Set to Music

by Negeen Papehn

  “Still. You never know who’s lurking.” He slides out.

  “Is it me?” Darya fidgets as she watches Travis walk away.

  “Nah. That boy never stops. He’s a machine.” I glance over and see that his beer has remained untouched.

  “I feel bad,” Darya admits. Her face scrunches.

  “Hey. Don’t worry about him,” I insist. “Seriously. This is just what he does. Trust me.”

  “If you say so.” Her expression relaxes a bit.

  “I do.” I grin. “Anyway, tell me, everything going okay so far? The room is good? Carlos behaving?” I raise a brow, knowing well how difficult my brother can be. “I haven’t wanted to get in the way when you’re doing your thing, but if he’s giving you a hard time, let me know.”

  “Everything is great,” she answers. “And Carlos is fine, too. He tries to complain but I don’t put up with it.”

  I chuckle. “I bet you don’t.”

  There’s something so hot about the way she carries herself and the don’t-mess-with-me vibe she gives off. I can totally see her putting Carlos in his place when he’s being a dumbass. Probably the only one on this tour who can control him right now.

  She stares at me staring at her, completely comfortable in her skin. She doesn’t bat her eyes or blush at my attention like most women do. Not since that first time, anyway. She doesn’t flirt nonstop trying to get into my room like I’m some goal to be conquered. Or fucked. Instead, she tilts her head to the side, her confidence loud and undeniable. When she smiles, heat rushes to my dick, and I’m the one who’s feeling flushed.

  “Did you grow up in L.A.?” she asks.

  “I did.” The fact that she knows close to nothing about me makes my pulse jump. “Did you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Did you always know you wanted to be a doctor?”

  “Not really. I mean, maybe?”

  “Is that a yes or no?” I can’t help my smirk.

  She shrugs. “I knew I wanted to help living creatures. But I wanted to be a vet at first.”

  “A vet? That’s cool. What changed your mind?”

  “My mom.”

  “She didn’t want you to be a vet?”

  She grimaces. “No, she ruined animals for me.”

  To this I laugh out loud. “I’ve got to hear this story.”

  Darya leans toward me and whispers, “Iranians really aren’t into animals.”

  “Like, as an entire culture?” I raise a brow wondering if this is a fact or an opinion.

  “Okay, so maybe that’s a blanket statement. But, in my defense, having purse dogs became a trend in the last decade. And that’s because they make cute accessories. Prior to that, yes, the entire Iranian population didn’t like animals.” She laughs. “Or maybe it was just my mom, but whatever.” She nods her head, pleased with her explanation.

  I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face. This is the real Darya, the one beyond the professional doctor. “So how did your mom ruin animals for you?”

  “Oh, she’s not an animal person at all. She thinks they have germs and will cause us to get some horrible disease. Or worse, kill us.”

  “Kill us?”

  “Yes. Like if you’re a cat owner, God help you. Apparently, cats suck the breath out of a newborn. You might as well just not have a kid, if you ask my mom.”

  “Can we actually catch stuff from animals? I thought that wasn’t possible.” I adjust the baseball cap on my head, trying to pull it down a bit lower as I see a group of five people walk in. Darya doesn’t notice, launching into a description of her mom’s animal phobia.

  “No,” she answers. “For the most part, diseases aren’t transferrable between species. But Maman apparently doesn’t believe in science.”

  “Maman?” I butcher the word, but I try it anyway, curious what it means.

  “Oh, sorry. That means mom in Farsi.”

  “I like it,” I admit.

  She grins, and it lights up her eyes.

  A pang of longing punches me squarely in the chest. She’s gorgeous.

  “Anyhow, so Maman refused to believe any of the evidence I showed her in my attempts to get a pet. She kept shooting it down. But my dad had the opposite feeling toward the subject. He sucked in a lot of ways, but he was really good at smuggling animals into the house.”

  She shifts on the seat, pulling both her legs up beneath her until she’s sitting cross-legged facing me. As she continues talking about the animal traumas of her childhood, her hands wave around with each word like she’s telling a story out of a book.

  I bark out a laugh. “She told you it was your fault the turtle’s eyelids didn’t open?”

  “Yes! Can you imagine being ten and looking at this turtle that’s living in a tank on your bedroom floor, so it’s not like he could go anywhere or bug her, and having your mom making you feel guilty over something you had nothing to do with? It was so traumatizing.”

  We both laugh. This is the most fun I’ve had in I don’t know how long.

  “Okay, that sucks,” I say, wiping my eyes.

  “Don’t get me started on the chickens.”

  “The chickens? For someone who’s mom hates animals, you had an entire zoo.”

  She stops abruptly and her mouth falls open. “Oh my God, you’re right.”

  The server comes by, placing in front of us the big platter of fries I ordered, and handing Darya her tea. She grabs a fry off the plate, shoving it in her mouth, then follows it with a sip from her mug.

  “French fries and tea?” I raise a brow.

  “Tea goes with everything.”

  “Everything? I’m not so sure about that.”

  “Trust me. I’m Iranian. We’ve had tea in our bottles since we were toddlers. So I’m somewhat of an expert. It pairs with everything, I promise.” She grins that sexy grin of hers, and she almost has me trading in my beer.

  She grabs a handful of fries this time and groans. “I love French fries,” she mumbles through a mouthful.

  “Me too.” I grab a few off the plate and join her.

  “Something we have in common.”

  “I bet we have a lot more in common than just our love of fries,” I answer.

  “I wouldn’t doubt that,” she says before taking another sip of tea. Her eyes never leave mine. The intensity of her gaze makes me very aware of just how badly I want this woman.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Darya

  Sunlight bathes my skin, seductive fingers wrapped around me in a warm embrace. There’s a light breeze rustling through the trees beyond the courtyard. Birds chirp in the distance, even though it’s hard to hear past the chatter of the growing pool crowd. I’m stretched out on a lounge chair, trying to soak up the vitamin D while enjoying the hot Vegas heat before the evening’s show.

  The Bellagio pool has a Mediterranean vibe, giving me a vacation feel for the first time on this tour. I haven’t been at it very long, but the schedule has been so hectic, I feel like I haven’t had a chance to breathe. It’s been nonstop back-to-back shows. I seriously have no idea how anyone does this as a career.

  When Emmanuel and Anthony decided that my presence today would only cause the rumor mills to churn faster than they wanted, I didn’t protest too loudly about taking the morning off. To ease my anxiety about not being with my patient, I forced him to wear the wireless monitor and have Emmanuel send the readings every hour to my phone. The security detail left Tom, the quietest of the bodyguards, behind with me, in case something happened and I needed to get to the MGM fast.

  I pull on the edge of my wide-brimmed hat, trying to block the sun from the notebook sitting on my lap. I’m busy scribbling away, earbuds hidden behind my loose hair, intently focused on my latest poetic fail, when I’m suddenly showered in shade. My gaze snaps up, trying to p
inpoint the rude intrusion, expecting some lame guy attempting to hit on me. What I’m not expecting is to be met with soft, familiar, dark eyes. When he smiles, the pesky warmth I’ve been trying to ignore all week stirs awake in my belly. Be careful, Darya.

  “Hi,” Anthony says.

  “Hey,” I answer, pulling out the headphones. “I didn’t think you guys would be back so soon.”

  “The interviews went smoothly and the hotel had the fan event controlled better than I thought they would. I’m so exhausted, I’m glad for a little extra time to chill before tonight’s show.”

  He pulls the black baseball cap he’s wearing over to the side and scratches his head, then sets it back into place. The sharp edges of his cropped beard appear to feed directly into the fabric, like it’s all been airbrushed into place at a photo op.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Of course not. It’s your cabana, after all,” I answer.

  He plops into the lounge chair beside me.

  The crowd sitting around us has started to stir. Whispers and sideway glances gain momentum, and it’s a matter of seconds before it feels as if the entire pool is watching. It doesn’t help that one burly bodyguard has now turned into three, towering around the entrance to our space with their silent warnings to anyone inching closer in an attempt to get a better look at a rock star.

  Anthony shifts so that he’s facing me in a diagonal fashion, exposing his back to the passersby as he does his best to ignore them. When a beautiful woman in a hot-pink string bikini stands on her chair and yells, “We love you Anthony!” he flinches.

  Her group of girlfriends laugh with delight and they all toast to her bravery. Despite looking like he’d rather be getting a root canal, he morphs into his star persona and smiles and waves at them. A collective sigh can be heard coming from their direction.

  “You don’t love that, do you?” I can tell from the sudden tension woven through his shoulders that he’s not too fond of constantly being recognized.

  “Honestly, I hate it.”

  I stare at him curiously. “You’re the strangest famous person I’ve ever met.”

  “You know that many famous people?” He raises a brow.

  “Well, no. But I feel like you’re so not what a star should be.”

  He smiles, full of the softness he reserves only for those he knows. The one that makes me weak in the knees even when I don’t want it to.

  “Tell me, Dr. Zameeni. What should I be?”

  I love how he says my last name, even when he’s trying to tease me. “I don’t know. I’d think you should live for this stuff. The other guys seem to love it when people yell their names and beg for autographs and selfies. They eat that stuff up.”

  He grimaces. “I live for the music. The rest of it I could do without.”

  “I can see that.”

  I glance at the new group of girls that has crowded in as close as Travis and his men will allow them. They gawk at Anthony with no apology, and I get the distinct image of being an animal in a cage at the zoo. I don’t blame him for not loving this. But he ignores them the best he can and instead points at my notebook.

  “What do you have there?”

  “Nothing,” I answer, snapping it shut so he can’t see the nonsense I’ve scrawled across its pages.

  Intrigue tugs at his lips. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

  I hug the notebook against my chest and giggle.

  “Come on, you can trust me.”

  “Fine. Sometimes I like to write poetry. Okay?”

  His mouth stretches into a glorious smile. Why did I just tell him that? I’m not used to responding to anyone this fluidly, especially a man. But something about his declaration of being trustworthy has me believing him.

  “Can I see it?”

  “No. I don’t share it with anyone. Especially not with people like you.”

  He looks slightly offended. “What does that mean?”

  Shoot. That wasn’t what I meant! “I can’t let you see it because you write these amazing songs. This stuff,” I say, lifting up my notebook, “is just amateur crap. It’s too embarrassing to share.”

  “I bet it’s better than you think.” He eyes me for a second but doesn’t push any further. Then he leans in and whispers, “And just so you know, most times I think what I’ve written is shit, too.” He chuckles. The deep baritone rumbles across the cabana, vibrating through my limbs. “I think it’s really cool that you write. I hope someday you feel comfortable enough to share it with me.” With that, he stands. “I came out here to see if you were hungry. We’re going to go grab some food.”

  “I’m okay, thanks.”

  “You sure? Want to just come along for the ride?”

  Again, I should say no. Mixing work with pleasure never ends well. But this man has a strange effect on me. All he has to do is ask, and I find myself divulging information or going against my better judgment. But it’s only lunch and I have to eat anyway, right? I’d rather do it with company. Especially in Vegas, which is so oversized in all its glory.

  “Actually, yeah, I will tag along.” I wrap the towel around myself. “I just need to get dressed.”

  The sun against his back bathes him in a celestial glow, making all the ink decorating his skin brighten against the backdrop of his flesh. He smiles widely, his approval of my decision expressed in the curve of his lips.

  “Does twenty sound good?” he asks.

  “That sounds perfect. Should I meet you guys down in the lobby?”

  “Yup.”

  I watch the tight muscles in his back move in synchronized sweeps beneath his T-shirt as he falls into step beside Travis and James. I let my eyes linger on his V-shaped back until he disappears through the sliding doors. I let out a sigh, knowing no one is around to witness my moment of weakness. I can’t help it, he’s so damn hot.

  Past the ink-filled body and bad-boy vibe, past the hard set of determination in his expression onstage, even past the loving father figure he plays for his brother, there’s a hidden depth to Anthony. He’s a vast sea with momentous waves that I can see crashing against the surface. What I’d give for a glimpse beneath his ocean.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anthony

  “Do you eat only salads?” Carlos asks.

  Darya looks at her plate and frowns. “What’s wrong with salads?”

  “Nothing. But don’t you get bored?”

  “I love salad,” she answers, then looks at Carlos pointedly. “You should, too.”

  “Do you love it because it tastes good, or do you love it because you’re watching your figure?” Mateo interjects.

  “Wait, you think I need to watch my figure?”

  He goes pale. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Bro, you have zero skills when it comes to talking to women,” Hugo says.

  Mateo throws a French fry at him.

  “Leave him alone, I’m just messing with him,” Darya laughs.

  “Pretty doctor lady has jokes,” Carlos teases. I thought it would annoy the hell out of her to have him call her that, but she must be okay with it because she grins.

  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” she replies. “Lettuce is my favorite vegetable.”

  “Are you serious?” Carlos asks.

  “Is lettuce even a vegetable?” Hugo asks. “It’s basically water.”

  “Lettuce just makes me shit,” Mateo adds.

  The table falls silent, including Darya, as all eyes turn to Mateo, who’s now shoved half of his burger into his mouth.

  “What?” he mumbles.

  Everyone breaks out in laughter, including the doctor. I shake my head.

  Carlos gasps for breath, wiping his eyes. “Man, do you even think before you speak?”

  “She’s a doctor,”
Mateo explains. Like that makes his comment okay.

  “That doesn’t mean she wants to hear about your shitting.”

  “In his defense,” Darya says, “he kind of has a point. I hear a lot about peoples’ shitting habits.”

  Another roar of laughter across the table. Aside from the one meal at the sports bar—which was basically only me, since Travis dumped me to patrol—Darya hasn’t hung out with the group as much as I’d like. I’m not used to hearing her cuss, but I love that the fun, relaxed side of her I got to see at the bar comes out again. The way she’s lit up beside me right now has me wishing she’d let go more often.

  She seems happy, leaning over and snatching a French fry off Carlos’s plate while he swats at her. She giggles, but then he pushes his plate closer, offering the rest, and she grabs a few more.

  She’s officially been adopted into the group. And by the looks of it, she’s adopted us, too.

  I watch her go head-to-head with the boys in every conversation, never missing a beat. And when I catch her gaze, the gravity in her eyes makes my stomach tighten and my heart do that damn tripping thing, which is almost comical considering why she’s here in the first place. There’s something about this woman that turns me inside out. I want to be near her. I want to talk to her, get to know her, tell her things I don’t want to tell anyone else. It’s unsettling in the very best way.

  When she spits out her soda all over the table at something funny Mateo says and, instead of getting embarrassed, wipes her face and continues cracking up, I know she’s exactly what we need in our lives.

  What I need.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Darya

  Aquí estoy

  Sólo pensando en tu amor

  Des de el día que yo te vi

  Sabía que tu eras para mí

  I sway in my chair to the beat of the music, singing the words beneath my breath. My high school Spanish is getting me only so far, but I’m growing fond of it. Or rather, the way Anthony dances across the stage, moving his hips in time to the song, putting thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking into my head. When he leans over and grabs the fingertips of an adoring fan and winks at her, the seductive innuendo in his eyes makes me catch my breath. I know it’s all for dramatic effect, but damn, he does an amazing job of defining sexy.