower lip, my breathing ragged, wracked with nerves. “No, not there.” My voice is frantic as I meet Lincoln’s fervid eyes, his concentration so intense I fear it may be our undoing.
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” he reminds me.
“I figured as much, but you have to watch what you’re doing or it won’t end well.” My words come out husky, my body taut with anticipation. “One wrong move and it’ll all come tumbling down.”
“I’ve got this,” he insists through clenched jaws, his nostrils flaring.
Lic
king his lips, he pauses, the pressure so thick I could almost burst. My chest heaves, the seconds seeming to stretch as I watch his every move. He inches closer and closer and I brace myself, my hands forming into fists, the past several hours, hell…days, culminating in this moment.
Then he pushes a finger in, his motions measured and practiced. I exhale, the tension rolling off me.
“See, Chloe.” He meets my eyes, waggling his brows. “I told you I knew what I was doing.”
He waves the Jenga block in my face, jutting out his chest. With his head held high, he barely pays attention as he places the block on top of the tower we’ve spent the past hour building. It instantly falls, the pieces scattering across the table and the ground, the sound echoing throughout the patio.
Groans emanate from everyone as we watch our hard work topple over.
“See! That’s what you get for being so cocky,” I taunt.
“Don’t you know it, baby,” he says with a wink before turning his attention to the mess, picking up the blocks.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve played this game. It was probably in college. Back then, of course, it was more of a drinking game. When I stumbled on a collection of board games in the living room, I figured it would be a better way to spend our time than sitting around and drinking.
“What’s next on the agenda for game night?” Izzy asks once all the Jenga blocks are back in their box.
“Game night?” I repeat.
“Yeah.” She gives me a knowing look. “Game night.”
“Oh, no.” My response comes quick. “This isn’t game night. That’s something bored, married couples do to mask the fact that they have nothing in common with each other. The arrogant husband acts as if he’s a know-it-all anytime his wife answers a question wrong in Trivial Pursuit. And she realizes exactly how little her husband listens to her during a rousing game of Taboo. No thanks. Not interested.”
A sly smile crosses Izzy’s mouth, her eyes alight with excitement. “Not all games are boring.”
I’ve seen this look before, the most recent being when she dragged me to what she thought was an intimate Cher concert at a club in the Village. It sounded too good to be true. And it was. The “Cher concert” was a drag show. Regardless, we had one hell of a time.
“What did you have in mind?”
Her grin widens. “You’ll see.” She stands and heads back into the house, a bounce in her step.
“I’m not sure if I should be scared or intrigued,” Asher says, keeping his eyes trained on her.
“The one thing I’ve learned about Izzy is that she’s rather unpredictable.”
He blows out a laugh, nodding. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
Izzy reappears in the doorway seconds later and walks toward us, a box in her hand. She places it on the wicker coffee table between us, her expression smug.
“I told you, Chloe. Game night doesn’t always have to be boring. What do you guys think? Want to take things up a notch?” She grins mischievously. “Or are you too chicken?”
That’s all it takes for the guys to puff out their chests, raw masculinity oozing from them. I almost expect them to bang their fists against their pecs and roar like cavemen.
“Never Have I Ever?” I say, reading the words on the box. I didn’t realize they’d made a board game out of it.
She shrugs. “Why not? I thought you were an open book, that you had no shame.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” She smirks, briefly shifting her eyes to Lincoln before returning to mine.
“Fine,” I relent with a sigh. “But if we’re going to play this, I’ll need another beer.” I begin to stand from the couch when Lincoln places his hand on my arm, gently pushing me back down.
“I got it.” He meets my gaze, which seems to linger on my lips. Then he drops his hold on me, looking at Asher. “I’ll grab another round for everyone. I have a feeling we all may need it.” He focuses on me once more before disappearing into the house.
“I might as well take advantage of this break and go change.” I stand, stretching my arms over my head after sitting for the past hour.
We spent all afternoon lounging by the pool, drinking beers, eating burgers, and playing board games. But now that the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon, the temperature has fallen, making it a bit too cold to be out here in just a bathing suit and a flimsy coverup.
“Are you sure you’re not planning to take advantage of something else?” Izzy calls after me as I start toward the house.
I roll my eyes, ignoring her comment, and continue into the kitchen, glancing back at them to see Asher stealing my spot next to Izzy. I’m definitely intrigued by their obvious connection, wondering how long this has been going on. At least I have a five hour flight tomorrow in which to get some answers.
Distracted by concocting a plan to pry this information out of Izzy, I don’t pay much attention to my surroundings… Until a movement catches my eyes. I attempt to halt in my tracks, but velocity from my quick strides prevents me from stopping and I crash straight into Lincoln, the beers in his hands jostling and splashing.
“Oh, my god.” My face reddens as I stare at his linen shirt, which is now soaked with beer. “I’m so sorry.” I rush to take the fizzing bottles out of his hands and place them on the island. Grabbing a kitchen towel, I bring it to his shirt, dabbing at it.
“Don’t worry about it.” A smile illuminates his face as he looks down at me. “It’s just beer.”
“I know, but I—”
He wraps his hand around my arm, preventing me from fussing over him any longer.
“Chloe…”
I straighten, swallowing hard. “Yes?”
While we’ve spent all afternoon together, this is the first time we’re alone. The atmosphere is just as charged as it has been the previous times we’ve seen each other. I have to remind myself to breathe.
“I said it’s okay. Nothing a blow dryer can’t fix.” He pauses, pulling his lips between his teeth. “You wouldn’t happen to have a blow dryer, would you? All my stuff is back at the hotel.”
I pinch my lips together. “A girl never leaves home without her favorite blow dryer. Come with me.”
I leave the towel on the island and lead him up the stairs, doing everything to settle my overwrought nerves. When we reach my room, I walk to my suitcase sitting on an ottoman by the window.
“Please don’t tell me that’s how you pack,” he comments as I rummage through my haphazardly arranged things.
“What’s wrong with it?”
He shakes his head. “It’s so…unorganized.”
“Perhaps to some people…” I grab the dryer, a satisfied look on my face as I wave it in front of him. “But I thrive on the chaos. If you think that’s bad…” I spin around and head into the bathroom, “you should see my desk at the office.”
He follows, leaning against the doorjamb, observing me as I plug in the dryer.
“And what is it you do?”
“I work at a magazine.”
He raises his brow, obviously surprised. “Doing what?”
“I’m a celebrity news columnist.” I offer a forced smile.
He studies me for a moment, gaze narrowed. “Why do I get the feeling you wish you were doing something different?”
My posture stiffening, I peer at him. This guy barely knows me, yet he’s picked up on something my close friends haven’t. That Evie never picked up on, even though she works at the same magazine.
I shrug. “It’s a good job. It pays the bills. That’s the important part. And I don’t hate it. People would kill to have the job I do.”
I’m not ungrateful for the opportunity I have at the magazine, but I didn’t exactly get it on my own merits. My father’s the only reason I’m lucky enough to have that job.
After I was forced to drop out of college to support my mother, who’d been fired because of her alcohol problem, I begged him to hel
p me out with money. Instead, he called in a favor.
I thought I’d eventually go back and finish my degree, be able to get a job at a different magazine because of my own qualifications. Maybe Rolling Stone, or even Time. But life always seemed to get in the way.
Correction.
My mother always seemed to get in the way. I’m just waiting for the bottom to fall again. That’s why I’m only taking a few classes at a time, inching toward my degree. I figure even if the bottom does fall, it won’t be impossible to juggle my job, a couple of classes, and my mother.
“Chloe? You okay?”
I snap out of my thoughts, meeting Lincoln’s concerned eyes.
“Sorry. Just thinking about…work.” I clear my throat, then turn on the blow dryer. “Come here,” I order, and he walks toward me. I point the air stream at the beer stain on his shirt.
He instantly flinches. “Damn. That burns.”
“Well, what do you expect? The only way to dry something is with hot air.” I return the dryer to the spot, and he cringes again. Men. No wonder women are the ones who get pregnant. They probably wouldn’t survive period cramps, let alone pushing a watermelon through a straw.
“Enough.” He steps away and I turn off the blow dryer. “New idea.”
He unbuttons his shirt, allowing it to fall open, which has the unfortunate side effect of my mouth growing dry. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about what he’d look like without a shirt. The reality certainly lives up to the fantasy. Broad shoulders. Sculpted biceps. Firm abs. And a little trail of hair disappearing into his shorts.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, entranced with the thought of what he has farther south.
He lifts his eyes to mine, his lips curving into a flirtatious smile.
“I mean…” I look away, flustered, trying to come up with an excuse for my verbal vomit.
His grin widens as he steps toward me, his gaze narrowed. Warmth spreads through me, my heart drumming a feverish rhythm. It’s so intense, I expect it to leap out of my chest at any moment. I remain locked in place, unable to move, fearing my knees would buckle if I tried to walk. He curves toward me and I swallow hard, barely able to breathe.