Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (3 page)

****

“You don’t have to walk me home, you know,” Sophie
said, listing slightly to the left as she turned to look up at me.

“Someone got knifed in this neighborhood last
week,” I pointed out to her. “I don’t want to log onto Facebook tomorrow and
see a bunch of Respects bartenders paying tribute to their fallen comrade.”

“They wouldn’t anyway,” Sophie told me, shaking
her head. “They’d hold a benefit concert for me in a couple of weeks to help
Jess and my parents pay for my funeral, and that’d be that. Apart from the help
wanted ads.” I laughed.

“They’re pretty efficient,” I agreed. “But I still
don’t want to see it. You’re too cute for me to let anyone replace you at the
bar.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes
in disapproval. “Do you know how many times I’ve been told I’m cute?”

“Far too many?” I reached out and corrected
Sophie’s leftward reel.

“Like…a thousand. In the past month.” Sophie sighed.
“I know I’m short and I have fairy-hair, but the cuteness thing is getting
old
.”
I chuckled, using the excuse of helping her to keep my hand on her shoulder.

“If you don’t want people to call you cute, maybe
you shouldn’t go around in miniskirts and Docs, or keep your hair in pigtails,”
I suggested.

“I put my hair in pigtails because it’s too short
to put in a ponytail,” Sophie informed me. “Docs are solid footwear.
Miniskirts…” she shrugged. “And anyway, why should I change the way I look for
people to take me seriously?”

“You think people don’t take you seriously?”
Sophie shook her head.

“As soon as something’s cute, it’s not serious,”
she told me. “It’s…like…small, and funny, and a million other things. But never
serious.” I thought about that for a moment as we turned the corner onto
Sophie’s street.

I’d volunteered to walk her home from Kelsey’s
place where we’d all ended up; Mark had managed to pass out on Kelsey’s couch,
so obviously I wasn’t going to his brother’s place. Jess and Ricky had grabbed
an Uber to their own apartment on the other end of Lake Worth, and Benny had
wandered off at some point to another after-party.

“Benny said you don’t date anyone in the scene,” I
said, hoping my voice sounded curious but not nosy.

“Nope,” Sophie said. “No scene folks in my love
life. That’s the big mistake people make all the time.” She started to list
right, almost running into me, but corrected at the last moment.

“Why is it a mistake?” I thought about Jules
dating Fran, about Nick dating Olivia; hell, Sophie’s sister Jess was dating
someone from the scene.

“Jess used to tend bar, right?” Sophie looked up
at me with her big, dark eyes, her expression serious.

“Okay,” I said, gesturing for her to go on.

“So Jess was dating guys in the scene because they’re
readily available. Low-hanging fruit.” Sophie paused and probably realized that
I was one of those ‘low-hanging fruit’. “Present company excluded,” she said
with that little confident, almost cocky smile.

“Thanks for that,” I said tartly.

“Anyway,” Sophie said, dismissing my comment. “So
these guys Jess dated; they thought that because they were dating a bartender,
they’d get free tabs at the bar, or free drinks whenever they felt like it,
things like that.” Sophie shook her head. “And they got all bitter and
resentful when that wasn’t the case.
That
is something I don’t want to
deal with, so I don’t date scene guys.” I had to admit that it made sense; but
it didn’t look all that good for any hope I might have had of breaking the
pattern Sophie had set for herself.

“Here’s my place,” Sophie told me after we’d both
gone quiet for a few minutes. She waved towards one of the little
mini-complexes you see close to the ocean all over South Florida: two stories,
maybe six or ten units total, painted avocado green with an orange-red color on
the sidewalk and the balconies. In another five years tops it’d probably get
torn down and replaced with a bigger, nicer condo building with a rooftop
swimming pool and cabana, and the rent would be somewhere in the neighborhood
of $5,000 a month. “That’s my door, right there,” Sophie said, pointing to one
marked 3619. “You don’t have to come in. No one is going to knife me around
here.” I looked down at her, slowing to a stop at the end of the row of units.

“Have a cigarette with me before you go in,” I
suggested. Really I just didn’t want to leave her side; I was hoping I could
maybe—hopefully—convince her to let me crash on the couch.

“Okay,” Sophie said, reaching into her pocket. She
took a pack of Camel Lights out and shook it, frowned, and flipped the top up
to reveal that it was empty. “Fuck.”

“Have one of mine,” I said. I pulled out a
half-crumpled pack of Pall Malls and showed her that I still had maybe five
left. Sophie hesitated, looking from her empty pack to my face, and then
shrugged. She plucked one of the cigarettes from the pack and I offered her my
lighter to go with it.

We sat down on the bench at the end of the
sidewalk, and I lit my own cigarette, taking a drag and thinking about my next
moves. “So you don’t date anyone from the local scene because you’re worried
they’ll want something from you—namely free drinks,” I said. “Are you dating
someone from outside of the scene?” Sophie looked at me sharply and then shook
her head.

“At the moment I’m not dating anyone,” she said
blandly. “Last guy I was with turned out to be a total disappointment.”

“How?” I flicked ash off the end of my cig and
leaned against the wall. Sophie shrugged, tilting her head to the side.

“Just…” she sighed, taking another drag of smoke
into her lungs. “He wasn’t what I wanted him to be. You’d think I’d learn.” She
smiled slightly.

“What did you want him to be?” Sophie rolled her
eyes and I watched as she brought her feet up onto the bench, hugging her knees
with one arm while she continued smoking with the other hand.

“I wanted him to be…self-sufficient. Confident.
Not in that cheesy, macho way; I wanted him to be secure in what we had
together, in who I was and who he was.” Sophie chuckled. “Palm Beach County
guys are all the same.”

“Hey! I resemble that remark,” I told her tartly.
“Well, kind of. I don’t live in the 561 anymore.”

“I’m guessing you don’t have a place to stay
tonight?” Sophie looked at me intently. “Mark is crashed out on Kelsey’s couch,
and you’re still too drunk to drive anywhere.” I nodded.

“I can catch an Uber or a Lyft someplace,” I said.

“Or you can sleep on my couch,” Sophie countered.
“As long as you promise you’re not trying to make a move on me.”

“I will be a perfect gentleman,” I told her.
Sophie stubbed out her cigarette and flicked it into the trashcan.

“Finish that and I’ll let you in,” she said,
nodding towards my hand holding the cigarette. I took a final, quick drag and
pinched off the ember, tossing it into the trash.

“Lead the way,” I said, smiling in what I hoped
was a friendly way. Sophie wavered for a moment as she stood, and I reached out
to steady her, but before I could even touch her she’d straightened up and
started towards the door she’d pointed out to me before. She reached into her
purse and fumbled around for a few seconds; I heard the clinking of her keys,
and the next moment she’d found them.

“Be warned,” Sophie said, turning to look at me
over her shoulder as she shoved the key into the lock, “my house is kind of a
disaster.” She paused, frowned, and looked at me again. “You’re not allergic to
cats, are you?”

“Nah, my mom always kept a cat when I was growing
up—I am fine with them.”

“Good,” Sophie said. She turned the key in the
lock and then opened the door. The alarm went off, screeching, and she gestured
for me to hurry in behind her and close the door as she went to the keypad to
shut off the security system. “Drogon! Where is my pretty kitty?” Sophie turned
on a light in the main area of the apartment just in time for me to see a
small, black, nimble-looking cat emerge from the bedroom.

“Drogon?” Sophie shrugged, grinning in a tipsy
way. She knelt on the floor and the cat darted towards her, jumping onto her
lap with a chirping mew.

“Just call me Khaleesi,” Sophie said jokingly. The
cat looked up at me doubtfully as Sophie petted him, and I could hear him
purring as loudly as a Formula One engine, rubbing against Sophie’s hand and
leaning against her chest.
Lucky fucking cat,
I thought enviously. I
leaned against the wall and watched as Sophie stroked and murmured to her
familiar as well as any witch on the planet could. After a few moments she
looked up and smiled wryly. “I’m being a bad hostess,” she said, shaking her
head. She rose and Drogon leapt from her lap, darting into the darkness of the
living room. Sophie pointed behind me. “That’s the kitchen,” she said, flipping
on another light switch. “Off to the right is the bathroom.” The living room
lit up and I saw the couch: it was just long enough for me to lie full length,
made of battered black leather, with an afghan thrown over the back.

“This is not a disaster,” I said, gesturing to the
cluttered but clean space. “Clearly you’ve never been to Mark’s place. Or
mine.” Sophie raised an eyebrow and turned towards the bedroom.

“Let me get you a pillow and a blanket,” she said.
“At the other end of the living room is the door to the porch, if you want to
smoke.” I walked over to the couch and sat down as Sophie disappeared into her
room, closing the door behind her. After a moment, Drogon poked his head out
from behind the entertainment center and looked up at me, letting out a curious
meow. I patted the couch and he looked at me doubtfully.

“Suit yourself,” I told him, kicking off my shoes
and pulling my keys, phone, wallet, my cigarettes and lighter out of my
pockets. I set them all down on the coffee table and stretched against the
tightness in my neck and back, looking around the apartment. Sophie had some
art up: I recognized a piece by Adam Sheetz, vivid with its surreal, calculated
grotesqueness, another one by Dana Donaty; she also had a couple of prints: a
Monet next to the bathroom door, a Van Gogh at the entrance into the kitchen.

Sophie came out of the bedroom in a wisp of a tank
top and equally skimpy shorts, her face scrubbed clean, her hair brushed, a
pillow and blanket in her arms. “I didn’t know you liked art,” I said,
gesturing at the different pieces scattered around the room. Sophie shrugged.

“I minored in art history in college,” she
explained, handing the pillow and blanket to me. Somehow, in her pajamas,
barefoot, with no makeup on her face, she looked even cuter than she had either
of the two times I’d seen her before; she looked almost girlish, her eyes
softened, her mouth sweet.

“What was your major?” Sophie padded over to the
kitchen, yawning.

“Dual major: English and Anthropology,” she told
me. I heard the squeak of a cabinet opening. “Want a glass of water?”

“Sure,” I replied. I heard glasses clinking
against each other, the faucet coming on, the clatter of ice. Sophie came back
into the living room with a glass of ice water in each hand. “English,
Anthropology, and art history,” I said. “No wonder you’re a bartender.” Sophie
rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t ever really intend to use my degree for
a specific career anyway,” she said, handing me one of the glasses. She took a
long sip from the other one. “I figured I’d just come up with something once I
graduated.” I laughed.

“I’m not much better,” I said. “I studied art and
design.” I pointed to the Adam Sheetz print next to the TV. “Actually had a
couple of classes with Adam.”

“So how did you end up the bass player for a huge
band instead of becoming the next big cult artist?” I shrugged.

“One of those choices you make,” I said. “I
figured I’d try my hand at both, and whichever one showed more promise sooner
I’d throw all my weight behind, and that was Molly Riot.” I drank down some
water, and Drogon decided he was brave enough to venture out from behind the
entertainment center. He mewed at Sophie pathetically and she walked over to
him, scooping him up off of the floor.

“I should probably get to sleep,” she said with a
sigh, drinking down another gulp of water. “We’re doing a deep clean at
Respects tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I said, setting my glass down on the coffee
table—on one of the coasters I saw there.

“There’s a charger station next to the TV—I think
I’ve got just about every kind of cable,” Sophie told me. “Other than that, I
guess if you’re up by the time I am, I’ll make breakfast.” I grinned.

“For someone who didn’t even want me to stay the
night, you’re being really kind.” Sophie rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Once you walk in the front door, you are my guest
and therefore I have to be a good hostess. Get some sleep.” She yawned and
turned to the bedroom, and I started getting comfortable on the couch.

The pillow smelled like Sophie—I hadn’t even
realized that I’d picked up on the sweet-flowery smell that clung to her until
I breathed in and caught the scent on the pillow. Whatever shampoo she used, it
was awesome. I buried my face against the pillowcase and breathed in and out
for a few moments before I realized what a freak that probably made me. I
turned over on my side facing the back of the couch and tried to will myself to
sleep. I was tired enough: the show had been intense, it was about three or
maybe four in the morning, and I’d been in the studio from nine that morning
until about two in the afternoon before we’d called it a day; but for the
longest time I lie there wide awake, staring at the back of the couch,
wondering about Sophie. It was stupid. It was beyond stupid. But I couldn’t
help it.

****

I must have fallen asleep at some point; I woke up
to the sound of meowing and the sliding glass door moving along its track. I
turned over on the couch and nearly spilled off of it, opening my eyes just in
time to catch sight of Sophie stepping through the open door and onto the
patio, while Drogon darted out between her feet. Sophie must have heard me—or
maybe seen me in the corner of her eye. She turned and smiled ruefully.
“Sorry—I thought you were pretty deeply asleep,” she said.

“Don’t sweat it,” I told her, scrambling around
onto my feet. I’d woken up at some point and gotten my jeans off—they were just
too uncomfortable—and I probably should have felt weirder about standing around
in my tee shirt and boxers, but considering that I could make out the outline
of Sophie’s nipples against the flimsy fabric of her pajama top, and
barely—barely—see the bottom curve of her ass where her shorts ended, I didn’t
think I was overstepping any big boundaries.

I followed her out onto the patio, cigarette pack
in hand, and slumped down into a chair. Drogon began scratching through his
litter box and Sophie produced a fresh pack of cigarettes out of a pocket I hadn’t
seen on her shorts. “So,” I said, lighting my own cig and taking a drag. “Why
exactly did you let me stay the night?” Sophie shrugged.

“You walked me home and didn’t try to make a
pass,” Sophie said.

“Was that some kind of test?” Sophie crinkled the foil
and plastic from her pack of cigs into a little ball and stuffed it into the
ashtray. She gave me that little smile again—that utterly confident, completely
knowing smile that she’d flashed at the bar.

“Not a test,” Sophie said. “But it did say a lot
about who you are as a person.” She tugged a cigarette free of the pack and
brought it to her lips to light it; I tried not to stare, especially at the
bead of sweat that began to roll down from her neck past her collarbones, or at
the way that her arms pressed her tits together. I decided to look away
altogether. “You know, Mark gave me his number last night,” Sophie said,
blowing smoke away from her face.

“And you want to know if you should call him?”
Tell
her no. Tell her he’s a dog.
The impulse jolted through my brain before I
could stop it; but I managed to push it aside before I said anything.

“Mostly just interested in your reaction to it,”
Sophie said, half-smiling again.

“Mark is into you,” I said with a shrug. “If
you’re into him, you should call him.”

“That’s a very careful non-answer,” Sophie said
tartly.

“He’s a drummer,” I explained.

“Go on,” Sophie said. I shrugged again.

“You were going on last night about how you don’t
date guys in the scene because they want you to give them free drinks or
whatever,” I pointed out. “Mark probably won’t ask you for free drinks, but
you’d be breaking your self-imposed rule nonetheless.”

“You’re into me too,” Sophie said. I raised an
eyebrow. “Come on, Dan—you wouldn’t have walked me home and talked to me half
the night if you weren’t into me.”

“Maybe I’m just a good guy,” I countered.

“Maybe,” Sophie said. She licked her lips and took
another drag of her cigarette. “But I’m still going to go with the theory of
you liking me.” I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to smile.

“And if I do? You don’t date local guys,
remember?” Sophie held my gaze for a long moment and flicked the ash off the
end of her cigarette.

“Maybe I’m not that much of an absolutist,” Sophie
said. She stubbed out her cigarette. “Maybe I’m open to changing my mind on
that score.” She stood up and I caught the barest flash of her tit as her top
shifted. It sent a jolt of heat through me, straight to my cock. Then, she
turned around and went into the apartment, and I saw the bottom curve of her
ass cheeks.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had stood, and I
followed her into the apartment. Sophie turned on her heel, only a few feet
away from the kitchen, and my hands were already out. I reached for her
shoulders, for her arms, and pulled her towards me. Acting completely on
impulse, I ducked down and kissed her. I wrapped my arms around her waist,
pressing her body against mine. Sophie tensed against me and then relaxed, and
I heard her let out just the faintest moan.

I broke away from her lips and looked down into
her eyes. “Not an absolutist?” Sophie’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright,
and I knew—I knew in my bones—that she was turned on.

“Maybe not,” Sophie said breathlessly. She licked
her lips and I smiled slowly. “But I am not going to have sex with you right
now.”

“You’re not?” Sophie shook her head, slipping free
of my arms. “Why not?”

“One—I need to run some errands before I’m due at
Respects,” she said. “Two: I never put out before at least one date.” She
stepped into the kitchen and started making coffee while I watched.

I went back to the couch, trying to decide how to
move forward; Sophie was obviously attracted to me, but after Benny’s remarks
the night before I didn’t want to push her—especially since Mark had given her
his number.
Either she’s into him or not,
I told myself.
And if she
isn’t, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with going after her myself.
“So since you need to go on a date with me, why don’t we check out the Norton
next week?”

Sophie emerged from the kitchen with two cups of
coffee. “The Norton is free for the next year and a half—that’s not a date,”
she said.

“It is if we go out to dinner before or after,” I
pointed out. Sophie handed me one of the cups and I drank down a gulp, keeping
my gaze on her.

“Deal,” she said, smiling.