Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(6)

Charlie was all about the saving. Without a doubt, he’d saved me.

He grinned when I looked back at him. “What has you on edge, sugar?”

I hiked a nonchalant shoulder as I strutted past him toward the value-pack of douches leering at my approach. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was no holding back my sneer when I slid the *s their beers.

Charlie snickered when I spun around and passed back by. “You sure about that?”

“Don’t go playin’ counselor, old man. I’m just fine.”

One of his teasing chuckles rippled from him, and he shook his index finger at me. “I bet I know what has those knickers in a twist…you were out with Shea Bear this afternoon trying on your bridesmaid’s dress. Bet you can’t stand to put on a frilly dress for a day.”

Shea and Sebastian had shocked us all when they’d gotten married in Las Vegas six months ago. They claimed that wedding was for them. This one? This one was to bring their friends and families together. A celebration of the life they were beginning together.

I was completely honored she had asked me to stand up as one of her bridesmaids. Escaping to this town, I’d never expected to find friends. To find kind, selfless people whose friendships would grow to the point where I’d consider them family.

So maybe Charlie was just glancing at the root of the problem. I actually didn’t mind the dress. In fact, I kind of loved it. Shea was having a country chic wedding, everything casual and flowy and pretty, just like her personality, and our rustic dresses were no exception.

My problem was the * they’d paired me with. The guy I’d be walking the aisle with. The one I’d have to do that dreaded dance with.

He was the one who had my panties in a twist—tangled and tied and snarled, among other things that had me wanting to scream in frustration.

The one who evoked feelings I refused to feel. Things that made that brittle, fractured spot hidden away somewhere in my chest want to crack.

And…shit.

He was walking through the door.

An electric current charged through the air, blistering as it traveled my skin. Tingles lifted in stark awareness and the breath punched from my lungs.

Want.

Need.

Like the boy held the power to expose every weak spot in my armor.

I hated he had this effect.

But my body didn’t seem to take my hatred into consideration when my heart hammered and sped. My stomach knotted in anticipation.

Catching my bottom lip between my teeth, I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I rimmed four shot glasses with salt, poured tequila across them, garnished them with wedges of lime, all the while being painfully distracted by the knowledge he stood in all his rock ‘n’ roll glory thirty feet away.

The guys from Sunder, plus Shea, spilled in behind him.

Charlie bumped his hip into mine. “Look it there, sugar. Shea and the rest of the wedding party just walked in.”

As if I hadn’t noticed.

“Why don’t you call it a night, hang out, blow off some steam? You should be with the rest of them rather than working your fingers to the bone the way you do for me night after night. I can handle the place.”

Always the caretaker.

I fought the grin pulling at one side of my mouth, shook my head as I went to work wiping down the counter that was already gleaming. “Now there you go worrying about me again, old man. I’m just fine behind this bar. Right where I belong.”

Last thing I needed was to get in the mix of Lyrik and the rest of the guys.

“Pssh.” He waved his hands at me, shooing me back. “Go on, girl. As much as you like to pretend you’re happy with being a loner, you’re just as much a part of that group as the rest of ’em. Besides, you know Shea’s gonna come dragging you out anyway, so you might as well give it up now.”

“Tamar.” And there she was, calling my name.

“What’d I tell you?” Charlie said, lips twitching beneath his scraggly beard.

I tossed down the rag. “Fine.” I pointed a warning finger at him as I backed away. “But I’m not calling it a night. One drink, and I’m back to work.”

“Whatever you say, sugar. We all know who’s the boss around here.”

Charlie’s was housed in one of the old cotton warehouses, the rafters in the high ceilings still exposed, the wooden walls aged to a near black from the years of smoke and bodies and a century of hidden mystery.

I strutted to the far end of the bar that took up the middle of the massive room, the ornate, carved mahogany the focus of Charlie’s. My back was to the front door, and I used the time to prepare myself to come face to face with Lyrik West.

I knew it was crazy. Complete inane craziness. How I was terrified to face the man simply for the way he made me feel. For the way he made me want and desire and question all the promises I’d made myself.

Worst was being aware he enjoyed getting to me so much.

I knew it as well as he did.

He was playing me. Winding me up like a toy.

He’d get off on watching me spin, spin, spin, until I teetered and tottered and toppled. Used up and spent.

Cruel.

I was pretty sure that was the definition of Lyrik West.

I ducked under the small opening at the end, passing by the country band setting up on stage, and headed back toward the entrance.