swiveling in my seat to face him. “What? Are you gonna deny it? Claim to be in a committed relationship with the two blonds I saw saunter onto your patio in their thongs the other day? Or how about the gaggle of sloppy drunks that stumbled out of your house the very next morning?”
He grimaces. “Hey – you’re being judgmental.”
“No, I’m not,” I say with a laugh. “I’m just pointing out the obvious…You’re a man-whore.”
His frown deepens. “How do you know I haven’t been hurt before and I’m now just trying to fuck the pain away?” There’s amusement in his voice, but I see pain flash across his eyes.
I shake my head, determined not to give in to him.
He’s a siren, I remind myself. A modern day lothario. If he didn’t have the voice to serenade women into submission and fingers that make you imagine your body as the guitar he strums so passionately, he’d find some other way to make a living seducing weak-minded women.
I’m not a weak-minded woman. Not by a long shot.
“No offense,” I say, “but, I have a lot on my plate this summer. I don’t have time for a little fling. I find you very attractive but I have no intention of acting on that attraction. So, to answer your question, no – I won’t go on a date with you.”
Everson looks like he’s about to take another shot at convincing me, but just then, the drummer, Kid, saunters up to us. “We go on in less than five minutes, bruv.”
Everson gives me a determined look before he slides out of his seat and bends towards me. So close I can smell the musky body wash on his skin. That magic of his wraps itself around me, binding me under his spell. “This conversation isn’t over,” he whispers, his lips touching my ear, sending shivers across my skin. I drag a sharp, audible breath into my lungs and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. Everson winks knowingly as he follows Kid through the crowd.
I scrub my hands down my arms to brush away the goose bumps as I watch him walk away.
We’ve got chemistry. I hate to admit it, but we do.
Chapter 10
Mackenzie
I’m still slightly disoriented when Julia and Willow appear by my side moments later, both panting excitedly to see the White Hot Coals perform.
The lights in the club dim down as shadowy figures take the stage. “Show’s about to start,” Willow says, giving my hand an excited squeeze.
The low, rhythmic thump of the bassline drowns out the indistinct voices chattering in the room. A hush quickly spreads over the place as the kick picks up speed. The anticipation is so heavy in the air that it causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on edge. Suddenly, the drums and guitars explode into the silence as the spotlights blink on.
The crowd goes absolutely wild, shouting and yelling for each of the band members by name. I thought that the audience was rowdy when the opening act was on stage, but now, it’s utter chaos. They’re flailing their arms and pumping their fists, the energy frenetic in the room.
It isn’t long before a lacy red bra goes flying by my face.
Things are getting crazy in here.
“I can’t see a thing,” Willow complains, standing on her tiptoes.
“Come on, let’s get closer.” I can barely hear Julia’s voice over the thunderous music and the screaming fans. I open my mouth to protest – I’d rather cling to the safety of the nearly-deserted bar than venture out into the pandemonium. But Willow’s hand wraps around my wrist as she follows Julia, pulling me towards the stage.
We wedge our way through the overzealous crowd, risking serious bodily harm. Flying elbows. Moshing head-bangers. A topless blue-haired girl just crowd-surfed by.
These folks really need to get a grip.
Then, Everson’s rugged, handsome face comes into view. I freeze.
My heart.
My poor, poor heart.
His expression is solemn,