Missing From Me: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 3)

by Jayne Frost

  Sean smiled into his sip of beer, a chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Maybe, I don’t remember.”

  The downtown lights poured through the moonroof, accentuating his strong nose and angular jaw. But his eyes were mostly shadowed until he lifted his gaze.

  I knew Sean’s face as well as my own, having traced every inch with my fingers in another life, and right now, I longed to do it again.

  Drowning my wild thoughts with another healthy gulp from the crystal glass, I arched a brow. “You really don’t remember?”

  The silver flecks in Sean’s eyes twinkled like tiny sparks in an azure sea. “Of course I do.” He smiled, genuine, almost shy. “I was just kidding. I freely admit,” he sighed, shaking his head, “I was obsessed with you.”

  The weight of his words, unabashedly sincere and wholly unexpected, hit me hard. I’d spent years trying to forget this Sean existed since he’d largely disappeared in the month before he walked out on me.

  Sobered by the thoughts that peeked from the corners of my mind, I shifted my focus to the window and watched the city roll by as the last words Sean had said that night played in a loop.

  I’m done. With you and this town.

  And I had to wonder. How did Sean feel about being back here?

  Home.

  Or maybe he didn’t think of Austin as his home any longer.

  As if he sensed the change, the uncomfortable turn we’d taken on our trip down memory lane, Sean cleared his throat. “Another?”

  I turned to find him motioning to my empty glass. Sean didn’t know what I lightweight I was now. And I didn’t want to tell him. For one night, I wanted to be the girl I was, so I lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug and then held out the tumbler. “Sure.”

  Sean’s face lost all expression when his fingers closed around mine. Slowly he turned my hand over, spilling the few drops left in my glass onto my knee.

  Running his thumb over the emerald ring he’d given me on my seventeenth birthday, his brow creased. “You still wear this?”

  The cloudy stone encased in gold filigree was so much a part of me, I didn’t think about taking it off before I left the house. And in my defense, I didn’t plan on seeing Sean, let alone holding his hand.

  “Uh . . . yeah.” I licked my dry lips. “Sometimes.”

  Sean’s eyes met mine, guarded. “How does your husband feel about that?”

  This time when my brain urged me to lie, I didn’t dismiss the order out of hand.

  Instead, I misdirected. “He doesn’t really have a say so.”

  Sean stared at me for a long moment, the silver consuming the blue and turning his eyes from azure to turquoise. Without a word, he poured me another drink.

  But something shifted as he handed me the fresh cocktail. Sean no longer stole glances but focused all his attention on my face. “So tell me about where you’re working now.”

  My stomach pitched, and I took a long swallow, hoping the alcohol would settle my nerves. “Hollis and Briggs.”

  Sean’s brows crept to his hairline, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. Since I’d promised myself that I’d be as forthright as possible, as feasible, I steeled myself for some type of interrogation.

  “You work with Peyton?”

  My best friend’s father, Mr. Hollis, was the managing partner, but I’d never expressed any desire to hang my shingle at their firm, so I could understand Sean’s confusion.

  “Yeah.”

  I was hoping Sean would drop it, because really, why did he care?

  But instead, he slid forward and clasped his hands around his beer, eyeing me intently. “How did that happen? Hollis is a corporate firm. You had your heart set on practicing civil rights law.”

  A spark of humiliation ignited deep inside, engulfing me. My cheeks flamed from the resultant heat. “I’m not a lawyer.”

  Sean’s frosty gaze chilled the air by fifty degrees, his voice dropping to a near growl. “What do you mean you’re not a lawyer?

  He knew me too well to believe I’d flunked out or that I’d changed my mind. I’d given up everything to pursue my dream until another more important dream came along. A path I’d never expected.

  Smiling sadly into my drink, I shrugged. “It didn’t work out.”

  Sean’s silence told me more than any words could say, and when I looked up, I could see all the questions dancing above his head in little cartoon bubbles.

  But he said nothing, allowing the hurt and disappointment to fill the dead air.

  Sean thought he had it all figured out, and I didn’t correct him.

  I finished my drink, the liquor dulling the sharp edges. “I guess I should be getting back,” I said thickly. “Do you think your driver can give me a lift to the Park and Ride?”

  Neon lights illuminated the interior as the limo turned onto Sixth Street, but none were as vibrant as the blue in Sean’s eyes.

  “You can’t drive,” he said, looking away. “You’ve had a few.”

  “I-I wasn’t. I’m just going to grab an Uber or a Lyft. There’s always one close to the Park and Ride.”

  After blowing four hundred bucks on the concert ticket on Stubhub, a seventy-five-dollar cab ride to my house in Cedar Park was out of the question. But yeah, there was no way I could drive.

  When Sean continued to stare out the window, I took that as a no, and dug my phone out of my purse.

  “Where are you headed? I’ll just have the Uber pick me up there.”

  “The Four Seasons.”

  Sean’s hand came down on mine as soon as I swiped my finger over the screen. His familiar scent invaded me as he leaned into my space, making me think stupid thoughts. But unless I jumped to the other seat, there was nowhere for me to go.

  I blinked up at him. “What?”

  Despite the lingering anger in his gaze, his thumb swept over mine. “You don’t need a ride. I’ve got a suite. And I’d really like to finish this discussion there.”

  It was more of a demand than an invitation. And though I’d already revealed more than I intended to, someday when our paths crossed again, I wanted Sean to remember this night. To know that I hadn’t run from his questions.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sean

  Welding my back teeth together, I did my best to ignore Anna for the three miles it took to get to the Four Seasons. Damned hard to do when every instinct told me to pull her against me and never let her go.

  For a million reasons, that wouldn’t work. Not only did Anna belong to someone else, but she’d chosen the douchebag over me.

  Whatever else happened on that last night before I left, all the sins I carried like stones, it had all started with Anna’s rejection.

  I can’t go with you. I have school.

  Everything after that—I owned. But those words put an end to us.

  The limo coasted to a stop, and I jumped out to scan the area for paparazzi, leaving Anna to fend for herself. Not that I needed to worry. The eagle-eyed valet was Johnny on the fucking spot, helping Anna to her feet, a lascivious grin on his mug.

  The band stayed at the hotel often, and the valet was a regular. He’d seen me bring women here on many occasions, only to have to hail them a cab a few hours later when I was finished with them.

  “No bags, ma’am?” The valet’s grin turned into a smirk.

  Anna glanced at me, her jaw going slack and color rising in her cheeks.

  My anger evaporated, for the moment at least, and I pulled Anna flush to my side.

  “The airline lost my girlfriend’s luggage,” I informed the valet. “When it gets here, have it sent to my suite, yeah?”

  Nodding, the valet fumbled to grab a ticket from his breast pocket. “Of course.” Gulping, he turned his focus to Anna. “Name, ma’am?”

  Fuck.

  Before I could offer an alias, Anna piped up. “Dresden. Anna Dresden.”

  Dresden?

  If only that were true.

  Tr
ying not to scowl, I handed the valet a twenty in exchange for the bullshit ticket for the luggage that would never arrive. Then I grabbed Anna’s hand, and we marched to the glass door.

  As I pulled her inside the lobby, she stumbled, and when I looked down, I found her gazing around in wonder. And for the first time in a long time, I took in my surroundings through the eyes of someone else.

  Molding my hand to Anna’s back, I followed her to the row of brightly colored glass sculptures. She ran a fingertip over the smooth surface. “Wow.” She peered up at me, smiling. “These are beautiful.”

  She was beautiful. And sweet. And so fucking sexy I could barely stand it.

  For a moment, I forgot how pissed I was. “Yeah, they are.” I pulled my hand away and cleared my throat. “I’ve got to get the key.”

  Anna nodded, her attention still on the figurines.

  Mandy, the front desk clerk, gave me a smile when I approached. I really spent too much time here if I could recognize all the employees. After a quick greeting, Mandy handed me a little envelope with my key, her focus on Anna.

  “Would you like me to set up a car service for your friend, or is the valet hooking you up?”

  Mandy continued to smile at me as if I wasn’t the biggest douche nozzle on the planet, which, obviously, I was, because I’d sent many a girl packing with her assistance.

  “No, sugar,” I fingered the edge of the little envelope. “But I will need another key for my girlfriend. Her name is Dresden . . . Annabelle Dresden. If you could add her name to the room?”

  Why I was going through all this trouble to make these people believe that Anna wasn’t a groupie, I didn’t know. But for some reason it was important. Vital, even.

  Mandy quickly fixed me up with another plastic card, which I stashed in my pocket. It’s not that I wouldn’t mind giving it to Anna, along with the key to my house, the pin to my ATM, and any other damn thing she wanted, but I knew she wouldn’t take it.

  It’s a miracle she’d agreed to come to my room, and from the look of dread on her face when she did, it wasn’t for anything fun.

  I made my way back to Anna, taking her elbow. “All set.”

  She didn’t budge, folding her arms tightly around her middle. “Maybe we should talk in the lounge?”

  “Not unless you want to get interrupted every few minutes.” I tried for an easy smile. “They’re having a shitload of parties here tonight. Closing out the festival and all. They’ll probably be photographers as well.”

  Sucking her lip between her teeth, Anna pondered. I thought for sure the comment about the paparazzi would spook her. Or at least the idea of explaining this shit to her husband if we ended up an item in the paper.

  She heaved a sigh. “Okay. Lead the way.”

  The elevator ride was quiet, and once we exited on the top floor, Anna struggled to keep pace with me. I paused, biting down a smile when she stopped to take off her shoes.

  “Surprised it took you so long,” I said, glancing at the high heels dangling from her fingertips.

  Anna’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry. I’m not used to wearing stilettos.”

  Something about her barefoot was more enticing than her fuck-me heels, and I felt myself hardening behind my zipper.

  Anna was right—this wasn’t a good idea.

  I grunted an incoherent acknowledgment before trekking the last few yards to the suite.

  Anna lingered just inside the double doors while I turned on some lights. My backpack and a few personal items were already in the bedroom, and I hoped a bell hop had delivered them and not one of the guys.

  If they busted in here and saw us . . .

  Dismissing the thought, I made a beeline for the bar. After making us each a drink, I turned and found Anna standing at the wall of windows. Moonlight kissed her skin as she gazed into the distance, palm pressed against the glass and a small frown touching her lip.

  I stole behind her, snaking my arm over her shoulder to hand her the cocktail. “You want to tell me what happened to UT?”

  “Nothing happened to UT.” She tapped the glass, her tone wistful. “It’s right over there.”

  Ready to issue a bitter retort, I noticed two leaves from her willow tree tattoo peeking from the collar of her blouse. And I couldn’t help it. Pushing the fabric aside, I ran a finger over the ink.

  I’d drawn the tree myself, a replica of the willow that sat by the shores of Anna’s parent’s cabin at the lake. It was a match to the one on my bicep.

  But different.

  While Anna’s tree was the picture of serenity, long branches and lush leaves brushing the ground, mine was all chaos and fury, with gnarled limbs twisting in the winds of a summer storm.

  My name was twined in the bark of the trunk of her tree, camouflaged, but I saw it clearly.

  “Why him?” I asked, meeting her gaze in the glass. “I asked you for one year, and you said no. But you married someone else six months after I left?”

  Fire flashed in Anna’s eyes when she spun to face me, a little unsteady on her feet. “What does it matter?” The alcohol brought out her southern drawl. “You left, remember?”

  After downing the contents of her drink, Anna weaved her way to the bar, and this time she didn’t bother with a mixer. She poured three fingers of Jack and then drained the whiskey in one gulp.

  I was too damn mad to tell her to slow down. And besides, maybe the liquor would loosen her tongue, and she’d tell me what I wanted to know. The uncensored version.

  I joined her as she sloshed more Jack into her glass. “I left after you said you wouldn’t come. I wanted you to—”

  “To what?” She glared up at me with unfocused eyes. “We had a plan. I asked for th-three weeks,” Anna slurred. “Enough time to get my scholarship in order and tell my parents. But no, that wasn’t good enough.”

  She continued to glare at me, swaying on her spot, and the weight of her stare was too much, so I slumped onto a bar stool and stared at my hands. “I thought you were making excuses. That once I left, you’d never come.”

  And I guess I was right. But my pride kept me from saying that out loud.

  Anna inched closer, her toes digging into the plush carpet. “Is that why you did it?”

  Lifting my gaze, a bitter smile curved my lips. “Did what, Anna? Followed my dreams?” I motioned around the room. “As you can see, I did all right. I never lied to you about what I wanted to do with my life.”

  She grabbed the edge of the bar for balance. “That’s not . . . That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “What are you talking about then?”

  Anna leaned in as if she were about to make a point. Then her eyes widened, and she doubled over, throwing up all over my boots.

  I ran a cool, damp washcloth over the back of Anna’s neck as she hung her head over the toilet. Her blouse and skirt were long gone, replaced with a large cotton bath towel she’d secured under her arms.

  My chin grazed her shoulder as I said into her ear, “Feel better, baby?”

  The endearment spilled out unbidden. But in my defense, it was taking all my concentration to keep from molesting her. A nearly naked Anna, puking or not, and my body was on full alert. It didn’t hurt that she was situated between my legs, her back pressed against my bare chest. The skin-on-skin contact was driving me crazy.

  Groaning, Anna sank back, straight into my lap.

  Fuck.

  Adjusting her body so she wouldn’t feel the obvious bulge in my jeans, I eased her into the crook of my arm and gazed down at her. Remarkably, she’d managed to get all but a little of the vomit into the bowl. And even with her eyes squeezed shut and sweat dotting her scrunched up brow, she looked gorgeous.

  “Sean . . .” she mumbled without opening her eyes.

  I used the corner of the cloth to remove some dribble from her chin. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sick.”

  I bit down a smile. “No, you’re drunk.”

  Which was a little sur
prising. The Anna I remembered knew her way around a bottle of Jack. Not that she overindulged, but she could hold her own. Whatever she’d been doing these last four years, she hadn’t been doing it in a bar.

  Anna shook her head vehemently at the affront. “Am not.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  She turned her face into my chest, then went limp. I’d nursed the girl through her first drunken episode when we were teenagers and many more since, so I knew the drill—she’d be passed out in minutes.

  “Stop,” Anna protested with a loud groan when I shook her lightly.

  Sighing, I tilted her forward and said, “Grab the bowl.”

  Thankfully, this was the Four Seasons, and not one of the rat traps the band had stayed in during our first year on the road.

  Once Anna’s uncoordinated arms were wrapped around the gleaming porcelain, I pushed to my feet, cursing when my leg cramped.

  She looked up at me with heavy lids. “Sorry.”

  “It wasn’t you.” I rubbed my thigh. “My legs always give me trouble after a long set.”

  “I remember.” Brow furrowed, her gaze lingered on my bare chest. “Why don’t you have a shirt on?”

  Because I’m a selfish bastard who wanted to rub against you in your time of distress.

  Keeping that thought to myself, I plucked my T-shirt from the floor. “I didn’t want it to get dirty.”

  Dirtier, I realized as I glanced at the wrinkled cloth. Still, it was better than Anna’s puke-covered blouse.

  “Let’s get this on you.” My tone was gruffer than expected, full of unspent lust. “Lift your arms.” When Anna’s eyes widened, I smiled at her. “I won’t peek. Unless you want me to.”

  Something about taking care of Anna brought a slew of emotions to the surface. Not all of them pure. If fucking her right here on the tile floor was an option, I’d take it.

  Pathetic.

  I didn’t have time to ponder my depravity because Anna pushed herself off the bowl and slowly raised her arms. The towel slid off, and thank fuck, her back was to me because I couldn’t move. My hungry gaze ate up all her smooth skin, lingering on her willow tree tattoo.