Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(14)

Maybe. I’m not ready to trust it.

Today I’m too far inside my own head. Any songwriting I do will come out broody and self-conscious.

So I don’t take my notebook to the park near the beach and find an isolated spot in the shade. My feet lead me somewhere else entirely. The fine shops on Main Street eventually give way to a gas station and a nondescript post office.

Past that is my true destination: Roadie Joe’s.

Just like the last time I was here, the outdoor tables facing the beach are all occupied. But as I pause at the side window and peer into the darkened bar, I see only one person.

Ralph is there, just like last time.

I pause for a moment, taking him in. He’s chopping something with those strong hands. I have a thing for men’s hands, apparently.

The rest of him is pretty great, too. There’s something sexy about the way he moves. And the trimmed beard works well on him. It makes him more rugged than beautiful. Except for those kind eyes. They’re special—a green-blue color, rimmed with dark brown lashes.

Still, California is full of attractive men. Standing here, gazing through the window, I still can’t figure out why he’s so fascinating to me. But he is.

So I open the door and step inside. There’s some music playing at low volume and kitchen sounds, too. Ralph doesn’t hear me as I cross the room to the bar. The stool slides noiselessly when I pull it out. I sit down, still unnoticed.

Then, as he twists to reach for a pitcher, he finally spots me. He’s startled, pausing midstep. Then something goes very wrong. One moment we’ve locked eyes, and the next moment he disappears from view, falling violently to the floor with a horrible crash and a thump.

“Omigod are you okay?” I squeak. “Ralph?”

“Fine!” He lets out a frustrated groan and climbs to his feet. “I slipped. My buddy took the rubber mats outside and…” He shakes his head, then rubs the side of it. I suspect he whacked it against something. “What are you, part ninja? At least nobody else saw that.”

“Dude, are you okay?” another voice asks. A young guy in an apron appears, carrying a black rubber mat behind the bar area. “That looked rough.”

Ralph rolls his eyes. “Looked worse than it was,” he lies, trying to save his dignity. “And it’s your fault, anyway.”

The guy laughs. “Let’s put these back down before I’m responsible for your death.”

Ralph ignores him. “Would you like a beer?” he asks me.

I glance at the pile of mint leaves on his cutting board and hesitate. “Sure,” I say. But the mint looks so fresh and pretty.

“I could make you something different.”

“Beer is great. A cold…”

“—lager,” he finishes. “No glass, no opener.”

When I look up to flash him a smile, my heart does a little somersault. Those kind eyes are smiling at me, too. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“It’s really no problem.” He turns toward the beer cooler. “You’re an easy customer, trust me.”

But I really meant—thank you for remembering. As he leans down to grab a bottle for me, I find myself admiring the strong muscles in his back. Stop it, I admonish myself. It only gets worse when he turns around and places the bottle in front of me. I’ve never seen hands like his. I didn’t even know wrists could look muscular.

Even so. Ogling him is not why I came here. I pull out my keychain opener and remove the cap from my beer.

Ralph discards it, gives me another pleasant smile and then picks up his paring knife again.

I take a sip, wondering when he’s going to mention my show at the Coconut Club. He was there. I saw him.

He separates some mint leaves from their stems and says nothing.

I last about seventeen seconds. “Well?”

“Well?” He looks up. “Sorry?”

“Jesus lord.” I close my eyes and then open them again. This is not going how I’d hoped it would. “What did you think?”

“Of…?” His amazing eyes are studying me.

“Forget I asked.” I take a swig of beer.

“Think about what?” He pushes the cutting board aside, and his smile turns knowing.

“My set at the Coconut Club! I saw you holding up that wall in the back. Don’t lie.”

He tips his head back and lets out a sudden laugh. “I’m so busted. I loved your show, but I didn’t expect you to spot me.”

“You loved it so much you weren’t going to say anything?” The sentence sounds crazy to my own ears. I put down the beer. “You know what? Never mind. I’m just being psycho right now. This town is getting into my head.”

“Listen, girly.” He braces both (muscular!) hands on the bar and looks me right in the eye. “I loved it so much that I don’t even know what to say about it. From that moment at the beginning—when you shut that asshole’s maw? To the part where you made a lady cry.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t look away. And I never wanted it to end.”

I give him a slow blink, just trying to take that in. It’s so much more than I was even hoping to hear.

“Shit, Delilah. If that set doesn’t win you whatever contract you’re looking for, they don’t even deserve you.”