Текст книги "Crash Into Me"
Автор книги: Tracy Wolff
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
Even then it took Jamison a second to realize what was happening, to realize that she was free. When she did, she scrambled several feet down the hallway, desperate to simply get away. But as she prepared to run, she got a glimpse of her rescuer’s face as he pinned Max to the wall.
Ryder.
It was Ryder who had found her, Ryder who had saved her. And Ryder who was currently shouting obscenities as he beat the hell out of the other singer.
Chapter Two
“Are you out of your fucking mind, Max?” Ryder landed a blow straight to the other man’s nose as fury raced through him like a freight train. “Are you really so fucking high you think you can fucking rape a girl?” A one-two combo straight to Max’s stomach. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” He gave up punching him—Max wasn’t putting up much of a fight—and started slamming him repeatedly against the wall. “Who. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You. Are?”
Max gurgled completely unintelligible reply. A warning went off in his head, told him to stop, but the blinding rage ripping through him made it impossible for him to listen. When he’d walked out of his dressing room and seen Max forcing himself on that girl, all he’d been able to think about was Carrie. About what some asshole in their local Battle of the Bands challenge had done to her. And how she’d never recovered. How she’d always blamed him for not being there for her. How he’d always blamed himself.
Pulling his fist back, he plunged it into Max’s face again. The guy was a total douche. This wasn’t the first time Ryder had thought he overstepped his bounds with a woman, but it was the first time it had been blatant enough that he could do something besides making a comment about it. The first time, that he’d ever seen, that Max had actually laid hands on an unwilling woman. The thought that this might have happened before and he just hadn’t seen it, had bile churning in his gut. He channeled it, continued whaling on Max. By the time he was done with him, the other singer would think three or four times before he ever put his hands on another unwilling woman.
“Ryder.” The girl Max had been hassling called his name in a tremulous voice, but it barely registered. He was too intent on making sure Max wouldn’t hurt another woman the way he’d tried to hurt this one. “Ryder, stop.” Her voice was more insistent now, and familiar. Very familiar. “Come on, Ryder. You need to stop or you’ll kill him. Please. That’s enough.”
He turned to her , dazed, , his fist still cocked in midair. For long seconds he wasn’t sure he was really seeing her, that she was really there.“Jamison?”
She nodded. “I’m okay, Ryder. You stopped him. You got here before he did anything.”
“Jamison,” he repeated again as he finally relinquished his hold on Max’s shirt. It had been the only thing keeping the other singer upright and left to his own devices, he slid slowly down the wall to land in a bloody heap on the floor.
Ryder didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he wrapped an arm around his best friend’s little sister and pulled her into his chest. “Are you really okay?” He couldn’t believe she was here. Couldn’t believe that she was the woman Max had just been assaulting.
The fury came back, burning hotter than ever. There was a part of him that wanted to keep beating on Max until the other man was unconscious. Until he’d ripped him apart with his bare hands. He’d touched Jamison. He’d scared Jamison. The bastard didn’t deserve to live.
More than prepared to finish what he started, he turned back around with a growl. Would have started back in on Max all over again if Jamison, pale-faced but solid, hadn’t grabbed onto him and held him in place. Not with her strength, but with the look on her face. With the words that she spoke.
He stiffened as her words hit home. He pulled away, not liking the way her voice had gone all soft and grateful. He didn’t deserve her gratitude, didn’t deserve anything when he’d almost been too late.His gut clenched as he was bombarded with images of what might have happened to Jamison if he hadn’t come out when he had. Even worse, of what might very well have happened some other night to some other woman while he’d been safely ensconced in his dressing room.
He shut his brain down, not wanting to go there tonight. But what he wanted and what he got were often two very different things—rarely did he catch more than a couple hours of sleep before the nightmares found him. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.
Especially not after what had just happened with Max. Not to mention what had made him leave his dressing room to begin with. He’d showered crazy fast, had a drink, then had slammed into the hallway with some asinine idea of trying to find the redhead in the purple dress. The one he’d seen while onstage and had felt such an incredible pull toward. The one he’d spent the whole second half of the concert singing to, while his brain filled up with one lascivious thought after another.
Looking at Jamison now, standing in front of him in her pretty violet dress, he felt lower than low. He hadn’t recognized her from the stage, hadn’t known he’d been lusting after Jared’s little sister—and one of his closest friends. And now that he did, he didn’t know what the hell to do with all the thoughts—the needs—that were still clawing at him from the inside.
Behind him, Max finally stirred and he clenched his fists against the urge to beat the asshole all over again. After all, it’d kill two birds with one stone—release some of the escalating tension inside of him and teach the asshole the importance of understanding the word no.
“Come on, let’s get you into the dressing room,” he told Jamison, leaning close to her and speaking loudly to be heard over Darkness’s set. “Check you over and make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she told him again, staring up at him until he was forced to look into her violet eyes. They were shadowed, but they were also steady. That calmed him more than anything else could have. At least until he glanced down and realized the red on her lips was blood, not lipstick.
“You’re bleeding.” The words cut like broken glass as he forced them from his suddenly tight throat. “He hurt you.”
She raised a trembling hand to her mouth and that’s when he realized she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. Her eyes told one story, but those blue-tipped fingers told another. A fresh wave of fury tore through him.
“I don’t think it’s my blood,” she said, after a minute. Her voice was rife with satisfaction. “I bit his lip when he tried to kiss me.”
That matter-of-fact satisfaction was what finally convinced him she was okay. “A shame you didn’t get his tongue. I’d like to see him try to explain why he couldn’t sing after that.”
“There’s no way I want his tongue close enough to me to bite, thank you very much. Besides, I don’t think he’ll be singing for a while. Or doing anything else for that matter.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe we should call an ambulance.”
“He’ll be all right. I didn’t break anything.”
“How do you know?”
Because he knew what it felt like to break a bone—his own and someone else’s. Knew just how much pressure he had to exert to get the job done. And he hadn’t gone there with Max. Not because he hadn’t wanted to damage the guy permanently, but because if he’d broken bones the fight would have been over a hell of a lot sooner.
“I just know,” he finally told her, hoping she wouldn’t press.
She didn’t. Not, he knew, because she wasn’t curious, but because the specter of his past was always there between them. It was just one of the many reasons he’d kept his distance from her throughout the last decade. She was too tender-hearted. When she looked at him, empathy brimming in those crazy amethyst eyes of hers, it made him want to say things that should never be spoken out loud. Things that, once said, couldn’t be unsaid.
His dick surged at the thought of connecting to Jamison like that, only got harder as images of stripping her out of that violet dress and kissing every inch of her soft, voluptuous body blasted through his brain. But the crash of need was followed by an even stronger wave of self-loathing. This was Jared’s sister, the same girl he’d comforted after she’d forgotten her lines in the school play or broken up with her first boyfriend. He had no business thinking of her as anything but a friend.
“Where’s Jared?” she asked, bringing him back to reality with a thud.
He jerked his chin toward the dressing room Shaken Dirty had been using the last couple of days. “Come on. I’ll take you to him.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and propelled her down the hall, doing his best to be gentle. He didn’t know if Max had bruised her or just scared her, but he wasn’t taking the chance of hurting her.
As they passed Oblivious’s dressing room, he pounded on the door hard enough to be heard over the blaring music. A few seconds later it swung open to reveal the band’s nearly naked bass player. Each of his arms was wrapped around a different girl. “What’s up, man? You want to party?” Jake stepped back as if to let them in.
Ryder jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You might want to check on Max.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I just beat the shit out of him.”
“What’d you do that for?” The guy looked more surprised than concerned.
“Because he’s an asshole.”
For a second, it looked like Jake was going to argue with him. Eventually, though, he just shook his head. “True that.” After disentangling himself from the groupies, he called, “Max fucked up again. Someone give me a hand.”
Satisfied that there’d be no problems from Oblivious’s front—though he didn’t really give a shit if there were—Ryder moved on to his own dressing room. Of course he’d forgotten the damn key, so he had to pound on the fucking door and wait until one of his bandmates deigned to let him in.
Wyatt was the one who finally answered, a dark scowl on his face. “Where’s the fire, asshole? I was just about to—” He broke off in mid-sentence when he saw Jamison, a dull flush creeping up his world-famous cheekbones. “Jelly Bean! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming ‘til tomorrow night.”
“I wanted to surprise you guys.”
“Well, you did that.” Wyatt opened his arms and Jamison walked right into them. Wyatt gave her a huge bear hug and then reluctantly passed her on to Quinn and Micah, who were crowding him from behind.
Figuring Jamison was in good hands, Ryder headed toward the bathroom. Opening the closed door without bothering to knock, he shouted to Jared, who was in the shower, “Jamison’s here.”
“What? Now?”
“Yeah, now. And I just beat the shit out of Max Casey. Thought you should know.”
He closed the door before Jared could pick his jaw up off the ground and bombard him with questions. Then crossed to the bar in the corner and poured Jamison a shot of Patron silver. She was holding steady, but it was his experience that a shot of tequila worked wonders on frayed nerves.
By that time, Wyatt and Quinn had her settled on the sofa between them while Micah was ushering three groupies out the door. They didn’t look exactly pleased, and once they were at the door, one of them grabbed onto him and refused to go. Ryder didn’t envy him. Especially when the chick starting crying and begging him to let her stay. Seconds later, he all but slammed the door in her face. Which was rude, sure, but often necessary. Just one of the many reasons Ryder didn’t mess with groupies unless he had to.
Ryder handed Jamison the drink just as Jared burst out of the bathroom. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, but it was obvious that was all he’d taken time to do. He was still soaking wet.
Jamison didn’t seem to care as she launched herself at him. He picked her up and twirled her around before giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t think you were coming until tomorrow night, Jelly Bean! I would have sent someone to bring you backstage before the concert if I’d known you were here.”
“I haven’t seen you guys play in eighteen months. The last place I wanted to be during your set was backstage. You were amazing, by the way. The crowd loved you!”
“They were a good crowd,” Jared told her.
She snorted. “For you. They weren’t anywhere near that enthusiastic when Oblivious was onstage. Or for that first band. What were they called again?”
“Eclipse.” Ryder gritted out the name from between tightly clamped teeth. “Oblivious sucks,” he sneered. Just the sound of Max Casey’s band on her lips made him want to beat the shit out of the bastard all over again.
“Whoa. What’s eating you?” Micah demanded.
Before he could answer, Jamison reached for the shot of tequila he’d brought her and slammed it back like a pro. He didn’t know where she’d learned to drink like that, but whoever had taught her had taught her well.
“It’s my fault,” she said after a second, glancing back at the door. “But believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. I am never going to try to surprise you again.”
Jared and the others looked confused, at least until Ryder told them what he’d interrupted in the hallway. Jared jumped up then, murder in his eyes, but Ryder had been expecting that.
He crossed to the dressing room door, leaned back against it as he waited for his best friend to calm down. It was going to take a few minutes. For all of them, as Wyatt, Micah and Quinn were nearly a protective of Jamison as he and Jared were. Not that he blamed them for being pissed, but the last thing that needed to happen was for them to go over and start whaling on Max all over again. Just in case Oblivious got the dumb idea to call the police, Ryder didn’t want anyone else going down for what he’d done.
“Get out of my way, Montgomery,” Jared growled.
“Not until you calm down, Matthews,” Ryder answered with deliberate insolence.
“I’ll calm down after I teach that bastard some manners.” He grabbed onto Ryder’s shirt like he was going to rip him away from the door.
“Ryder already did that.” Jamison jumped in, ducking under Jared’s arm and insinuating herself between the two of them. Which was a really tight fit considering how close Jared was standing to him—and the abundant nature of her curves. Not that he had noticed them or anything. “He took care of me,” she continued. “I promise, Jared.”
“Did Ryder break his damn neck? Because if he didn’t, he didn’t take care of things to my satisfaction.”
“He wanted to.” She raised her hands to her brother’s, started peeling them off Ryder’s shirt. As she did, she shifted and her lush ass came into contact with his dick—through the not-thick-enough fabric of his jeans—for the very first time. It felt better than it had any right to, especially considering she was his Jared’s little sister.
Hell, she was practically his little sister, Ryder told himself as he worked to tamp down the unexpected flames the contact had caused. He’d spent so much of his adolescence at the Matthews house that they were all practically family.
Sucking air in through his teeth—she smelled as good as she felt—he plastered himself to the door in an effort to get away from all that gorgeous softness. Which might have worked if he hadn’t already been leaning against the damn thing. Or if Jamison hadn’t taken advantage of the extra inch he’d managed to eek out by wiggling herself even more firmly between them.
“Let him go, Jared,” she told her brother firmly. “He’s only trying to protect you the way he protected me.”
Yeah, Jared, let me go, Ryder urged his friend silently. Because if he didn’t, in another minute they were all going to see just how non-protective Ryder was suddenly feeling about Jamison. The thought only made him feel like more of a bastard. Especially when he remembered how he’d found her, Max pressed against her, his dick cradled in the very same spot that Ryder’s was currently resting.
That thought galvanized him like nothing else could have. Out of patience, he shoved at Jared. Hard. And resisted, barely, the urge to go beat the shit out of Max all over again.
His friend hadn’t been expecting the push and he stumbled back a little. Not far, but just enough for Ryder to extricate himself from a situation that was rapidly becoming unbearable. “I took care of it,” he said as he headed back to the bar, this time to pour drinks for all of them. “That asshole won’t be bothering Jamison, or any other woman, for a long damn time.” The words were as much a reassurance to himself as they were to Jared, and Ryder promised himself he’d have another little talk with Max in a couple of days—just to ensure he had, indeed, learned some manners.
The fight seemed to go out of his best friend at that. “I can’t stand that he touched her. I want to make him bleed.”
“Jamison already did that.”
As she explained how she’d bitten the jerk, Ryder tossed back a shot of tequila, then poured himself a second one. He could still feel her. Still smell her, all peaches and cream and rich, sweet honey. It should be illegal for a woman to smell that good. To feel that good.
Jared laughed as Jamison demonstrated the wimpy way Max had screamed when she’d bitten him. Then he crossed to Ryder and slapped him on the back. “It looks like the two of you really didn’t need me,” he said as he did his own shot of Patron. “Though I’m not promising not to deck the bastard the next time I see him.”
“Just let it go,” Jamison implored. “I haven’t seen you guys in almost a year. The last thing I want to do is spend the rest of the night talking about that jerk.”
“So what do you want to do?” Micah asked, draping a casual arm over Jamison’s shoulders. Ryder watched him with narrowed eyes for long seconds, then did the second shot. It seemed to him that lately Micah had been getting way too friendly with women he had no business getting friendly with. Just last week in Houston, he’d been draped all over Jared’s fiancée when the guitarist wasn’t around. They’d both had their clothes on, but still. Ryder hadn’t liked the looks of it—any more than he liked the looks of this. It took every ounce of concentration he had not to tell the jerk to back the fuck off.
Jamison obviously didn’t mind, though, as she snuggled deeper into Micah’s embrace. “What do you think? You guys killed it tonight. I want to celebrate.”
“Hell, yeah!” Wyatt said. “Let’s go get drunk.”
“Not quite what I had in mind,” Jamison told him dryly.
“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?” Micah asked, pushing one of her long red curls back from her face. Ryder fought the sudden, inexplicable urge to plow his fist into his bandmate’s face. Maybe Micah wasn’t the problem after all. Maybe he was, he decided as he slowly relaxed his fist. He had no reason to be thinking like this. Feeling like this. And he’d do well to remember that.
“I want you guys to take me dancing,” Jamison said.
“Dancing?” Quinn repeated incredulously.
“Yes, dancing. There are a ton of great clubs around here. It’ll be fun.” She turned to him for support, just as she’d been doing since she was ten damn years old. “Right, Ryder?”
“Yeah, sure. Big fun.” He slammed back a third shot. Jared was looking at him strangely, but Ryder ignored him. If he was actually going to have to get out on a dance floor with Jamison and all those gorgeous curves of hers—or worse, stand there while she snuggled up to the rest of the guys—he was going to be dead drunk when he did it. Anything else didn’t bear thinking about.
Chapter Three
Sitting at the bar in the VIP section of one of the most popular clubs in San Diego’s Gaslamp Quarter, Jamison tossed back her third shot of tequila under her big brother’s watchful eye. She knew the look on his face, knew it was only a matter of time before he demanded to know what the hell was up with her. While she enjoyed a shot of Patron as much as the next girl, she’d never been one to down three of them in a row. Never been one to over-imbibe at all, to be honest.
Which was depressing, now that she thought about it. How had she gotten to the ripe old age of twenty-three without ever being drunk? She’d gone to college, even dated a frat guy or two. Not to mention spent most of her adolescence hanging out with a rock band. How could she not have thrown caution to the wind at least once in all that time?
She was making up for her teetotaling tonight, she decided, as she gestured to the bartender for another shot. Jared started to object, but the look she sent him told him to butt out. If a girl couldn’t get drunk with five of her closest friends in the world after losing her boyfriend, her job, and her car all in the same week, then when exactly was she supposed to get drunk?
The bartender slid the shot in front of her and she reached for it. But another hand closed around it first. Highly indignant, she turned around to give whichever of the guys had stolen her drink a piece of her mind, only to freeze as she found Ryder standing behind her, his eyes dark and intense as he waited for her reaction.
The club was hot—even back here where there weren’t so many people—and she watched, helplessly, as a single drop of sweat rolled down his throat. It disappeared beneath the collar of his simple, black V-neck and for a second she wanted to go after it. To lick up the salty-sweetness of it before tracing his beautiful chest and abs with her lips. Her tongue. After so many years of wondering, she was dying to know what he tasted like.
Ryder’s eyes narrowed, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. Then he shifted closer, his hard thighs brushing against her hip, his chest mere centimeters from her own. She knew he was playing with her, crowding her just to see how she would react, as all of the guys were want to do on occasion. If it had been one of the other guys who’d stolen her drink, she would have elbowed him in the stomach or bumped him with her knee as she tried to wrestle it away from him.
But this wasn’t Wyatt or Micah or Quinn. This was Ryder and no matter how much she longed to touch him, she knew she wouldn’t do it. Not now, when she was so turned on by his proximity that she was afraid to open her mouth. If she did speak, she knew she was going to end up revealing just how much she wanted him. Not the smoothest move, especially when her very over-protective big brother was only inches away.
Under her mesmerized eyes, Ryder lifted the shot to his lips. Tilted his head back. Slammed down the clear liquid. His throat worked as he swallowed and Jamison was so tempted to grab him, to jump him, that for a second she thought about sitting on her hands, just to be safe. But then he was getting even closer to her, his muscular chest rubbing against her aching nipples and she forgot all about her no touching rule. Her hands went to his waist of their own volition, her fingers weaving themselves through his belt loops as he pressed her back against the bar.
Holy shit! Even with her brain muddled with alcohol, she couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe that after all these years, after all this time, Ryder was doing this here. Now. With Jared only a few feet away.
Not that she cared. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the fire exploding between the two of them. Ryder was touching her, was leaning in to kiss her, was—
Her real-life fantasy crashed down around her as he snagged a lime slice from the glass of them on the bar behind her. Then he was stepping away, biting into the tart fruit with a careless grin and an off-the-cuff comment to Jared about one of the women down the bar. Her brother ignored the woman—he was too in love with his fiancee, who also happened to be his high school girlfriend, to pay attention to any of the women buzzing around him.
Still, heat exploded in Jamison’s cheeks as she realized what an idiot she’d been. All that fire between them, all that need she’d felt welling up, had been completely one-sided. He hadn’t been brushing against her because he wanted to, but because he needed to reach something.
It was humiliating. And somehow so much worse than if he actually had realized what was going on inside of her. At least then she would know he saw her as a person, as someone beyond his best friend’s little sister. As it stood, she felt more like the band’s asexual mascot than the sexy, desirable woman she so wanted to be for him. To him. It was doubly humiliating when she considered the fact that that groupie had been so certain she could get him into bed. That she could satisfy him. What did some heavily made-up little tart have that she didn’t, Jamison wondered bitterly. Besides the ability to attract Ryder, that is?
Ryder signaled for another round of shots, then scooted between Jared and her to rest his elbows on the bar. He was turned away from her, talking to Jared, but suddenly she couldn’t stand to be close to him. To have his body brushing carelessly, meaninglessly, against her own when she was still so wound up she wanted to beg him to touch her. Not that she would ever do that, she assured herself. If Ryder didn’t want her then there wasn’t a chance she was going to beg for it.
The bartender placed three shots of Patron down in front of them, and before she could think about what she was doing, Jamison slammed them back, one after the other. Her head spun as she slapped the last glass onto the counter and she realized Jared and Ryder were both staring at her, wide-eyed.
Forcing a grin she was far from feeling, she sent them a what’s-the-problem look. At that moment the DJ—bless his heart—spun out a Beyoncé song from a couple of years before and she turned toward the front of the club. “I want to dance,” she tossed over her shoulder as she made her way to the crowded dance floor.
Now that she was walking, the room was spinning like a top, and it took every ounce of concentration she had not to stumble as she weaved through the crush of bodies. But she was determined to make a dignified exit—she could feel their eyes on her and there was no way she was going to look like some stupid kid who couldn’t hold her liquor in front of Ryder.
Even if it were true.
Micah was leaving the dance floor as she got there, towing a cute blonde in a hot pink dress behind him. She waved at him, and he wagged a finger back and forth between him and her—asking if she wanted him to stay with her. She did, but she didn’t want to cramp his style either. The blonde definitely didn’t look like she wanted to share.
So Jamison just shook her head and burrowed into the crowd on the dance floor. She didn’t stop until she was practically in the middle, and then she closed her eyes and started to move. Just because she couldn’t have Ryder didn’t mean she couldn’t have a good time.
…
“You aren’t really going to leave her alone out there, are you?” Ryder demanded of Jared. The crowd was thick, especially on the dance floor, but Jamison’s red hair made her unmistakable. His jaw—and body—clenched as she tilted her head back and moved to the music. She wasn’t the most scantily dressed woman out there, and he knew objectively that she might not be considered the most beautiful. But she was to him. He was mesmerized, couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She was dancing like the song was meant for her, shoulders swaying and curvy hips swinging in perfect synchronicity with the catchy lyrics. Her crazy corkscrew curls were flying in every direction, and the look on her face was sexy as hell. Eyes closed, cheeks flushed, full, crimson-slicked lips parted invitingly, she looked like a goddess.
When she leaned back, shaking out her hair in time to the music, he realized he wasn’t the only guy in the place who had noticed. A bunch of the men on the dance floor—even some who were dancing with other women—were looking at her like she was a shiny present they couldn’t wait to unwrap. It made him crazy. Nearly as crazy as brushing against her full, soft breasts had made him earlier.
He shouldn’t have done it. He’d known it at the time, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Reaching for the lime had just been an excuse. He’d wanted to touch her, to feel all that softness pressed up against him if even for a minute. He’d meant to tease her a little bit, but all he’d ended up doing was torturing himself.
Which was nuts. She was one of his closest friends in the world, not to mention his best friend’s baby sister, and he had no business noticing how lush her breasts were. How curvy her ass was. How long her legs were. He’d known her since she wore pigtails and played with Barbies. Thinking about how much he liked the way she looked was sick. Twisted.
As was sitting there as a bunch of men lusted after her. She’d already gotten into trouble once today. He’d be damned if he sat by and watched while it happened again.
“You’re really not going to do anything?” he again demanded of Jared, who seemed more interested in his drink than he was in keeping Jamison safe.
“And get my ass handed to me?” Jared asked with a smirk. “You know how she gets if I interfere too much. Besides, Wyatt and Quinn are out there. They’ve got her back.”
Ryder turned around, scanned the crowd near where Jamison was dancing. Sure enough, his drummer and keyboardist had ditched the women they’d been hanging with and had started dancing with Jamison instead. It should have made him feel better, did make him feel better. At least until the music changed to a slow song and she threw her arms around Quinn’s neck and whispered in his ear.
Quinn laughed at whatever she told him, then settled his hands on her waist and pulled her close. Too close, in Ryder’s opinion, but a glance at Jared—who was totally relaxed as he nursed a beer—told him he might be overreacting a little. The knowledge did nothing to cool his blood, or the sudden urge he had to break his bandmate’s fingers. Who cared if they were at the beginning of a worldwide tour? The guy didn’t actually need his fingers to play the keyboard, did he?
Feeling like an idiot for being so overprotective, yet unable to do anything about it, Ryder turned to the bartender to order another drink. When the shot came, he tossed it back, gestured for another. It was going to be a bad night—was already a bad night—and after years of them, he knew getting shit-faced was the only way he was going to make it through.
