Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(29)

I do remember that, and I’d read that interview. But I didn’t know until now that she’d written “Hype City” sitting across from me at the bar.

And now I have chills. Although this story isn’t about me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “No wonder you haven’t fired your security guy.”

“Yeah. I’m not in a hurry to replace Mr. Muscles, because at least he’s careful.”

“Mr. Muscles?” I crack a smile. “That’s what you call your bodyguard?”

She gets a playful look in her eye. She leans a little closer and whispers. “He has no neck.”

“I noticed that,” I whisper back.

Her smile fades. “The creepy letters aren’t really my biggest problem. Brett is holding my album hostage.”

“Your album…Lucky Hearts? The new one?”

“You know the title?” She perks up. “That’s a good sign. I’m worried that people will forget about me before he releases it. It’s been ready for months. He won’t release it until I sign on for a third.”

“But I heard a new song a few months ago.”

“You listen to my stuff?” She tilts her head to the side, like she doesn’t really believe me.

“Sometimes,” I hear myself say. But it’s a bold-faced lie, and my friends would convulse with laughter if they heard that. So I have to come clean. “I only listen to your stuff whenever I’m conscious.”

She squints at me, like maybe I’m making fun of her. But I’m not, and it’s vital she knows. So I turn and scoop her off the couch. My arms are full of warm, cynical girl, just like I’ve always wanted. I deposit her in my lap.

She lets out a squeak of surprise, and then we’re nose to nose, with her straddling me.

Finally.

My pulse kicks into overdrive now. She feels way too good in my arms. “You should know that I own your first album on vinyl as well as CD. And of course it’s on my phone.”

“You…really?” She blinks at me at incredibly close range. “Vinyl?”

“Yup. But it’s never been played because I don’t have a turntable. And I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I told you I wanted to hear ‘Sparkle On’ make it big on the radio.”

“Yes, you did.” She swallows. “As did I. Didn’t know it would turn my life into a freak show, though. You were right about Ferris.”

“Ah.” I tighten my arms around her. “You know, a man usually likes to hear that he’s right. But in this case, I’m sorry.”

She looks down at my chest, as if taking in the fact that we’ve never been as close as we are right now. “Are you?”

“Am I what? Right?”

“No—are you sorry. Seems like you turned up about ten minutes after I finally kicked him to the curb. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“No, it really is. I was watching Dallas versus L.A., and there you were. But do you remember last year after your Madison Square Garden concert—taking a photo with a bunch of women from a shelter in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah. A battered-women’s shelter, right?”

“That’s the place. Those women had my tickets. Second row. I’m still trying not to hold it against them.”

“What?” Her eyes widen. “You were going to come to the show?”

“My friends surprised me with the tickets. Or they tried to. We got snowed in on the West Coast. There was a freak snowstorm in Seattle of all places.”

“Oh.” She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, and it’s right there. I want to bite it, too. Her weight feels good on my lap, and it’s a struggle not to pull her closer to me. “You gave your tickets to battered women? You really are the nicest guy in the world.”

“That wasn’t my idea,” I admit. “Georgia—our team publicist—thought of it when we got stranded.” I lift my hand and push a strand of dark, shiny hair out of her face. “But…” I clear my throat. “The fact that you’re single right this second? That doesn’t make me sad at all. I hope you’re okay with me saying that.”

“Well…” She gives her head a nervous shake. “If only I felt free like I’m supposed to. I’ve needed to walk away from him for a long time. I’m still not free of him.”

“But you will be,” I whisper, because my self-control is starting to slip.

“Eventually.” She puts a palm on my chest, and all my synapses fire at once. My body begs her, Touch me more. “Listen, Ralph—” She sighs. “Silas. Whatever your name is. I really don’t need another man to complicate my life.”

“Who said anything about complicated? There is nothing complicated at all about me right now.” I flatten one of my hands on her lower back and then rub the muscles sweetly.

Her eyes flutter closed, because she likes it that much. But then they snap open again. “Why didn’t I know your real name before now?”

“It wasn’t meant to be a giant secret. Ralph was a nickname I picked up in high school. And Danny from Roadie Joe’s—the son of the owner? He made me that name tag to wear behind the bar.”

“Everyone called you Ralph in high school?”