Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(5)

When I flew in to Savannah yesterday, I knew I would see her. Knew she was going to torture me a little more. Problem was, every time she told me I couldn’t have her, the need she stirred in me just grew.

The girl slung drinks at Charlie’s, the bar Shea, Baz’s wife, had worked at when they’d first met. The same bar Shea’s uncle Charlie owned. Every time I walked through the doors of that bar, a crazy feeling skimmed my veins, filling me full of some kind of foolish excitement I hadn’t felt in a long damned time.

Didn’t know what came over me when she invaded my space. She was like a red-headed siren, circling and circling and circling me on unsettled waters until I was trapped in some kind of vortex. It instantly flipped a switch in me and my dick started doing the talking.

And believe me, he was a dick.

Guess he didn’t like being ignored. Shot down and rejected.

Neither of us were used to that shit. I didn’t chase women. They chased me. Flocked in droves, really. And that wasn’t my dick talking again. It’s just the way it was. After a show, they were always there, doing their own circling, some acting coy and others’ advances blatantly clear. But they all wanted the same thing.

Me.

But not Red. Every advance I made? She pushed right back. Hard.

It was no secret I loved women. Loved the way they smelled. Loved the way they tasted. Most of all, I loved the way they felt.

But I didn’t love women.

Loving someone was like volunteering for heartache and sorrow and a lifetime of bullshit.

But I wanted one. I wanted her.

Tamar King.

We had a love/hate relationship.

I loved messing with her and she loved to hate me for it.

Just once, I wanted her to let go. I wanted the girl to come at me with the brunt of all the hostility radiating from that white, snowy flesh that peeked out from behind the pretty tats twisting down her arms. Tats I had the intense need to lick.

Yeah.

The girl looked like the perfect sin.

But there was something more. Something darker. Anger leached from her. The kind of anger that was real and not the angsty show all these other girls prancing around backstage liked to put on.

For one night, I wanted her to give it to me. Fight it out with me. Hands and teeth and bodies. Right in my bed.

My phone dinged and I glanced at the screen.

Ash.

You get Shea & Sebastian’s wedding gift, *?

I tapped back a reply, grinning at one of my oldest friends who couldn’t stay serious for five seconds. Yep.

Immediately it dinged. You impress me.

I could feel his sarcasm woven in the words.

Whatever, man. You’d forget your head without me.

Keep telling yourself that. We all know I’m the brains of the bunch. See you at 10.

I smiled and that same pulse of excitement vibrated through me. Nah, this little break wasn’t going to be so bad after all.





CHARLIE’S BUZZED AROUND ME. Lights were cast low and the music turned high. Bodies pressed up to the smooth, antique bar, vying to get my attention as I scrambled behind it, filling pitchers full of microbrews while simultaneously shaking up a couple Purple Lamborghinis.

I slid the two martinis to the blondes commiserating their love-life woes over drinks at the end of the bar.

“Here we go. Two Purple Lamborghinis. Watch yourselves. Those go down fast and ride you hard.”

The woman on the right smiled wide. “Mmm…after the day I’ve had, fast and furious is exactly what I need. Keep them coming.”

“Glad I could be of service.”

“Hey, princess, how about another round of beers down here?” The same * who’d been eyeing me up and down all night shot me a smarmy smile. No doubt, it was supposed to melt my panties.

Gross.

My brow arched all on its own, tone going coy. I was getting good at this game. “Now…now… Do I look like a princess to you?”

“Nah, baby cakes, you look like a wet dream.”

Let me reiterate.

Gross.

So gross.

And seriously, baby cakes?

What a douchebag.

You’d think after everything, I’d have picked a different work atmosphere. Away from men and sex and innuendo.

Or maybe it wasn’t so strange after all.

Maybe I’d ended up here because it drew them into the light, the blatant advances and trashy pick-up lines dealt every night. I was always prepared. Never caught unaware.

“I’ll show you a wet dream. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be pissing in your sleep for the next month.” It was all a grumble under my breath as I filled three mugs for him and his two friends, who were, surprise, surprise, just as douchy as the first.

“Easy now, sweetheart.” Charlie’s soothing voice came at me from behind. “I see someone’s feeling extra feisty tonight. Don’t need you chasing the customers out the door.”

Charlie was the owner of Charlie’s, a bar boasting a prime spot on the river walk here in Savannah. It was super popular, packed night after night, people flocking in to unwind at the end of the day and watch the local bands. I’d been working here for the last four years, first working in the kitchen before I was old enough to be out front.

He was also the owner of the apartment I’d been renting above one of his buildings for the same amount of time. The guy wore a ratty T-shirt and an even rattier gray beard, but not even all that facial hair could conceal the genuine smile peeking out from underneath. The guy was as good as they got.