“It’s nice to meet you, Oscar,” she said, settling in to her seat and scanning the slowly growing crowd. It was a Sunday night, and not a tourist Mecca, so the crowd was on the smaller side. The people of San Francisco and its visitors were missing out as the music kicked up. The warm sounds and deep bass rolled over her, warming her as much as the drink that Oscar had just set down in front of her.
***
An hour later, she was two drinks in, and her cheeks hurt from laughing at Oscar’s stories. He’d moved up and down the bar, refilling drinks for other patrons, sharing a quick word with his regulars, but always stopping back to check on her.
“Get up here, Benny boy,” a voice called out from the stage, pulling Amanda from Oscar’s latest tale.
“I just got here,” a familiar voice replied. A voice that rolled over her and warmed her up more than the booze.
Not possible.
She glanced at the stage. The band had taken a twenty-minute break, but they were back, and there he was. Ben. The guy who refused to leave her thoughts. This city was too big for this to be a coincidence, but she hadn’t mentioned the blues bar when they’d been out after the game the other night, so it was just fate. She snorted. She didn’t believe in fate.
But here she was, her mouth agape, as he stepped up on the small stage, his black shirt stretching across his broad shoulders, the hem riding up, baring a sliver of skin as he leaned over and grabbed the guitar in the corner. His jeans clung to his breathtaking ass. She’d never thought of a guy’s ass as breathtaking, but sweet Jesus, there were no other words to describe its glory.
The light beamed down on his hair, bringing out the golden tones. She leaned back to glare at her drink. How strong were these suckers?
“I’m rusty,” he said, slipping the strap over his head, his smile bright.
Ah fuck, and there’s the dimple.
“He says that every time,” the drummer teased, and Ben joked back. He joked. And it wasn’t awkward.
Who was this guy? Definitely not the Cheese she’d come to know. The one who bit her head off just two nights ago.
“We’ll go easy on the first one, then,” the lead singer said, and the drummer counted them off. The first strum of the guitar hooked her in, vibrating down to her toes, overheating every part of her, and her breath stalled in her throat.
Holy fuck, that’s hotter than it should be. She was hotter than she should be. Her soft spot for musicians just bloomed into full-fledged lust as his fingers moved over the frets, and he strummed each chord.
The soft light of the bar enveloped him, and everything else disappeared. She couldn’t break her gaze if she wanted to, and there was no way she wanted to.
The band moved into the next song, the guitar piece more of a challenge and Ben rose to it, his fingers picking up speed, and his eyes drifted shut, his lower lip disappearing into his mouth as he concentrated, and the urge to rush the stage and take that worried lip into her own mouth was overwhelming.
He was going to wreck her if given the chance and with each note he played, she fell further, melting into a puddle of need that she hadn’t felt in ages.
How quickly her lust overpowered her anger from forty-eight hours ago. But the man on the stage wasn’t the guy she’d argued with. He was confusing as hell, and her body didn’t appear to care as she continued to watch him on stage.
“I need a drink, boys,” Ben said, setting the guitar against the wall behind the small stage, after he’d played a handful of songs with the guys. It hadn’t been his intention to jump up there with them when he’d walked through the door an hour ago, but playing with them settled him, so he’d never say no.
His gaze scanned the bar, looking for her. Amanda. How the hell had she found him? No one knew he liked to come here and play. But there she’d been, sitting at the bar, joking with Oscar like she was a regular, but he’d never seen her here before. He didn’t believe in coincidences.
He looked around, spotting her at a small table in the corner. She tensed as he headed toward her, his feet moving before his brain could remind him that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He was always a disaster around her. And she was a reporter, even if that excuse was weak, at best. She wrote about food and travel, for a lifestyle magazine. Not hard-hitting sports pieces, or investigative articles determined to weasel out all of his secrets. He should apologize to her. After she explained how she knew he’d be here tonight.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. Shit. He hadn’t meant for it to sound accusatory.
“I didn’t know you played,” she said, letting out a soft laugh when they spoke at the same time. But her continued rigid posture said she was not as calm as her laugh implied. And that was his fault. He hadn’t meant to sound accusatory when he’d opened his mouth, but she constantly threw him.
He couldn’t believe she was here. This was his place. But a part of him was happy to see her, and that was an even bigger issue that he wasn’t ready to think about. He shouldn’t want her here. This was his thing. His private sanctuary. Even the guys didn’t know about his visits to the club whenever he had a free night.
“It’s just for fun,” he muttered, nodding to the passing waitress for a beer. They knew exactly what he wanted after he played. His one beer of the night. “Did you know I’d be here?”
He didn’t miss her indrawn breath. “Back to that again, are we?”
“You didn’t answer the question. How very reporter-like.” At least he kept the frustration from his voice.
She sighed. “Could we not do this? My new article is on the music scene. My grandfather used to rave about this bar, and I had no idea you played. Call it fate or a weird coincidence.” She shook her head. “Why do I keep trying to justify myself to you?”
He sank down into the chair across from her, his hand itching to reach out, but he clenched it in his lap, equal parts annoyance that his lust for her overshadowed his brain and that if he had reached for her, she would’ve shoved him away. Not that he’d blame her in the slightest.
“I’m sorry,” he started.
“For what? The fact that you ripped into me two nights ago, or assuming I stalked you and knew you’d be here tonight? I’m sure I could make a list for you if that’s easier.”
He couldn’t stop the bark of laughter.
“So this is funny to you?” She crossed her arms over her chest, that flush still in her cheeks.
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that already.”
“Wow. Can I get in a word?”
“You can try.”
“Are you always this blunt and combative?”
“Only when people assume they know me and are quick to pass judgement based on their own issues that they still haven’t gotten over.” Her eyes sparkled, part anger and part something else. She was baiting him, and he was falling.
“Look. I have trust issues with the media. I was an ass to you last time and I’m sorry. Your articles are exactly what you said they were.”
“Of course they are,” she shot back.
“Could I finish?” He paused and she nodded. “I’m working on my hang-ups with the media, and I’m sorry I was so harsh with you. It caught me off guard. I don’t like surprises. Your articles are great, by the way,” he said, meeting her gaze. Her eyes slowly softened.
“You read them?”
“Yes. All of them. You’ve visited some crazy places. You made me feel like I was there.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. “Have I made you speechless?”
“I just. Umm. Thanks.”
“I’ll be better.” He would not think about how she looked twirling her straw, her nails tapping lightly against her glass in time with the music. Her eyes sparkling under the low light in the bar. And that grin. Like she’d discovered another one of his secrets.
Well, she had. It still set his nerves on edge, but for some reason he wanted to trust her. That never happened.
“So,
your grandfather used to come here?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, tilting her head back to where Oscar was slinging drinks. “His picture is up behind the bar. I had no idea.” She shook her head, her grin slipping to a small, almost nostalgic smile.
Dammit. This was not the Amanda he was used to, the over-the-top flirt, always trying to get under his skin. This Amanda was sweet. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with this version. She pulled him in and he couldn’t stop from leaning on the edge of his seat.
He broke her gaze, looking over his shoulder and giving Oscar a quick nod. The old man’s smile split his face. Ben was sure that Oscar would have a few words for him before the night was over. Meddling pain in the ass that he was.
Wait. She’d mentioned her articles again.
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “Please don’t mention that I was here.” Dammit, that sounded conceited. “I mean, not that your articles are about me or anything.” Yep, keep digging that hole, buddy. “But…”
He trailed off when her hand landed on his. He would not acknowledge his clenching stomach at her touch. Jesus. Get a goddamn grip.
“I’m not going to write about you, Cheese.”
He bristled. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
She laughed. It rang through him. Warming spots it shouldn’t.
“And that’s exactly why I do it. Have a little fun, Cheese.”
The emphasis on the horrible nickname didn’t make it any better. But at least this was the Amanda he was used to.
“I can have fun,” he grumbled, sounding like a petulant child. Why did she reduce him to a pouting toddler or an awkward curmudgeon?
“Sure you can. And I won’t mention that I saw you here.” She leaned in, getting closer than was comfortable. “It’ll be our little secret,” she whispered, her breath rolling over him. Her smile sending off alarms in his head.
He pulled back, grasping the long neck of the beer bottle that the waitress had just dropped off. He hadn’t even noticed her do it. Yep, Amanda was no good for him. No good at all.
“So, um, your grandfather?” Much safer topic.
Her eyes warmed, that soft smile slipping back into place. “Yes, he loved this place. Used to come here with my grandmother. Oscar said they used to play here, too. I had no idea. I miss them both so much.” She broke his gaze, and took a sip of her drink.
Or maybe not a safe topic as the overwhelming desire to comfort her took hold.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. She passed when I was a child, and he passed over a year ago. He’s with her now, so a part of me is happy about that.”
“You’re a romantic?” It came out like a scoff and she laughed softly.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Ben. I know true love when I see it.”
He wasn’t sure what shocked him more. That she called him Ben or that she was a closet romantic. She’d struck him as a woman who didn’t settle down. She was confident in herself, almost cocky. Not that there was anything wrong with that. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he wished he could be like that. But since Tara, avoiding relationships had been easier. He’d kept his focus on hockey, with only superficial hookups over the last six years.
“So, he used to play here? Maybe I met him.” He wasn’t sure which topic was safer, but he was in no mood to talk about love.
“I don’t think he played in the last two years before he passed. His name was Thomas Butler.”
“Wait. Tommy Butler was your grandfather? I remember coming in here the first time, and he was up on stage with the guys. Just over five years ago. I played with him a few times. He was amazing.”
“That’s so crazy. And yes, he was.” That wistful tone was back. “I can’t believe you played with him.”
“I’m sorry about his passing. I bet Oscar had some great stories for you.”
She smiled. “He did. But I’m not really in the mood to reminisce tonight. To be honest, his picture on the wall caught me off guard. I had no idea he’d been such a fixture here. That he regularly played.” She shook her head, and he felt a twinge in his chest. This was not a side of her he expected. Not that he thought her cold, but this was a little too real for him right now.
He nodded.
“So, I had no idea you played. How long has this been going on?” she asked, gesturing toward the stage. Carl always kept an extra guitar on standby in case Ben showed up to play.
“Interviewing me for your article?”
She scoffed. “So self-absorbed. It’s not an attractive quality, Cheese.”
“And now I’m back to Cheese?” he muttered.
“I don’t have any plans to write about you. I just want to expand the joy of San Francisco for the people who visit. After all of my travels, seeing the places the locals hang out was always my favorite part. It gives you insight into the city or town that tourist traps don’t.”
“Maybe don’t play up this place that much. I like the quiet, local feel. No line outside.”
“So you don’t want the title of the article to be, ‘Where Captain Stony Becomes Human?’”
“Not funny,” he grumbled, and then took a long gulp of his beer. It was another nickname he hated. He wasn’t stone. But part of him was glad to see her fire back.
“Sorry. And no, I won’t even mention you were here. It’s our little secret, remember?”
“We have a lot of those now,” he said. He shouldn’t want to have any secrets with her. It could lead to trouble. She would lead to trouble. But from where he was sitting, trouble wasn’t looking that bad.
She rubbed her hands together, that twinkle in her eye sparking up. “So fess up. How long have you been playing here? And did you take lessons to play that way?”
“You better not be taking notes,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.
“I’m not taking notes, I promise. Want to check me for recording devices?” she asked, holding up her hands.
He’d just taken a sip of his beer. “What?” he sputtered, liquid dripping out of his mouth. He grabbed her napkin to clean up the mess, refusing to look at her or acknowledge her soft chuckle.
“You okay?” she asked, and he glanced up. For all her cocky words, he didn’t miss the blush in her cheeks.
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“Why not? Getting a rise out of you brightens my day,” she said, her grin infectious.
“I should go,” he said, pushing back his chair.
Her hand dropped down on his again. “No, don’t,” she said. “I promise, no more teasing.”
Her touch anchored him to his seat. He should leave…walk away before he did something idiotic like kiss her again, but he remained seated.
“Tell me about your playing, because it’s super hot.”
He took in a deep breath, ignoring the tightening in his stomach, and further south. So much for not trying to get a rise out of him.
“Amanda,” he bit out.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She huffed out a laugh. “That blush is pretty adorable, too.” She leaned in closer, that spark in her eyes at full blast.
“Are you always this honest? This forward?”
She grinned. “Yep. It’s refreshing, right?”
He couldn’t fight back his bark of laughter. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“So, the guitar playing?”
“My dad got me a guitar when I was a kid. It’s relaxing to play. To get lost in the music.” He paused. “Actually, there are a few guys, mostly goalies, in the league that play. Studies have shown that it helps with coordination. Gives them more accuracy with their glove hand. And I just enjoy playing.”
“But none of the guys know?”
“I don’t think so. This is just for me.” He leveled his gaze on her. “Please, just for me.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. But if I sneak in here a few times to watch you play, you can’t get
mad.”
“I’m not mad that you’re here.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He was mad at first. Now he wasn’t sure. When he’d spotted her in the crowd earlier that night, he’d closed his eyes, afraid he’d miss a note if he stared at her.
“Well, I loved watching you up there. It’s so cool that playing guitar helps your hockey game. I never would’ve connected the two,” she said, twirling the thin cocktail straw in her now empty glass.
“Want another one?” he asked, gesturing toward her glass.
“Probably shouldn’t. But have another with me and tell me more about how you started playing here,” she said.
“Deal.” He looked over his shoulder and caught Oscar’s eye. He lifted his bottle and Oscar nodded, already starting Amanda’s Tom Collins and his ginger ale.
“So you just nod and drinks show up?” she asked, humor in her voice, when the waitress dropped off their round.
He shrugged. “Yep. So, was this your last stop for your article?”
“Yes, saved the best for last,” she said. “I don’t even want to tell you about the country bar I went to last night.” She shuddered. “The bathroom gave me nightmares.”
“Sometimes dive bars should remain undiscovered,” he said. “What’s your angle for this article?”
Maybe if he reminded himself that she was a reporter, his desire to scoot closer to her…to taste the lips he remembered so well…would fade. Couldn’t hurt to try.
Chapter 5
My first Christmas overseas and I’m gazing at the Northern lights in Iceland. You may not think Iceland in the winter is a great idea, but due to weather patterns, it’s about as cold as New England is this time of year. And it’s peaceful. Bundle up and meet me at the Arctic Circle. Think Santa will find us?
~ Adventurous Amanda, December 2011
She was getting pretty freaking tired of this line of questioning. Why was his playing such a damn secret if other guys in the league were known to play the guitar? It’s not like his hobby was outside the norm, but she’d keep his secret.
“I don’t have an angle for the article, and for the last time, I’m not going to out you,” she said, her teasing gone, and exasperation clear in her tone. “I’m just hoping to help tourists find new things to do. Make them feel like locals instead of tourists with boring guidebooks in their hands and cameras slung around their necks.”
Skating the Line (San Francisco Strikers Book 2) Page 5