Rock Chick Reckoning (Rock Chick #6)(63)

Then I felt his body heat and it was both immense and close.

I looked up to see he’d closed the distance and was inches away.

Yikes!

Before I could say anything, he spoke.

“What I wanna know is,” he started softly, “what the f**k you’re stil doin’ in Denver?”

I was finding it hard to breathe, seeing as he was close, his heat was hitting me, he was seriously good-looking and I had nowhere to retreat.

I persevered, “I live here.”

“No, I mean you and the band. Anybody who sees you play knows they got a bargain. They should be payin’ top arena prices to watch the likes of you.”

I was no longer finding it hard to breathe, I was just not breathing at all.

Did he real y say that?

He kept going. “You need a decent manager. You should be on the road. You should go to LA. You should get under the nose of some scouts.”

“I’ve talked to scouts,” I broke in.

“And?”

“I like where I am.”

I watched as surprise crossed his features and he muttered, “You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, real y, this is good.”

He shook his head. “You’re better.”

I felt that weird panic edging into me but it was connected with the same thril of being on the front page of The Denver Post.

“This is good,” I repeated, ignoring the panic and the thril .

“You’re better,” he repeated too.

“You don’t understand,” I sighed and pressed myself against the counter to get a little space but this didn’t work because he leaned in. I stared in fascination as his face grew hard.

“No, I don’t. I don’t have a gift. Been watchin’ yours for awhile now and wonderin’ why you don’t share it with more people.” He paused and got even closer before he asked,

“You wanna tel me why?”

“Not real y,” I answered and it was the truth.

Not only was it the truth, it was none of his business.

Not only was it the truth, it was none of his business.

I barely knew this guy!

Granted, he told me about whoever-she-was but this wasn’t share and share alike.

Unh-unh.

No way.

He stared at me.

I stared back.

He stared at me some more.

I stared back some more.

Then he moved away an inch and said, “I f**kin’ hope Mace can talk some sense into you.”

“Once this is done, so are Mace and I,” I informed him bitchily.

I watched his brows go up right before he burst out laughing, throwing his head back and everything.

I crossed my arms on my chest.

“What’s so damn funny?” I snapped.

When he stopped laughing, his face was stil warm with it and if I thought he was good-looking before, I was wrong.

Now, he was just plain beautiful.

“You are, mamita. You’re f**kin’ hilarious.”

“Am not,” I returned, sounding like a six year old and also not caring. He was freaking me out!

Hector leaned in again. “You are and I’l want f**kin’

backstage passes when you’re on your first world tour.”

“Right,” I muttered dismissively but feeling the panic and thril slice through me again.

“Right,” Hector replied firmly.

The door opened and I was saved from further discourse with Hot Hector by my loud band storming in, led by Mace.

It took Mace a mil isecond to notice Hector and I in a close squeeze in the kitchen and it took another mil isecond for his temper to flare.

“What the f**k?” he asked.

“I was making coffee,” I explained immediately, sounding stupid.

“Thank God. Coffee!” Leo exclaimed, making a beeline toward the kitchen.

“Be cool, hombre. We were just havin’ a chat,” Hector put in, exiting the kitchen as Leo entered.

“I hope that f**kin’ coffee’s strong,” Hugo grumbled.

“A chat?” Mace asked.

“Yeah, nothin’ to get excited about,” Hector replied but I watched and Mace didn’t look like he believed Hector.

“Is there gonna be enough coffee for everyone?” Buzz asked.

“It’s not even finished brewing yet!” Pong shouted like the coffee was going to take three years to brew and that was the only sustenance he was al owed.

Juno shifted her big dog body out of the smal space as the male, human, Blue Moon Gypsy bodies pressed toward the coffeepot. I took my opportunity and fol owed her.

I was done.

D-o-n-e, done.

I stomped straight to the bed, Juno leading the way, and when we made it there, she jumped up on the bed and I looked at her.

“Why me?” I asked my dog.

Juno woofed.

“Why can’t I be a lesbian?” I continued.

Juno sat down, her tail sweeping the bedclothes in a wide arc, her tongue lol ing out the side of her mouth, her inability to speak English hindering our counseling session.

“Why couldn’t I form an al -girl band like The Go-Gos?” I went on.

“The Go-Gos! Surfer-girl music? Shee-it. You crazy?” Hugo cal ed from behind me.