Rock Chick Reckoning (Rock Chick #6)(62)

“What’s going on?”

“I just want to get a few things straight with the band.” I did not think so.

“About what?” I pushed.

“About ‘no comment’.”

Oh.

Okay.

I could see that.

Mace and I both knew everyone, including the grieving Buzz, would be happily loose-lipped with reporters unless warned. Especial y if they thought they could get The Blue Moon Gypsies and any of our gig dates in print.

“You can talk to them up here,” I told him.

“I’m talkin’ to them downstairs.”

“Mace.”

“Stel a.”

“Jesus, is someone gonna let us in or what?” Pong’s disembodied voice didn’t come through the panel, we could hear him shouting from outside.

“Two seconds,” Hector said into the speaker and before I could say another word, Mace was gone.

I looked at the door then at Hector and remarked angrily,

“He’s annoying.”

“He’s probably got his reasons,” Hector replied.

“And I should care about those reasons because…” I prompted.

Hector didn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to care about

‘em, you just gotta understand he has ‘em.” I glared at Hector for a beat.

Whatever.

It was then I realized I was alone with Hector and it was then I remembered to feel uncomfortable.

I stared at him.

He grinned at me.

Al of a sudden I didn’t know what to do or say. Al I could think about was Mace tel ing me that in twenty-four hours, Hector would have me flat on my back, him on top and both of us would be naked.

And this didn’t seem like a bad idea.

Oh my God, you are SUCH a slut, my brain remarked.

This was al communicated to Hector on some Hot Guy Secret Wavelength and his grin turned to a wolfish but highly effective smile.

Effing hel .

Thankful y, he threw me a bone.

“You were makin’ coffee?” he reminded me.

“Oh yeah, right,” I muttered and then scooted into the kitchen.

I grabbed the pot, fil ed it with water and turned to the coffeemaker while Hector joined me in the kitchen. I would have preferred him to stay further away (say, Alaska) but I didn’t have a choice and I didn’t want to ask him because he’d think I was a slutty wuss.

I poured the water into the coffeemaker and tucked some hair behind my ear.

“So…” I searched desperately for conversation, wondering how long it would take to tel the band they had two words they could say to reporters and other than that they had to keep their mouths shut and I figured, with my band, it would take approximately eighty-two hours.

I was going to have to make a lot of conversation.

I glanced at Hector. “Do you have a girlfriend?” Now why did I ask that?

Why, why, why?

“Nope,” Hector replied.

“No one special?” I went on.

Shut up! My brain screamed.

“Didn’t say that,” Hector answered.

Interesting. My brain was no longer screaming.

I shoved the pot under the spout, flipped the switch and looked at him ful y.

“There’s someone special?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“But she’s not your girlfriend?”

He crossed his arms on his chest, leaned a hip against the counter and again didn’t answer.

“Who is she?”

“She’s not a Rock Chick,” he told me. “She’s rich. She’s unbelievably f**kin’ beautiful. She made the first move and then shut me down so she’s gonna have to make the second move too.”

I blinked.

This seemed a lot of sharing for a badass tough guy, a badass tough guy I barely knew.

I was curious to know what shutting Hector down entailed and why any woman in her right mind would do such a ridiculous thing but I was too much of a scaredy-cat to ask.

“And what do you do until she makes the second move?” I asked because she would make the second move, no doubt about it, she’d be crazy not to.

He was back to grinning and he answered, “I have fun.” Oh lordy be.

I knew what Hot Guy Fun consisted of. I’d had a dose of it that morning with Mace’s hand in my panties.

Whoever-she-was, she better hurry up.

Al of a sudden, Hector said, “You’re good.” I stared at him, my mind stil on whoever she was and hot guys’ hands in my panties, I wasn’t fol owing.

“What?”

“I’ve seen you play, at The Little Bear, Herman’s, The Gothic. You’re good.”

I had compliments before, even compliments from hot guys, even compliments from hot guys who wanted to get in my panties (likely, they were complimenting me because they wanted to get in my panties).

But something about the simple way Hector shared his opinion felt different, more honest. I knew innately that he wasn’t the type of guy who threw meaningless compliments around for the ef of it.

I felt my cheeks getting warm, turned away to look at the fil ing coffeepot and muttered, “Thanks,” hoping he’d move on to a different subject. This one was even more uncomfortable than the last.