Six Guns and Six Strings: 13 Book Excite Spice Cowboys and Rock Stars Mega Bundle (Excite Spice Boxed Sets)

by Selena Kitt

  Jodie didn’t seem to notice Rob hadn’t spoken at all until he asked, “What’s your name?” with his pen poised above the pad she handed him.

  “Jodie.” She beamed. I’d never noticed how busty she was before, but her cleavage was clearly visible as she leaned over to watch him write it down. She was so close to him, her curly dishwater blonde hair, all pulled back into a messy bun, brushed his cheek.

  I sat and sipped my orange juice, trying not to look jealous, wondering when I was going to hear the “I told you so” from my new rock star paramour.

  “Sabrina!” Jodie frowned over at me. “You never told me you knew Rob Burns!”

  “I didn’t,” I piped up, realizing too late what I was going to have to admit. Heat flooded my face as I finished my sentence. “…until last night.”

  “Ohhhh.” She raised one finely-plucked eyebrow as she straightened, looking between the two of us as Rob handed her pad back.

  “It’s not what you think,” I protested.

  “No, it’s exactly what you think, Jodie.” Rob grinned, leaning back against the booth, arms stretched out on either side.

  “Well, I’ll get your breakfast right out.” She shoved her notepad back into her apron, smiling at him. “Thanks for the autograph.”

  “No problem.” Rob winked at her and she blushed before she turned and hustled back toward the kitchen.

  “You’re an incorrigible flirt.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “I wouldn’t stick that out unless you intend to use it.” His gaze skipped down to my mouth and I remembered the soft press of his lips. He had me thinking about the bathrooms in back, wondering if anyone would notice if we both slipped away at once. I should have worn a skirt, I scolded myself. But this morning rational thought had won out and I’d put on a pair of jeans.

  “All I said was I wanted to see your eyes.” It was the outright truth. His eyes did something to me—and I liked it. “And I do.”

  “There’s always a price to pay for walking around naked.” His gaze left mine, skipping around the room, taking in the scenery from our vantage point—an elderly couple sharing a newspaper and an omelet, two guys wearing EMT shirts with radios on their belts whose ambulance was parked outside, a family with Dad, Mom and twin toddler girls, their hair pulled back in twin purple bows.

  “Walking around without sunglasses is naked?” I reached for one of the little plastic containers of jelly on the table. There was a stack of them in a black container.

  “For a rock star?” He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  “I don’t understand what difference it makes.” I peeled the film off the top of the plastic jelly container, using my finger as a spoon. “I can still tell it’s you.”

  “Of course you can.” He smiled, watching me suck jelly off my finger.

  “What does that mean?” I reached for my drink, forgetting how bitter it would taste after my sweet little treat. I drank some and gave a little shudder.

  “How’s your orange juice?” He laughed at the face I made.

  “Good. Why?”

  “I’m just shocked you’re not hungover.”

  Actually I was too. I wasn’t much of a drinker and I’d had more the night before than I’d had in years.

  “It must be the Rob Burns effect,” I teased.

  “If I could magically cure hangovers, I wouldn’t have to go on tour.”

  “Have to?” I blinked at him. “I thought you loved it.”

  “Part of me does,” he agreed, looking around again. “Part of me… misses this.”

  “Coney Islands?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze returned to me, our eyes meeting, locking. It was familiar now, even after so short a time. My brain seemed to crave it, like a drug. I wanted him to look at me. Just me. “And drinking with pretty girls in blues clubs. And going home with them afterward.”

  “I’m sure you go home with plenty of pretty girls.” I drank the last of my orange juice, looking at him over the rim.

  “That’s different.”

  “This is different?” I asked, clarifying.

  “It is.” He gave me a slow nod, eyes never leaving mine.

  What was he saying? I knew it was supposed to be clear, but I couldn’t quite believe it. Part of me wanted to believe it, and part of me couldn’t, because it was impossible. Rob Burns couldn’t mean that I was something different—special—to him. Could he? Because that would just be crazy. That was the stuff of dreams.

  But this was a dream day, right?

  “But it must be great to make music, to play shows.” I’d decided to shift the focus of our conversation. “You make so many people happy. I mean, look at Jodie.”

  “I can’t.” His voice was low, throaty. “I’m looking at you.”

  “I’m just saying.” I looked down, my finger following an old water ring on the table. I couldn’t look at him, not when he was staring at me like that. If I did, I had a feeling we’d be half-naked in the bathroom before Jodie could return with breakfast, and while that was a hot fantasy, I didn’t want to be responsible for getting the lead singer of Trouble arrested for lewd public behavior in a Detroit Coney Island. “It can’t be all that bad.”

  “No, it’s not,” he admitted. “But the grass is always greener. I’m sure there are sucky things about being an elementary school teacher.”

  “Hell yeah.” I laughed, starting to tick them off on my fingers. “The administration. Standardized testing. Parents. Paying for supplies out of my own pocket. Pretty much everything but the kids. The kids are great. Well, most of them. Teachers get no respect. Everyone thinks we have easy jobs and don’t even deserve the measly salaries we get paid.”

  “And you get summers off.”

  “Right?” I looked up to see him grinning at me and I couldn’t tell if he was teasing.

  “That’s okay, everyone thinks I have an easy job and I don’t deserve what I get paid either.”

  I laughed.

  “Here’s your breakfast, Mister Rock Star!” Jodie appeared carrying a tray, setting our plates in front of us. My stomach growled. I knew I was hungry—a glass of orange juice and a little plastic container of strawberry jelly hadn’t even touched it—but I hadn’t realized just quite how hungry I was until that very moment. I hadn’t eaten anything since hours before the concert.

  Jodie gushed, thanking Rob again for the autograph, and she’d run out to her car for a CD and would he mind signing the insert? He graciously put his fork down, taking the CD from her and flipping it open, signing not only the insert but the front of the silver CD itself. Jodie clapped and jumped up and down like a twelve year old, and I remembered thinking my reaction the day before might have been the exact same if I hadn’t been dazed by the door that nearly knocked me down the stairs—and the beautiful, perfect, rock god who followed.

  “You’re very welcome.” Rob handed back her Sharpie and her CD. “And thanks for breakfast, because I’m really starving!”

  He picked his fork back up, cutting into the omelet, and Jodie took the hint.

  “Enjoy!” She waggled her fingers at him and then hurried back toward the kitchen.

  “Do you ever eat a meal in peace?” I wondered out loud.

  “Not in public.” Rob shook his head, shoveling in eggs. “Especially without my sunglasses on.”

  “They’re not magical.” I smiled, chewing a decadent bite of French toast. I didn’t even bother with syrup—they were sweet enough already. “They don’t transform you when you put them on. You know that right?”

  “I know that.” He gave me a withering look as he took a gulp of water, washing down his eggs. “But it gives me a buffer zone. And sometimes it gives me enough time to finish my breakfast.”

  “Is that why you eat so fast?” I nodded at his empty plate, looking down at mine. I’d only taken three bites.

  “That’s why I eat so fast.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, nodding toward a table in the corner. I glanced over, seeing a bunch
of girls sitting where the family with the twin toddlers had been. The girls were younger than me—maybe eighteen or nineteen, just out of high school. I saw them talking, giggling and pointing, building up their courage to come over. Just yesterday I’d been on that side of the fence, and I could definitely say, without a doubt, the grass was greener on my side.

  With Rob.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached into my purse, taking out his sunglasses and handing them back. Now I really felt bad. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay.” He shrugged, tucking one of the earpieces under the collar of his t-shirt, glancing at the table of girls. “It’s too late anyway. Hurry up and eat or you’re not going to get to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But by then the girls were crowding the table, six of them talking at once and all I could do was gape as Rob handled it all, getting out of the booth, standing as he wrote autograph after autograph. He thanked them, laughed at their jokes and returned their not-so-subtle attempts at flirting with just enough interest to satisfy them but not enough to lead them on. It was masterful, really.

  I had just finished my orange juice and was swallowing my second to last bite of French toast when Rob edged along the table toward me, reaching back for my hand. I had continued eating, as instructed—I was really hungry!—and hadn’t noticed the crowd gathering around us. There were far more people asking for autographs than the original six girls—a few older women, at least forty, along with several waitresses, some heavy metal guys with really long hair and a myriad of tattoos and piercings. There were even a few white-haired grandmothers waving pens and notepads out of their pocketbooks!

  “We’ve got to go now, I’m sorry,” Rob apologized. He had my hand and pulled me to him, tucking me under his arm.

  The crowd expressed their disappointment and instead of moving away, they moved in. All I saw were bodies pressing together, hands waving. Rob had me in front of him now, arms around me like a straight jacket, pinning me to him.

  “I’m sorry!” Rob apologized again, beginning to move through the crowd. They didn’t part though—they swarmed, touching Rob’s shoulder, his hair, as we passed.

  I glimpsed Jodie to my right and met her eyes. I think she saw how scared I was and she knew it when I mouthed, “Help!”

  She nodded, heading through the crowd—they let her through, no problem. They were too focused on Rob to care. But then she was gone and I didn’t know where. Rob’s arms tightened around me as he pushed into the crowd. There was no other choice. They were between us and the door.

  “Okay, okay! Thank you, guys. I really appreciate it!” Rob’s voice rose as he edged through the bodies. It was practically the whole restaurant now, fifty people between us and the exit. I was trembling, seeing the light in the crowd’s eyes. The more Rob reminded them he was leaving, the more their desperate energy became.

  Then a loud, repeating siren pierced the air. I nearly screamed, looking back at Rob. The crowd reacted, craning their necks around to see what was going on, distracted from Rob, and he used it to his advantage, easily threading his way through the crowd now with me practically strapped to the front of him. I saw Jodie at the front door, holding it open for no one.

  “Fire alarm?” Rob asked as we edged past her and I realized she was holding the door for us.

  Jodie nodded, dropping him a wink.

  “Thanks,” Rob said.

  “I’ll come back and pay you later!” I called over my shoulder to the waitress.

  Jodie waved us through. “It’s on the house!”

  We made it to the car before anyone noticed we were even gone. The fire alarm stopped as I was unlocking the car and I met Rob’s eyes over the hood.

  “Hurry,” he urged, hopping into the passenger side.

  I got in and started the car, seeing the pack of six girls leading the crowd out the door and into the parking lot. I put the Kia in drive, giving it a lot of gas, heading out of the lot and onto the street. Traffic was, thankfully, clear.

  I was still shaking, but I kept driving, wanting to get away from that crowd. Who knew so many people in Leo’s Coney Island would be Trouble fans?

  “You okay?” Rob asked.

  “Yeah.” Even my voice was shaking. I felt his hand on the back of my neck, massaging gently.

  “It’s scary the first time. I remember.”

  I looked at him, surprised. “You were scared?”

  “You learn how to handle it.” His hand on my neck was soothing. I hadn’t realized how tense I was, every muscle in my body drawn up tight. “But sometimes, when it gets out of control, it’s still scary.”

  I nodded. “I was scared.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” His hand moved through my hair, stroking gently. It gave me shivers. “Where to now?”

  He could have gloated. He could have said, “I told you so.” But he didn’t.

  “Well, do you like art as much as you like music?”

  He put on his sunglasses, grinning over at me. “Let’s find out.”

  7

  I forgot Sunday was family day at the Detroit Institute of the Arts and it was full of parents and kids. I looked at Rob as we paid our admission, worried we might have the same problem we had at the diner, but with his sunglasses on and the red baseball cap, it was weird, but no one seemed to recognize him.

  It probably helped that we’d stopped at a little thrift store on the way so he could buy himself a few changes of clothes and a little knapsack. He’d decided to mix decades by purchasing a pair of old bell bottoms, a “Frankie Says Relax” t-shirt and a pair of scuffed up old motorcycle boots. Then he insisted on wearing them all at the same time, in spite of my protests, and it was weird, but I had to admit, the look somehow worked on him. When you added the sunglasses and the ball cap, it was a strange mix, but he still looked sexy as hell. It was a complete paradox.

  We held hands and walked through the exhibit rooms, stopping now and then at pieces we really liked. I was no art connoisseur, but I loved the museum. To me, it felt a little like church. There was something reverent about it. Even full of kids, the place felt hushed and quiet. The children seemed to understand that there was something special about it too. They stared up at the paintings, wide-eyed and awed. That’s how I felt in the museum—like a child experiencing something amazing for the first time.

  It was always interesting to see what someone was drawn to in the art museum. There was always something that would be captivating, whether it was one painting or a specific style. For Rob, it was the Native collection—the Navajo blankets and vases, the weaved sweet grass baskets. I squeezed his hand as we left that room, seeing him blinking fast behind his sunglasses.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded as we dodged a mother with a stroller. “My grandfather was Native.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. I’d read a lot about Rob in the media, but I’d never heard that. In fact, I couldn’t remember reading much at all about his parents. It was like his life had started when Trouble made it big. Whenever journalists wrote about his childhood, it was to talk about how he’d started playing guitar at the age of twelve when he inherited his uncle’s, or that he’d played singing leads in all of his high school musicals.

  “Apache.” He squeezed my hand back. “What’s that?”

  He pointed to the crowd gathering in an adjacent room.

  “Puppet show.”

  “Awesome! Let’s go!” He dragged me into the room like a little kid leading the way into Disneyland. Before I knew it, we were sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bunch of kids watching a shadow puppet show.

  I had to admit, I got caught up. Using shadows as puppets was fascinating, and the story was compelling, about a boy transformed into a bird and a girl who ends up saving him. The kids watched, utterly enthralled, and I smiled, watching Rob’s face, seeing he was too. The parents around us finally relaxed, their kids finally sitting still.

  I spotted the mother of one of my kid
s leaning against the wall on the right. I remembered her because we’d been at odds during parent-teacher conferences. Mrs. Gunderson kept telling me her son needed to “be supported,” and to her that meant still tying his shoes for him—Trevor was eight years old—and opening his carton of milk at lunch, none of which had anything to do with his education or his grades, which were failing. I looked around for Trevor and spotted him sitting kitty-corner from Rob, a row ahead. I was surprised he wasn’t on a leash or tied to his mother with a string.