Jet. Jay Crownover
stoked when Rowdy had started coming around because he was quirky, unpredictable, and always a hell of a good time. They were all good friends to have, and I liked to think they felt the same about me, but Rowdy and I just clicked and had an understanding so he typically ended up being my go-to bro.
The rest of the guys in both bands filed out the door but Jorge stayed behind as I chugged a bottle of water and moved to put all our stuff away. “What’s up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the tips of his tennis shoes instead of at me. “You guys are so much better than us, so much better than half the bands we were on tour with at Metalfest. Why are you helping us out, and not in the studio making albums of your own? I’m just wondering how that happens?”
“You guys are pretty solid, but if you don’t get Ryan to tone it down, you’re going to end up breaking up before you get anywhere. You got a lot of attention from Metalfest, so you should capitalize on it. You’re paying me to help you, Jorge, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize talent when I see it. You write really good songs but anyone can sing them. You don’t need a front man who doesn’t appreciate that.”
He looked up at me and grinned. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“That song you closed with, ‘Whiskey in the Morning,’ it’s about a girl, isn’t it?”
I sighed and clapped him on the back of the neck as I guided him out of the warehouse.
“Aren’t all the best songs about a girl? It doesn’t matter if it’s metal, if it’s country, if it’s blues or rock and roll; all the songs that make us remember and make us want to sing along are about the best kind of girl, the kind you can’t live without but can’t ever get ahold of.”
“You have one of those?”
I barked out a bitter laugh and stopped by the Challenger. “Oh yeah.”
I texted Rowdy to let him know I was on my way, and he shot back that I had better hurry because the place was packed. The girls were all smoking-hot and dressed in sexy little sports-themed uniforms that made Hooters girls look like they were dressed for church. The bar was typically packed so that wasn’t anything new. We went there enough that Lou, the door guy, usually hooked us up with a seat, even if there wasn’t room or if the bar had a long wait.
When I walked in, I noticed the blonde with the giant fake boobs giving me the eye, but I never even blinked in her direction. I knew Ayden hated her and that it was my duty as her friend—god, I hated that word when it came to her—to keep all common enemies at bay, even if said enemy looked like she wanted to give me a bath with her tongue the first chance she got.
Lou gave me a head nod and pointed a meaty finger toward the section of the bar that was off to one side. It was the closest to the patio that was open in the summer, and I had no trouble spotting both Ayden’s dark head and Rowdy’s much blonder and far more prominent one. I don’t know when he decided that a pompadour, long with perfectly groomed chops, was a style he could rock in the real world, but for the last year or so he had been wearing his hair like James Dean and dressing like a cat from the fifties. Rowdy was eccentric and liked flash and attention, so I just rolled with it because it was just part of who he was and not much made me chuckle like he did.
I caught Ayden’s eye and gave her a grin. She looked at me for a second, then looked away without so much as a twitch of her lips. It made me frown as I settled onto the stool across from Rowdy. Even if there was some serious sexual tension between us she was always usually happy to see me.
“What’s her problem tonight?”
I still felt bad about knocking her off the landing, but she had insisted that she was fine, so I didn’t know what I had done to piss her off between then and now. Unless she had felt the instant hard-on that lying on top of her had caused. I couldn’t be held accountable for that uncontrollable response. She was beautiful, and if she had any idea how badly I wanted to be on top of her all the time, it would make her do a lot more than frown at me.
Rowdy pushed a shot of amber liquid the same color as Ayden’s eyes in my direction and used a finger that was tattooed with a picture of a miniature skull and cross bones to point at the bar. “He showed up about twenty minutes ago, and she’s been acting like she has a metal pole crammed up her backside ever since.”
I swiveled my head around and swore under my breath when I saw him through the crowd gathered at the bar. I didn’t know what she saw in the guy. Sure, he was enrolled in the same school as her. Sure, he was interning with the government, doing some kind of groundbreaking research for biochemical fuels or some shit. Sure, he was all-right looking—in that dry-toast, plain-yogurt, white-rice kinda way. Sure, he was, by all accounts, a perfectly nice guy and a gentleman to boot, but everything about him screamed boring!
All of that aside, he wore a fucking sweater vest and didn’t look like he had any idea what to do with all that was Ayden Cross. She was something special, something that grown men in another era would have battled to death to win with shiny pistols or clashing swords. But this guy, this nerdy, sweater vest–wearing idiot wouldn’t even tell me to shove it where the sun didn’t shine, even though I knew he knew that I had dirty, sexy, X-rated dreams about the girl he was dating. Try as I might to tone it down, I’m sure as hell it was all spelled out in my eyes when I looked at her.
“Awesome.”
I tossed back the shot and took the one Rowdy hadn’t touched yet and downed that one too. He gave me a look and leaned back to cross his arms over his broad chest. We were about the same height, an inch or so over six foot, but he looked like he could wrestle a bull to the ground due to his past life as an all-star football player. We never really talked about why he had quit playing ball, but I figured since he had found his niche in the tattoo world it didn’t really matter, and if he wanted to tell me, he knew I would listen.
“He brought her a huge bouquet of flowers and some stupid box of chocolate or some shit shaped like a heart. I think he’s trying to pin her down for Valentine’s Day.”
A cold chill raced down my spine, and I felt my eyes harden involuntarily. “She’s supposed to come to the show at the Fillmore with Rule and Shaw.” It was big deal for the band. It was a big deal for me, and I wanted her to be there. I had just assumed she would be.
Rowdy shrugged a broad shoulder. “They’ve been hanging out for a while now. I bet it’s the night he’s planning on going all out. You know what I mean, fancy dinner, expensive gift, and the night closing with a trip to a high-end hotel room. He looks like the type and he’s been giving her the hard press for the past few months if I understand correctly all that girly jabber Cora annoys us with at the shop.”
I gritted my teeth and repressed the urge to get out of my seat and strangle the guy with his own argyle outerwear. Another tumbler was set down in front of me, along with a plateful of wings. A pitcher of beer landed in front of Rowdy, and I narrowed my eyes to match Ayden’s careful look when I noticed she was scowling back at me.
“Stop it.”
I tried to look innocent, but had to admit that even on a good day, it wasn’t a look I pulled off. “What?”
“Stop making faces at Adam. He just stopped by to say hi. I told him to come over and have a drink with you guys, but then he saw Jet looking like he was plotting someone’s murder, and decided against it.”
I wasn’t going to deny it, so I picked up the shot and let my gaze travel over her outfit. Today was the cheerleader, my personal favorite. Her tiny pleated skirt was orange and blue, Bronco colors, and it was topped off with a supertight, white sweater that left little to the imagination. She was already taller than average and when she put on those do-me heels, she was almost eye to eye with me, which made her legs—which deserved their own ode to greatness—look even better. I was lost somewhere in my own world, where those legs were wrapped around my head or my waist—I wasn’t picky—when she jolted me back to reality.
Ayden smacked me on the side of my head.