Hot Phoenix Nights

HOT PHOENIX NIGHTS

…His fingers ran through my hair and skimmed over my shoulders as we pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the hotel. I leaned over, stretched my seatbelt as far as it would go, and nuzzled his throat before the fear of obscuring his vision and driving off the road outweighed the need to kiss him. “Do women ever offer to give you a blow job?” “No.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his perfect lips. I glanced down and considered smoothing my wrinkled skirt, but I wanted him to reach over and bunch it up. “Mostly it’s men.” My head nearly snapped from my shoulders as I turned to face him. He laughed as though he’d waited hours to say that. “You’re crazy.” “Pretty much.” “But you never answered my question.” I twirled a strand of hair between my fingers faster and faster. My heart thumped in my chest like the bass in my cousin’s low rider. There was a fine line between hoochie mama and seductress and I didn’t know where I stood. We came to a stop at a red light and his hands slid to the bottom of the steering wheel. Dark eyes studied my face, put up a direct challenge. I accepted and held his gaze, wanting him to tell me I was the first—or at least say it had been a while.

“Has a man ever looked you in the eye and told you he wants to pull your thighs apart and lick, suck, and bite you until you can barely breathe?”

ALSO BY GABRINA GARZA Adeno The Countess of Suburbia

HOT PHOENIX NIGHTS BY GABRINA GARZA

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

HOT PHOENIX NIGHTS AN AMBER HEAT BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com http://www.amberheat.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2007 by Gabrina Garza ISBN 978-1-60272-041-1 Cover Art © 2007 Trace Edward Zaber Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Jax for being Superfan Girl and tellin’ it like it is. Without the whiskey (and dairy), the Bulge, and the four cardinal rules, I couldn’t “Be creative, B.E. creative.”

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CHAPTER 1 She fucked him like she knew him. Hands threaded in his hair, her back arched as she rode him, faster and faster. Her tits jiggled in his face, hardened nipples caught between his teeth as he sucked one, then the other. “Oh, yeah, Nick,” she groaned, her voice growing louder and louder as he teased her. She moved his hand from the small of her back to her butt. “Come on, slap it, baby.” His hand cracked her ass and she screamed, letting the whole apartment building know she was riding Nick Copeland’s dick and loving every moment of it. She did know him as only a new lover could know him— 1

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which wasn’t how I knew him. I knew the specific amount of toothpaste he had to use in order to brush his teeth, the exact number of minutes he had to steep his tea before he considered it drinkable, the way he liked to fill me with ice and come inside of me. Yeah, I knew him. I’d known him since college, since debt and Spaghetti-Os were the two words we knew best. Blondie didn’t know shit. Tapping on the open door, I became the ultimate coitus interruptus in a pair of Jimmy Choos and a sleek ponytail. Too bad I tripped on the plush carpet and stumbled during my grand entrance. But there’s nothing quite like a girlfriend of five years walking in on an afternoon fuck session, especially when “The Boyfriend” was supposed to be at the office. Tax week for an accountant is supposed to be busy, don’tcha know? I wondered if Blondie punched numbers in his office or flirted from the bar into his pants. It was hard to tell when all I saw was a side profile, no business suit or fuck me heels to give away her profession. “My plane leaves in two hours,” I said, emotionless. “When I get home Monday, you better have all your shit outta here.” His eyes bulged, both hands leaving her perfect little ass, complete with hand mark on the left cheek. Blondie twisted around, still slowly riding him, unwilling to give up her climax on my account. She looked me over, scrutinized everything about me. Didn’t like my hips, thought my legs were better than hers—but she quickly found me too 2

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short. Like I was the one coming up short. I guess we were both guilty of snap judgment. “Who the fuck are you?” I snatched my bag off the floor and arched a brow. “I was his girlfriend.” The door slammed shut, my hands trembled with sudden, wicked realization. I blinked at the door across the hall, the familiar, cozy frontier of home sweet home. My eyelashes hit the lenses of my horn-rimmed glasses. Damn glasses. He always said he liked them, said the dark rims complemented my complexion. Sexy. Sophisticated. That lying, cheating bastard. For one split second I considered spinning around and kicking the door, but couldn’t risk the shoes, couldn’t risk my flawless exit. He’d remember that one for quite some time. The grip on my bag tightened. In two hours I’d be on my way to the Sonoran Desert, hoping three days could erase five years. *

*

*

“Flight attendants, secure the aircraft for takeoff.” I closed my eyes as the petite redhead walked the passengers through evacuation procedures should a plane heading from Chicago to Phoenix catapult into a large body of water. While the engines revved, I pushed up my cuticles and thought about the likelihood of that scenario. Probably nil. The guy next to me smelled like too much upscale cologne and looked like a cowboy. He continued to shift and sigh, 3

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which made the window seat hell. But I wanted a window seat, wanted to watch Chicago disappear and the land spread out, vast and unfamiliar. I was a modern-day pioneer, my Conestoga replaced by a jetliner with extra leg room. “Sorry, darlin’,” my rowmate said as he tapped his newspaper against his closed fist. “Dang airplanes make me more nervous than heck.” I smiled politely. My mom had that problem a long time ago. Usually a few Long Island ice teas settled her enough to fly from Chicago to Denver, where my grandparents lived on the edge of a tiny resort town called Nobility. “Business or fun in Phoenix?” He stretched his legs as far as the cramped space allowed. “Half and half.” He nodded and tugged at his seatbelt. “Funeral.” I frowned, brushed my dark hair back from my face. “Well, it wasn’t my original reason for travel, but you know how plans are. Make ’em and break ’em.” Tell me about it, Tex. My plan breaker’s name is Phoebe, or Bubbles, or Trixie. “So what’s the business part of travel?” “I’m a music reviewer for Dark Horse.” He seemed too old to drool over my job—or maybe I was just showing off to a guy who owned a record label or promoted Dave Matthews Band. I worked—or whored myself out—for the second largest press catering to twentysomethings who thought they were cool and thirty-somethings who probably looked at the twenty-somethings and rolled their 4

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eyes. Whatever the case, he nodded as though he picked up a copy each time he went into some anti-Starbucks establishment. “Sounds like fun.” “It is.” Normally. Sans the deadlines, an often bitchy editor, and constantly rearranged paragraphs which the bitchy editor thinks reads better. Who, me? Bitter? Not until my boyfriend of forever became a pogo stick for some bleach blonde with perky tits. I sipped my Amaretto sour. “May I ask what you do?” “Whatever I dang well please.” He winked. “I’m retired, sweetheart. Bet you couldn’t tell from the blonde hair.” He lifted his hat and showed me his nearly bald pate. With a chuckle I swirled the ice in my drink. No, I wasn’t hitting on him. This was a guy who very well could have golfed with my dad. But Tex was definitely my kind of guy. Too bad he didn’t come in a model twenty years younger, sans the cologne and not necessarily with the ranch. We chatted a while longer, though I never found out who the funeral was for or whether Phoenix or Chicago—or neither—was home to him. I never even knew his name. Like strangers we stepped from the plane, and while he went to baggage claim, I pulled out my cell phone and waited to see if Nick had called to grovel. I wanted to hear his message, mostly because I wanted to delete it and forget him. But there were no calls. There was just me in the airport with my lonely, call-free cell phone. I dug out my notebook and reviewed the game plan, which I’d gotten from Maloney’s 5

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band manager a week ago. Meet me outside baggage claim. Simple enough. My only contact with Gary had been a million emails and a few phone calls, most of which took place with him at a bar or at a club. “Baby, when you comin’ out?” were his famous words. Baby this, baby that. I had to review his band just to shut him up. Oh, and because I had a thing for bald guys. Check that. I had a thing for bald guys who were on time picking me up from the airport. Strike one against Maloney. After several moments of pacing I called Gary’s cell. It sounded like a frat house answered. “Josie, baby, what’s up, chica?” “Nothin’. What are you up to, Gar?” “Out with my girls.” “Ah. Did you forget something?” I wondered if the sound of a jet taking off overhead would clue him in or if the Tanqueray and tonic made him deaf. “Oh, shit. Are you still in Chicago?” “Been in Phoenix International for about a half hour.” That’s counting the plane landing and taxiing to the gate, which he didn’t have to know. I was banking on groveling now and free drinks later. “I’m about an hour away from you. Here, this is what I’m going to do for you, babe.” I rolled my eyes and released a sigh I hoped to God he 6

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heard. “Crow was at home the last I heard.” The drummer. He was pawning me off on the fucking drummer. “Okay…” “He’s in Tempe. Give him a ring and he’ll pick you up.” “Gary, I have a happy hour show I need to see tonight, which starts at nine.” “No sweat. He’s a fast driver. You got his number?” Simone, Gary’s ex-girlfriend and the Web Chick for everything internet-related, had faxed me a map and phone numbers for everyone I might need to contact. Somewhere on that list was a number for Crow Harper, truck driver by day, drummer by night. “Yeah, I got it.” “Then you better call him, baby, before you’re late.” He hung up before I could think of a smartass comment. Ten seconds later I was on the phone with the drummer. “Hey, Crow?” “Hey, what?” “Hey.” I paused, still registering his deep growl of a voice soaked in a little Houston accent. Damn, why was he behind a drum set? “This is Josie Salazar… from Dark Horse Reviews…in Chicago. Illinois.” Just in case he flunked Geography 101. I heard him chuckle, which made my hand clench tightly around the phone. “Yeah, I know who you are. You have a picture of a wizard in your email signatures.” His brakes let 7

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out a terrible screech. At least I knew he was in his car. “Yeah, that’s me.” The wizard girl. “Your manager was supposed to pick me up at the airport.” “Yeah.” He didn’t sound like he was paying attention to me. “Next week, right?” “No, tonight.” He slammed on the brakes. “Are you at the airport?” “Yeah. Gary said you’d pick me up.” “Fucker.” Gee, thanks. He sighed heavily. “I’ve gotta take the truck back.” “You’re still at work?” “Yeah. Can you sit tight for another twenty minutes?” I glanced at my watch, the one Nick had given me on our fifth anniversary. If there had been time to buy a new one somewhere in between finding him with his personal porn star and going through airport security I would have preferred one without ex-boyfriend karma attached to it. “I need to be at Robin’s performance at the Yucca Taproom.” “When’s that start?” “Nine.” “You gotta see it from the beginning?” He revved the engine. “Not quite.” “Good, ’cause it ain’t happenin’. Make friends with the locals. I’ll be there soon.” ‘Soon’ could have meant anything, so I parked my bag and 8

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my butt on a stone bench and watched cars pass. I had no idea what kind of car Crow drove, though I did have a few photos of him and the other four guys who called themselves Maloney. It’s impossible to get a good image of someone photographed on stage. The lights don’t do them justice, and most of the time their expressions are twisted and faces sweaty. I doodled in my notebook and eavesdropped on conversations around me for the first ten minutes. One woman wasn’t happy with her significant other, another little kid had to pee, and an old lady couldn’t believe how warm it was outside. “Perdon.” A woman in a dark blue suit smiled. “Ando perdido. ¿Dónde está el autobus o los taxis?” My pen slipped out of my hand and I nervously pushed my glasses up my nose. As a rebellious teenager I’d taken French instead of Spanish, and now it had come back to bite me in the ass. “Oh. Um.” ¿Como se dice I only know the dirty words? “¿Hablas español?” “No estoy de aquí.” She frowned, apparently surprised I wasn’t a local, and tapped her shoe against the cement. I looked past her and saw a taxi sign with an arrow pointing to the left. “Pero hay seño para los taxis.” She gave a sigh. “Eso. Gracias.” With a triumphant smile I picked up my pen. One by one 9

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people and pieces of luggage disappeared into cars and buses while I sat and darkened the lines of colorful words which surrounded a stick figure of Nick. I glanced up and found myself staring at a fuzzy reflection in a stainless steel panel. No lipstick, hair out of place, and a pair of jeans I never should have bought. This was the face of a woman who’d been scorned. Shit. Backpack slung over my shoulder, I weaved through the crowd and entered the airport. The bathroom, luckily, was vacant as I plopped my jacket and backpack down and sifted through the contents. Ten minutes later I was sitting with notebook in hand, eyes adjusting to the contacts I never wore. It wasn’t like turning Cinderella into a princess, but I felt the difference each time I rubbed my lips together, each time I ran my hand down from my thigh to my knee and felt the fabric hug my curves. I was dressed for work in a My Chemical Romance T-shirt and black skirt. I was a veritable Clark Kent, prepared to report everything about the best bands. “Excuse me, miss?” I covered my notebook and stared at an old man wearing a tweed jacket. “There’s a gentleman in a red car. I believe he’s trying to get your attention.” And there was Crow, sans the flashing stage lights, the beads of sweat, and a pair of drumsticks. He leaned against the passenger door, his head cocked to the side and muscular arms 10

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crossed. Other than a John Deere hat I’d seen in photographs, he could have walked past me and I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything except his substantial height. I slung my bag over my shoulder and dragged my carry-on bag behind me. The wheels caught on the curb and I wrestled it toward his red Grand Am. So much for my superpowers. “Were you hiding?” He took my bag from me and tossed it into the trunk as though forty pounds of shoes and weekend clothes were feather light. He turned and faced me, dark eyes narrowed. From his last name I’d assumed he was British, but when I looked up—way up—he was copper-skinned. Indian, possibly Navajo, with high cheekbones, thick lips, and enigmatic eyes. It was his eyes that trapped the breath in my throat. He looked at me like he’d known me from the day I was born, but he continued to stare at me like he wanted to know me until the day I died. “Hiding? Why would I be hiding?” I mumbled. He towered over me, angular face unreadable. Usually in a pair of chunky heels I felt tall, but beneath his gaze I was awkward, clumsy. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through a mess of thick, dark hair. A smile played at the corners of his mouth and belied his deep, serious tone. “On the bench. In the shadows. You sure you weren’t hiding?” “No, I was waiting.” “Pretty damn far away from the street,” he grumbled. “There was no place else to sit.” I glanced back at all the empty benches and cringed. Twenty minutes ago the whole 11

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place had been packed. “I drove around three times before I saw you.” “Why didn’t you call me? I would have stayed by the curb if I’d known you were here already.” He didn’t reply, and before I’d buckled my seatbelt we were zigzagging through traffic. “Practicing for NASCAR?” I asked, attempting to lighten the conversation. “It’s my roommate’s car. I wouldn’t drive my own like this.” I sank lower in the seat and chuckled. “Nice.” He glanced over and grinned at me, a sly, devilish expression that creased his dark eyes and released the most pinchable dimples I’d ever seen. He looked at me, through me. My heart stuttered, hands clenched, but nothing happened. He pulled on the bill of his hat and watched the road, leaving me to stare at his jaw and wide nose. Damn. How’d I missed this in the press photos? “You said you had to get to the Yucca Taproom.” Long fingers grasped the steering wheel. I could easily picture them tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. “Yes, preferably in one piece.” “I’m gettin’ you there. Hold on, sweetheart.” Somehow, I bet he could get me there. With his long fingers. With his hot tongue. With his thick penis. Again, and again, and again. Immediately I knew what my girlfriends meant when they said they’d met an HFM—Highly Fuckable Man. This guy 12

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was trouble. I chewed on my lower lip, my nipples aching against a snug-fitting T-shirt. I forced myself to sit back and I crossed my legs to quell the throb. This was as bad as lusting after a coworker or client. Maloney was all business for me, but I was freshly single and he was the first guy I’d seen. There had to be more tall, good-looking guys like him running around the Phoenix area. Inwardly I smiled. Nick was gone. What I needed was a HFM of my own, at least for the weekend.

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CHAPTER 2 Crow slid another Amaretto sour onto the tiny barroom table and moved our empty glasses aside. The Yucca was packed with a good crowd of surprisingly patient people waiting for Robin to get his amps in order. “Looks like you only missed one song,” Crow drawled as he eased back in his chair. “I guess so.” I wrinkled my nose and ran my fingers through my hair. He stared at me with the same close-lipped smile on his face as I’d seen in the car. It was dangerous to look at him. I’d never noticed in the publicity shots that he had a nice mouth surrounded by stubble. 14

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“You hungry?” he asked. In truth, I was too giddy to worry about food, but as I sipped my third drink, I figured it was better to eat half a sandwich than down another beverage. “What do they serve?” He stood, placing his broad hands on the table. “I’ll grab a menu.” I turned to see if all of the tables behind us were filled and stared at a jeans zipper barely containing a very male bulge directly in my face. Leaning back, I found a guy with shoulder-length dark hair and a battered Dead Hot Workshop T-shirt standing over me. He was talking—mostly with his hands—to a leggy woman with a neckline that may as well have gone down to her belly button. She kept playing with her tacky leather cowboy hat—a matching accessory to her black leather pants and—oh, what’s this? The dead cow ensemble was complete with a leather vest. I’d seen this guy before and thought his name was Doug, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him. He glanced down at me and smiled before he continued talking to the leather-clad Boobzilla. Unable to place him, I turned and discovered Crow once again sitting across from me with two menus. “Mexican and burgers.” “Veggie?” He arched an eyebrow as though he had a feeling I was going to ask for the vegetarian menu. “You can have the 15

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lettuce off my burger,” he offered with another easy smile. God damn was he sexy. “You done serving five to ten, Harper?” We both glanced up to find the familiar stranger standing over our table with his muscular arms crossed. “Doug.” Crow stood and shook his hand. So I was right. His name was Doug. “Hey, who’s this?” I stood and offered a handshake, which he readily accepted. “Josie Salazar. I write for Dark Horse Reviews .” Doug held my hand in both of his as he looked me in the eye. Immediately I recognized his type. He was a natural flirt with soulful dark eyes and an unshaven square jaw. Typical lead singer, probably honed his skills back in high school or college while handing out demos to gum-chewing girls who thought sleeping with someone in the band somehow equaled fame and fortune. “It’s nice to meet you, Josie. I can’t imagine why you’re here with this ape. Young girls like you are what got him in trouble the first time.” Crow gave him the finger. “Don’t start with the mother and sister jokes either. She’s here to review my band.” “Ah, now Maloney is your band.” Doug grinned at Crow before he turned his attention back to me. “How long are you in town for?” “Just until Sunday night.” “Good. After you suffer through Maloney, come down to Gigs on Biggs and see Stone Bogart.” He touched my arm, 16

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gently caressed the crook of my elbow. “I’ll put you on my guest list.” “Sure, I’d love to review you. Depending on my schedule, I should see you Sunday.” “Or Saturday night at Maloney’s show.” He smiled and turned to acknowledge a couple of guys by the bar. “We’ll run into each other again, I’m sure. Take care, Josie Salazar.” Robin started to play before I could order, so I sat with Crow and listened to the first three songs in the hour-late set. All of the ice in my drink had melted by the time Robin took a break. Naturally the kitchen was closed and I was feeling a little warm, a little drunk, and a lot horny. I twirled my hair around my finger, scribbled a few notes I thought I might need for later on the back of a napkin, and enjoyed the set. Or, rather, enjoyed as much as I could while I imagined Nick tying Bubbles to our bed and whipping her for being a naughty, naughty girl. Or pouring hot wax on her nipples and making her scream out “Muppets!” They had to be doing something kinky. What pissed me off was that he was the one who’d done wrong and yet I was the one suddenly without a sex life. How unfair was that? I needed to get laid, to prove to myself I still had it…whatever it was. That nameless, tasteless, odorless phenomena of sending the opposite sex into overdrive. I wanted to be able to walk into a room in heels and a little black dress and make every guy in the room reach to adjust his suddenly growing cock. Now, I didn’t know if I still had what 17

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it took. Damn. Buzz kill. Crow leaned over and tapped me on the shoulder just as Robin finished his rendition of “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” by Tom Petty. “Want another drink?” There was no need to answer. He placed it on the table and sat back with a beer in hand. While I stirred the ice around, I wondered if he was the kinky type. Sometimes you can look at a person and just tell that they’ve got a fetish, but this guy didn’t scream “let me wear your panties tomorrow.” In the time it took Robin to finish his set, I had finished my fourth drink on an empty stomach. It took all of my concentration to stand up in heels and a skirt that suddenly seemed much shorter than it had when I walked into The Yucca. Crow brushed his hand across my ass and the back of my thighs. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, obviously a little embarrassed. “What the hell was that?” “Your skirt.” “Yeah? You don’t have to touch it,” I drunkenly yelled. He pulled me close, his stubble grazing my ear. “Nice blue underwear.” I felt the color drain from my face. In a rush, I’d donned my Supergirl panties without the intention of an entire bar seeing them. “Shit,” I muttered. Then I practically fell on him. “Easy, cowgirl.” He tightened his grip and helped me to 18

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sit. “I’ll grab Robin. You stay here.” The room felt like one of those spinning carnie rides. I gripped the table and felt gum beneath my fingers. Oh, shit, I was damn sure I was about to throw up. It had been a long time since I’d felt drunk. Luckily, I was always a fairly entertaining and pleasant drinker, so I wasn’t worried about crying or throwing beer bottles. Of course, if I could barely talk, how the hell was I going to interview Robin? “Josie, nice to meet you.” “Hi.” I was determined to speak in slow, deliberate sentences. Three years of reviewing and I’d never once found myself plastered or high at a gig. “I’m here with Dark Horse to do a piece for our ‘Local Around the Nation’ feature.” “I’m ready when you are.” Robin plopped down in front of me and folded his hands on the table. Not even a step behind, Crow pulled up an extra chair and shoved a plate of fries and a tall glass of ice water in front of me. He nodded at me, apparently aware that I needed sustenance to soak up all the alcohol. “She’s probably starving,” Crow said. “Mind if I ask you about the new material you’re working on?” While I stuffed my face, Crow kept Robin occupied with about a dozen questions. The rush of drunken stupor ebbed, and when I felt somewhat coherent, I pulled out my notebook and pen and gracefully joined the conversation. An hour later, with several interruptions from fans and a last call from the bartender, I had enough notes jotted down to 19

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write an article. Robin excused himself to pack up his equipment and chat with some of the regulars. “Ready to go?” Before I had a chance to reply, Crow was on his feet with his keys in hand. “Which hotel are you staying at?” I reached into my purse and handed him the brochure. He looked it over and nodded while I wobbled to my feet. Amaretto sours made my four-inch chunky heels feel like sixinch spike heels. “We can stop some place to eat real food after you’re checked in.” He glanced down the length of my body, his gaze stopping at my shoes. “What?” I snapped. “Pointy,” he replied. He held onto me as we walked into the empty parking lot. I leaned against him, even though I could have walked on my own, and enjoyed the contact. The night felt cooler than before and reminded me of home, where my asshole of an exboyfriend probably had his dick down Kiki’s throat. We drove through two green lights in silence, and while I continued my bad habit of twirling my hair around my finger, I noticed he kept looking at me from the corner of his eye. I glanced down and discovered my skirt was hitched up my thigh. The sex kitten inside of me purred to life. After what felt like a lifetime spent with Nick, I was completely turned on by a little interest from another man and the excitement dripped between my legs. As I stared out the window, I inched my 20

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skirt up a little higher. “You originally from Chicago?” His voice was strained, gravelly and thick. “Yeah.” I didn’t turn to face him. “You’re from Texas, aren’t you?” “Born in Oregon. Raised in Texas.” My fingers skimmed along the inside of my thigh. “Maloney should come to Chicago and play the Double Door, Beat Kitchen, Gunther Murphy’s…there are a lot of smaller venues.” He reached for his crotch and adjusted himself. “You’ll have to talk to Gary about setting up a gig in the Midwest.” The car stopped at a red light and I touched my damp panties. An unexpected groan of pent-up frustration left my lips. He was breathing harder, the sound of a man who wanted to watch a girl fuck herself. If the car had stayed idle a moment longer, I just may have put my foot on the dashboard, spread my legs wider, and rubbed my clit for him to watch. Instead, he hit the gas hard and I grasped the armrest in surprise. A rush of adrenaline hardened my nipples and soaked my panties. He adjusted himself again and I gave him a sidelong glance while he desperately attempted to watch the road. The sign for Lone Oasis Resort glowed amidst palm trees and a fountain illuminated by soft lights. “You check in. I’ll park and bring your bag inside.” Disappointment showered my little internal fire as I stepped out of the car and approached the front desk alone. A 21

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hostess with a no-nonsense bun and pale blue eyes greeted me and gave me an ungodly amount of paperwork for a threenight stay. I returned to the car just as Crow closed the trunk. The first thing I noticed was the bulge in his jeans. “Second floor,” I said. “Room 208.” He carried my bag to the elevator and down the hall. Once the door closed, he tossed my backpack on the luggage rack and leaned up against it, his arms crossed. “Nice place.” “Yeah.” My nipples were still hard as hell, my clit aching to be touched either by him or by my own hands. He met my eye but didn’t smile like he had earlier in the night, which made me eerily conscious of how I’d lost all inhibition. In the back of my mind, I wondered if I’d regret this night, but the horny part of my brain didn’t give a damn. I’d never had a one-night stand before. Here I was, trudging steadfastly toward thirty years old and I’d never taken a guy home for sex with no strings attached. I deserved it, I thought as I trailed my hand down my chest. His gaze followed. “You still hungry?” he asked. I shook my head and sauntered toward him, kitty on the prowl. If not for the alcohol, I would have been scared to death. This wasn’t sweet little Josefina who watched her abuela cook. This was Josie, scorned by her lover. “You had a bit to drink, Josie. You should probably have a burger without the meat. Or whatever the hell vegetarians eat,” 22

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he muttered. My breasts pushed against his chest, my hips rubbing against his. He wanted to be a gentleman, but I could feel him rock-hard through his jeans and knew we’d just disappoint each other if we decided on a late-night meal. “Yeah, I did have a bit to drink.” I rubbed my legs between his parted thighs, felt his erection twitch on contact. He licked his lips and searched my face before he placed his hands on my hips. “You’re real close to doing something you might regret,” he murmured. I stroked the front of his jeans, traced the outline of his sex, and sighed. A bumper sticker came to mind, which I quoted as proof of how drunk I still was. “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” His lips brushed my cheek and he inhaled deeply. I half expected him to offer me another glass of water or a cold shower, but instead he held me closer, pressed me against his arousal. Damn, he felt thick and hard as stone. A tremble rattled down my spine at the thought of his engorged head pressing at my core. “I’m really not a gentleman,” he whispered in my ear. He cupped my breast and gave it a rough squeeze. His assertiveness surprised me and I moaned against his shoulder. “I don’t want you to be a gentleman,” I whispered back. “What do you want?” “I want you inside me.” His hand slid under my skirt and into my panties. Warm 23

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and broad, he glided easily along my wet pussy, his finger teasing my clit. I grabbed his wrist and made him rub me harder, wanting to get through the foreplay and feel his dick buried inside me. We kissed, sloppy, drunken kisses that showed little affection. I didn’t want affection from him. I wanted him to fuck me. And I wanted him to fuck me now. Somehow we managed to flop on the bed in a tangle of partially removed clothes. He grabbed a handful of my hair while I licked his nipples and kissed his chest. Native American roots made his flesh buttery soft and nearly hairless, while his day job—and his time behind a drum set—made him sinewy and delicious. My fingers dug into his shoulders, felt the ripples of his stomach and the sturdiness of his chest. He was male in every sense of the word. I emptied my purse on the nightstand, found a condom, and wriggled out of my shirt and soaked panties. He allowed me to unzip his jeans before he snatched the condom from me. I straddled him, my fingernails clawing at his shoulders through his shirt. He gave me one last look, one final chance to turn back. “Fuck me hard,” I said. He flipped me onto my back and drew my knees up. With a feral look in his eyes, he spread me wide. I never even saw his dick before he thrust inside of me and buried his cock deep inside my pussy. He felt huge, and I gasped for breath as he stretched me. “Christ,” he murmured. 24

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He pinched my nipple hard and my clit instantly reacted. A yelp of pure excitement left my lips and he thrust harder. My walls clenched him, made him feel bigger than before. He rocked faster and faster, applying steady pressure to my throbbing clit. In a rush of heat, lust and adrenaline I climaxed hard, the unexpected sensation rendering me helpless beneath him. He pumped me, gritted his teeth and watched as the last waves of pleasure traveled through me. He kissed my neck and ran his hand down my thigh. I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to come again, to feel my walls squeeze his cock and bring him to orgasm. The feel of his arms wrapped around my body built the tension low in my belly. He cupped my ass with one hand and tilted my hips so that he rubbed against my clit with each stroke. Breathless and barely able to focus, I felt the surge of another, much harder climax and cursed between my teeth. It was all the warning he had. Our bodies collided, his hard dick stroking me inside. My legs locked around his hips, keeping him close. I needed to feel every inch of him the moment all of my built-up tension was finally released. My body went limp as he thrust one last time. Another half-groan, half-scream left my lips as he squeezed my ass tighter. I felt his cock throbbing as he climaxed and I milked every last drop from him. He buried his face against my neck and I ran my fingers through his damp, shoulder-length hair, still feeling him hard inside of me. “That was really hot,” I said as he rolled onto his side and 25

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brushed his fingers over my stomach. He gazed at me while he continued to draw circles over my belly. His fingers were tanned and callused, the kind belonging to a real man. “Yeah. Hot and unexpected.” “The best kind.” With a laugh I turned from my back to my belly and rested my face on the cool pillow. I glanced down his body, but the blanket covered his hips and all I saw was the outline of his penis, still semi-erect. Damn, I really wanted to at least get a glimpse of him. “So now what?” I asked. My nipples were hard again, and my pussy continued to throb as I thought about pulling the blanket down and sucking him back to life. I wanted to taste him, get a buzz off his essence. “Whatever you want to do.” His eyes narrowed and he caressed me from the shoulders down to my ass, which sent a tingle through my body. He was highly fuckable, and the moment he wasn’t inside me I wanted to feel him again.

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CHAPTER 3 Rats could have nested in my tangled hair. Crow remained sprawled out in bed while I detangled and brushed it back into a loose ponytail. Snippets of Law & Order, Full House, and ESPN flashed by the television screen as he played with the remote and waited for me to make the agonizing decision between black ballet neck or black scoop neck shirt and A-line skirt. “I’ve never been able to tell,” I said as I peeked around the divider between bathroom and bedroom. “Do guys rapid-fire the remote because nothing good is on or because they want to watch everything at once?” “I’m not allowed to divulge ancient man secrets.” He sat 27

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up and tossed the remote on the bedside table. “Unless you want to explain why putting on jeans and a T-shirt takes an hour and we’ll call it even.” “Ninjas from the Women’s League might pop out of nowhere and kill us both on the spot. It’s better if we just leave it as mysterious.” *

*

*

We stumbled into Denny’s at two in the morning. Judging by the looks we received from some wannabe punks, we radiated with sex. Josie from Chicago was asleep somewhere, valiantly assuming all responsibility for the weekend. Josie in Phoenix flashed a smile at the posers and bent to retrieve tip money that had fallen to the ground. I glanced at the table of boys in homemade T-shirts and girls with pink highlights and saw their plates untouched. If they had any suspicions as to whether or not we were grabbing a bite and heading straight to bed, one peek at the short skirt I’d decided to wear rising up my bare ass was confirmation. I liked my new, uninhibited self. “So…” I lowered my menu and found Crow staring at me. His face looked more stubbly, his dark eyes heavily lidded…sexual. “Do you have a nine-to-five job or are you a journalist?” The old me would have fainted at the thought of sleeping with a total stranger. The new me gave a smile and reassured the little voice in my head that we weren’t strangers. Just like with his manager, I’d emailed him at least a dozen times and 28

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I’d instant messaged him while I sat at work. I took a sip of coffee and mustered my nerves. “I work for a construction company my dad and uncle own.” “Ah.” He turned the page and perused his menu one last time before he tossed it in the middle of the booth. What the hell did ah mean? Ah, I slept with a receptionist. Working for family, I did a lot more than just type and answer phones, thank you very much. There were days when I felt I’d practically dressed my father and uncle. Ick. Ah, a girl with a real job sucked my dick. Ah, I went down on a fascinating woman I’d like to know better. “You drive a truck.” I may as well have added “so there” to the end of that phrase. His eyebrows rose, a crooked grin easing away his usually brooding expression. “Box truck,” he corrected. “With shitty brakes.” By the time my grilled cheese sandwich and his BLT arrived at the table I was sober. Way too sober. My conversations always ran smoother over an instant message or email, not in person. But I had to say something, anything to tear away this little veil of awkwardness draped over postcoital interaction. “I told you we’d meet again.” The glass of Pepsi I’d brought to my lips nearly slipped from my grasp. I stifled a cough and looked up. “Doug.” “Hey, Josie.” Dark eyes burrowed into me, nostrils flared 29

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as though he was some sort of wild animal picking up my scent. Did I ooze post-sex vibes? “Time change got you rattled?” I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and wondered where Boobzilla had gone. “Something like that.” “What are you doing tomorrow?” He slid into the booth, his shoulder pressed to mine. I glanced across the table at Crow, who didn’t look surprised. That robot from Lost in Space came to mind, shouting “Danger, Josie Salazar!” I sucked in a breath and leaned away. “Haven’t yet decided.” The words emerged smooth, steady. Somewhere deep inside me my tongue hadn’t yet realized the rest of me was about to short circuit. “I was planning on grabbing a case of beer and tubing down the river. If you want to join me and a couple of friends…” With a flick of his wrist he displayed his business card. “Give me a call.” He scooted away and stood. He pointed at Crow. “Take care of her.” We watched him pay for his meal and stroll outside. Crow ran his thumb along his chin and smirked, but he didn’t have to say a word. I slipped the business card into my purse without looking at it and swirled a French fry through the ketchup. “Tell me about the gig tomorrow,” I said, casually looking up. I leaned back and propped one foot up on his seat cushion. He cocked a brow, looked from me to my foot. “Free drinks, free food, free music. Gary will probably buy you a Tshirt from Alice Cooper’stown.” 30

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My eyes lit up, which was a trait I inherited from my abuela at the sound of the greatest four letter word known to man—free. Crow flashed a smile. “Drinks or the T-shirt?” I ran my fingers through my hair. “My abuela had a saying. ‘There are only two things in life worth paying for—a good hairdresser and Saturday night bingo.’” He chuckled, his dimples returning in full force. One of his hands slipped beneath the table and gently grasped my ankle, his thumb pressing to the sensitive spot on the inside of my leg. “Smart woman.” Lightning bolts shot through me and I exhaled hard, unexpectedly. His hand remained hot against my flesh, directly over the G-spot on my foot. Some guys like having their butts petted, some girls are all about a nibble on the belly button. I was all about the sensitive spot on my ankle. And he knew it. “Better than free?” he murmured, coal-dark eyes creasing in amusement. My face heated with a blush, the old me threatening to push through. Clearing my throat, I swiped a strand of hair away and smiled. “Hell, yeah.” Our eyes met and I ran my tongue over my lips. His gaze followed, nostrils flared. I watched him swallow, felt the little twitch in his hand as his grasp tightened. A whip crack echoed through my mind. For now I’d quelled the beast, tamed the lion. My foot slid off the cushion and his expression sobered. “Are we ready?” 31

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CHAPTER 4 His fingers ran through my hair and skimmed over my shoulders as we pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the hotel. I leaned over, stretched my seatbelt as far as it would go, and nuzzled his throat before the fear of obscuring his vision and driving off the road outweighed the need to kiss him. “Do women ever offer to give you a blow job?” “No.” Sarcasm practically dripped from his perfect lips. I glanced down and considered smoothing my wrinkled skirt, but I wanted him to reach over and bunch it up. “Mostly it’s men.” My head nearly snapped from my shoulders as I turned to 32

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face him. He laughed as though he’d waited hours to say that. “You’re crazy.” “Pretty much.” “But you never answered my question.” I twirled a strand of hair between my fingers faster and faster. My heart thumped in my chest like the bass in my cousin’s low rider. There was a fine line between hoochie mama and seductress and I didn’t know where I stood. We came to a stop at a red light and his hands slid to the bottom of the steering wheel. Dark eyes studied my face, put up a direct challenge. I accepted and held his gaze, wanting him to tell me I was the first—or at least say it had been a while. “Has a man ever looked you in the eye and told you he wants to pull your thighs apart and lick, suck, and bite you until you can barely breathe?” I swallowed, my hands clenched, voice hiding somewhere beneath my stomach. My breaths quickened and moisture pooled between my thighs. My face grew so hot I was surprised steam didn’t rise from my pores. “Have you ever felt a man’s tongue inside you and gone hoarse from screaming his name all night long?” He leaned in closer and looped a strand of my hair around his finger. The gentle tug sent a pulse of ecstasy down my spine and between my legs. Holy hell. “Has your boyfriend ever told you he wants to drink every drop of you until beer seems worthless and he couldn’t remember the taste of food, only you on his tongue, in his 33

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veins…in his mind?” He stared at me, willed me to answer, but I couldn’t think, let alone speak. No man had ever wanted me like that. I’d probably find a unicorn or be killed by a chupacabra before any man ever offered me such raw lust. At last I broke the contact and stared at the vacant street, wondering if I’d ever recover from his words. I felt them inside of me now, phantom expectations of passion I doubted existed outside of crappy love songs and silly movies. “Josie.” “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I considered telling him about Nick, but didn’t. Or did I? For a moment it felt as though I’d blacked out from sensory overload. All I could hear was his breath and the low buzz of the radio playing retro Madonna’s “Respect Yourself.” Figures. Everything had happened way too fast. My wild days in college were risqué only because I’d tongued guys on the third date while my roommate met a man at nine and dropped trou in our apartment by eleven, sometimes while I sat on the couch studying. But I wasn’t a college greenhorn and I hadn’t lived at home since I was twenty-one. I turned toward him, fully prepared to suggest he pull over, unfasten his seatbelt, and allow me to unzip his pants. Bright lights flashed into the car thanks to the semi that had snuck up behind us. The bastard sounded his horn and I nearly pissed myself. “Green light,” I whispered. 34

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*

*

*

The next morning I stared into the bathroom mirror and wondered what the hell had happened. I’d offered him a blow job. Kind of. I would have offered him a blow job if he hadn’t interrogated me over oral sex—and if the semi driver hadn’t scared the crap out of me—and if morality hadn’t given my straight laces an extra firm tug. By the time we reached my hotel room I was yawning like some ninety-year old woman while Crow mumbled he needed to get the car back to his roommate. The night ended with an awkward hug and a “This was fun.” Nothing guarantees a night spent alone like those three words. I glared into my reflection’s dark eyes and leaned forward, my palms firmly planted on the sink. I bet Doug wouldn’t have let a little interruption ruin the night. He would have let me suck him off in a Denny’s or rolled down his window and asked the truck driver if he wanted to watch. My late-night meal threatened to make a second appearance. There was no way in hell I’d ever offer oral sex to that smarmy bastard—or allow him to say what Crow murmured in the car. Doug’s business card picture smiled at me from the pile of tissues, condoms, and lip balm I’d dumped out of my purse in a desperate search for a contact lens case. Through red, swollen eyes I studied his image. His hair was shorter in the picture, more fitting for his day job, which was apparently in logistics for a local hospital. 35

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“Fuck.” Why did I bother looking? I should have tossed it into the trash. I turned over the card, pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it beside my candy-striped pajama pants. There were two red marks on my stomach and one on my left breast where Crow had bitten me. Lightly I traced one and remembered how he’d grunted as he nibbled my stomach. The tile cooled my feet as I padded into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. Steam rose, the sound of water calmed my nerves as sheets of warmth cascaded down my back and soaked my hair. Has a man ever looked you in the eye and told you he wants to pull your thighs apart and lick, suck, and bite you until you can barely breathe? The tension in my shoulders suddenly belonged to my clit, and the moisture building between my legs definitely had nothing to do with the shower. I wanted to grab a handful of his hair and nestle his face between my legs, urge his tongue to draw circles around my clit, lips tugging at swollen flesh. The soapy loofa sponge simulated facial hair as it grazed my belly. Eyes closed, I leaned against the shockingly cold tile wall and swallowed, imagining my hands were under his control. Have you ever felt a man’s tongue inside of you and gone hoarse from screaming his name all night long? How would Crow touch me? Rough, urgent. I pinched the inside of my thigh, imagining it was his teeth. He’d tease me, run his fingers along my cleft and test my desire. But, damn, 36

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I’d let him know I wanted it, wanted him. My legs spread wider, the thought of his touch became more real. My skin burned from the heat of the water, drops pounded my breasts, rivulets dripped from my fingertips. He’d roll my nipples into hardened points, tug and suckle until my insides clenched and my clit needed his attention. Hard, smooth…swollen. One soft caress and I gasped at my own touch. Just the thought of him released a miniorgasm, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would be enough. I wanted his tongue right there, lapping up every drop. I wanted to hear him whisper how he’d forgotten the taste of food, how I was his only memory. Without a doubt I would have stayed up all night long, watching his expression while I teased his balls, felt his hips rise as I took his cock into my mouth. It was an acquired taste, but I’d always liked the feel and flavor of a man, the heat of him against my tongue. I wondered what he’d think of me…if only I’d been brave enough to ask him. Fuck me with your mouth. Suck me until I scream. I bent my legs slightly and rubbed faster. Slick heat, the essence he would taste, ran down my thigh and mixed with soap and water. I wanted to ride him, to come with his face between my legs and then again with his cock buried deep in my pussy. I’d never need anything as much as I needed him to fill me. Pleasure rippled, then burst, and a tiny current spread through my body. My legs shook and I braced myself against the cool wall until my heart rate slowed and I could think 37

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again. He never said he wanted me, and I never said I wanted him. But this was exactly what I needed—a weekend void of commitment and pressure. Gumption had arrived eight hours too late and I’d lost my chance to tell him he was the first to offer. I should have run with it, but I didn’t. “The past is the past,” I muttered. Nothing like a cliché on top of guilt. All of this overanalyzing made me feel like my mother, so I vowed not to think about it and washed my hair. The mirrors were steamed, the air thick and hot as I wrapped my hair in a fluffy towel and considered calling Gary for brunch. My cell phone rang in the other room and I pranced across the carpet, lured by the sound of The White Stripes. At least I knew it wasn’t Nick since I’d changed his ring tone to an angsty Smashing Pumpkins song. “¿Que tal, mi amiga?” Gary trilled and gave an Ai! Ai! Ai! I rolled my eyes. He never seemed to understand I was a third generation Latina and wasn’t flattered by his high school Spanish—and the trill at the end didn’t turn me on. “Heard you were making the most of the nightlife,” he said. My heart skipped a beat, but I casually roamed around the hotel room. “Who’d you hear that from?” “Doug Ravino called me this morning wanting your number.” A woman in the background murmured, which cancelled our brunch before I could ask him to pick me up. “Oh.” 38

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“Told him I wasn’t his wing man, baby. It’s all good, bonita.” A lighter flicked close to the receiver and I heard him take a drag. “Hey, listen, chica. I have to run, but I’ll see you later tonight at Alice Cooper’stown, right?” “Right, but—” “Adios.” The bastard hung up before I could tell him I was stranded at the Lone Oasis. I closed my cell phone and tossed it into my purse. With my hair still damp, I pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a turquoise blue tank top. My wooden bead necklace rattled as I ran my fingers through my hair and decided to let it air dry. It always looked better with a little wave to it, especially after I’d added some honey-colored highlights. Contacts in place and mascara applied, I smacked my lips together and tasted cherry lip balm on my way to the front desk. Screw Gary. I could rent a car since he’d apparently forgotten his offer to show me around the area. “Let me guess. Shorts and a tank top took at least an hour and a half.” Crow’s voice paralyzed me in the hall. I cringed with my back to him and nervously started to push my glasses, then remembered they were sitting on the vanity in my room. “Air drying my hair shaved off forty-five minutes.” “A new record.” I turned to face him and planted a hand against my hip. He’d gotten the best of me last night, but I’d be damned if he did it again. My weekend mantra played in my mind. Sex, no 39

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strings attached…sex, no strings attached… But he looked me in the eye and I faltered, aware of his thoughts. My lips around his cock, his tongue rubbing my clit, both of us unable to breathe. Last night’s implications had not gone away, but this time I was ready for his piercing gaze and pretty damn sure a semi wouldn’t roll down the hallway and catch us again. “Are you taking me to lunch?” I tilted my hips forward and arched my back, which forced his gaze to my tits. That’s right, I thought. Look. Want. Need. “How’s Italian sound?”

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CHAPTER 5 We ate at a little bistro with yellow walls and Dali reprints in the unisex bathroom. The patio was open, the distant buzz of Mesa traffic drowned out by Sinatra playing on the Bose speakers. Conversation was limited to the weather and a poster for a three-band concert playing at some new outdoor venue. The waitress brought a dessert menu, left two fortune cookies—which was apparently trendy if not a little odd, and refreshed our glasses of wine. “Funky.” I cracked my fortune cookie open and opened my mouth to ask if he planned to read his. Suddenly he sat forward and stared at me. My cookie crumbled and fell onto my lap. Smooth, Jos… 41

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“Put your foot up.” “Huh?” Sometimes I come off as a literary mastermind. He nodded and I did as told, showing off a pair of white gym shoes with powder blue trim. “What do you have planned for today?” I blinked, my lips parted. “Uh…” Future Pulitzer winner here, folks. “Fantastic.” He snatched the dessert menu from my hands and tossed a crisp twenty-dollar bill and tip money onto the table. “Let’s go.” “Where?” “To a place where they won’t find your body.” He flashed me a grin and a sideways glance. All he had to do was cock an eyebrow and he’d make me come. “Well, since no one is looking for my body I hope you mean Saks.” He chuckled. “Not quite.” We drove to southern Phoenix where urban life faded into blue skies and saguaros. Crow leaned his arm out the driver’s side and snatched decorative oranges from the trees in the median until I had a small pile of hard fruit balanced on my lap. “You have to at least tell me where I’ll be buried.” “Dobb’s Point.” It sounded pleasant enough, but it was a bitch to reach. The narrow road up South Mountain weaved, the roadside dotted with cars pulled to the meager shoulder and cyclists on an uphill suicide mission. Signs warned to drive slowly and 42

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marked sharp curves, which was enough to make me want to drive back to the bar. “You don’t strike me as the type afraid of heights.” “Heights don’t bother me. Falling off the side of a mountain bothers me.” “Ain’t gonna happen,” he rumbled as he drummed his fingers on the dashboard. Thankfully he was right and we made it to Dobb’s Point in one piece. We weaved through several mats laid out in the parking lot with silver jewelry and paintings displayed until we reached the edge overlooking downtown Phoenix in the distance. He guided me down a hiking trail toward a stone structure and pointed out Camelback Mountain to the east while hikers tempted fate and stood along a narrow ridge. Once we were alone I leaned against his shoulder and listened to the distant tune of a Spanish guitar and a woman singing. Neither of us spoke for quite some time, and I watched him from the corner of my eye. I wanted to seduce him, to lean closer and whisper against the shell of his ear that the view was nice, but what I really wanted was his cock in my mouth first and then shoved deep inside my tight pussy. I faced him and completely chickened out. For several awkward seconds I stared at him, my heart pounding. “What time do you have to set up equipment?” I pathetically wheezed. “Not until six.” He opened his cell phone, then glanced up and searched my face. I could have sworn he knew what I was 43

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too shy to ask. “We have a little over two hours.” “I should go back to the hotel and change.” Crow stood before I did and helped me to my feet. He pulled me up fast and I bumped into his chest, felt the hard planes I had rubbed the previous night. Hot breaths tickled my face and I couldn’t decide if I really wanted to look up or look away. “Was it worth the panic?” he murmured. “I didn’t panic.” I risked a glance and found him staring at me, black eyes narrowed. My nipples tightened as he pulled me closer and the heat of our bodies melded. His gaze lingered on my mouth, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Was it worth the caution?” I shrugged, frustrated with myself. Three damn days in the desert, three nights at a hotel to simply enjoy sex, and I kept watching opportunities drift past. All I needed to do was grab his ass and suggest we take an afternoon break. My gaze lowered and I stared at his throat. “I’m from Chicago. I’ve seen impressive skylines before.” His hand skimmed down my back and rested at my hip and I wanted to thrust forward. “Not with mountains.” “True, but my apartment overlooks the Chicago River. From the rooftop I can see the fireworks at Navy Pier.” “Now I imagine you drinking martinis as you send instant messages with fireworks in the background.” “It’s almost like you’ve been in my apartment.” Only put me in an old Foo Fighters T-shirt with a can of RC and reheated pizza. 44

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We headed back to the car and I stopped to buy a toe ring from a guy with a greasy mullet and bad teeth. “I thought the landscape would knock you over. What does it take to impress a woman like you?” “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I said under my breath. His fingers brushed past my ass as he opened my car door. The kitty inside me danced around. *

*

*

We barely made it into my hotel room. Halfway down Central Avenue I’d pulled his cock out through his unzipped jeans and stroked him. My bra hung off my shoulders, my panties soaking wet as I fumbled to unlock the door. In an empty hall he’d slipped his fingers down the back of my shorts and traced the curve of my ass. The door flew open and we stumbled inside. He slammed it shut and pinned me to it, his massive hands instantly under my tank top while mine unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his hips. His cock was rock hard and I couldn’t resist. He looked surprised when I knelt before him and pumped him in my fist several times before I licked the engorged head. “Ah, fuck,” he whispered. He twitched in my mouth and I lapped up the salty pre-cum that had beaded on the tip. His breaths deepened and he grabbed my hair in his fist. He gazed down his body at me, the look in his eye revealing how he struggled to remain in control. Fondling his balls, I licked him from the base of his penis to the head and smiled. 45

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“Don’t be gentle with me because I won’t be gentle with you.” Teeth gritted, he guided my lips down his length, his hand trembling as he pushed my head forward. He wasn’t forceful, but I knew he wanted me to suck him hard and I did until his balls were tight and he groaned through his teeth. “My turn.” His heavy-lidded gaze widened. “Are you serious?” I kissed him on the lips and thrust my tongue into his mouth. “Yeah,” I said between nibbles on his lower lip. “I want you to come inside me.” He pulled me toward the bed and sat me down without a word. Hungrily he grabbed one nipple between his lips and sucked hard. “Play with your clit,” he said against my chest. My senses reeled. I almost sat up, but he grabbed my hand, licked my finger, and placed it between my legs. He moved with me, varying the pressure of my touch, guiding me back where his fingers and mine slid into my vagina. He caught my moans with his lips and I trembled beneath him, legs spread wide apart, nipples painfully hard. Suddenly he crawled down my body and ran his tongue along my labia. My thighs quivered, legs clenched around his head. Pressure built faster than I had expected and I closed my eyes, waiting…waiting… “My turn.” I screamed, hands balled in his hair. I practically dragged him up my body as he rolled a condom down his cock and 46

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knelt between my thighs. His hands swept my hair away from my face and he paused, looking me over. Before he could pierce me with his gaze I threaded my fingers through his hair and made him kiss me. At the same moment the head of his cock entered me, his tongue thrust deep into my mouth. He rocked me hard, stroked me fast until I groaned in time with our movements. My ankles locked together and I screamed as my walls contracted around him. My fingernails scraped against his back and he settled within me, breathing hard against my ear. “Josie,” he whispered. “Yeah?” He kissed the side of my neck. “You seriously weren’t impressed with the view of the mountains and city?” I closed my eyes, ran my fingers up his spine, and laughed. “A little.”

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CHAPTER 6 “You’re getting on stage with us, right?” Josh, the lead guitarist, asked once Crow and I arrived at Alice Coopers’town in downtown Phoenix, which was quiet only because America West Arena was vacant. “Hell, no.” Josh, a guy who was short and built like a bulldog, cracked his knuckles. “I get it. You’re all talk.” I’d known weeks of joking through emails about playing tambourine on stage would bite me in the ass and now it had. I would no longer be Josie with the wizard signature. I was Josie chicken shit. “Impress me with your music and I’ll think about it.” 48

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Josh grinned. “You better start drinking now and fool yourself into thinking Jon can sing and the rest of us can play.” I slid my hands into my back pockets and felt Crow’s car keys, which he’d handed to me for safekeeping while he and Gary set up the drum kit. Gary pawned me off on a woman with more foundation on her face than on a Walgreens store shelf. Her hair was bleached and teased, her boobs pushed up to her throat, and her jeans so tight I was surprised she could move. Big surprise: She was Nikki, Gary’s ex, and she was from Vegas. For well over an hour she told me about her jewelry boutique and tried to convince me to spend a weekend with her. “Do you have any body jewelry?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Every girl needs a special piercing, one to play with when the boys aren’t around.” I glanced up and found Crow kneeling beside an amp with a grin on his face. I pretended to scratch my chin and gave him the finger. He smiled before Jon whistled for his help. The outdoor patio started to fill up by the time the opening band took the stage. Gary explained the entire venue would be packed already if the Suns were playing a home game or if the Diamondbacks were in baseball season, but even for an off weekend they were expecting a good crowd. “Do a shot with me, Josie chica.” Gary stood and carried a tray back to the bar and his ex scooted closer to me. “There are some hot guys up on that stage.” 49

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“Yeah.” She gave a drunken smile and twirled a strand of my hair around her claw-like fingernail. “You are so pretty.” “Thanks.” Uh oh. “Have you ever seen a nipple piercing?” “I’m not really into piercings.” Translation: I’m not into chicks. She reached for my hand, and I grabbed my empty glass, guzzling down watery rum and Coke. “What do you say if you and me take Gary, Josh, and Evan to Club 81 after the show and eat sushi off a stripper? Then we can go back to Gary’s place, sit in the hot tub, and see what happens between the five of us. Or the two of us.” Gary returned with a tray full of drinks for at least twenty people. I never heard what he said in his toast, but I downed my tequila, bit my lime, and excused myself from the table. Since I was certain she’d follow me into the bathroom, I walked out of the venue and toward Crow’s car parked on the side street. The temperature had dropped and I ran my hands down my forearms, wishing I had a sweater. “And so we meet again,” Doug shouted from across the street. The music stopped and the crowd applauded the opening band’s last song. I folded my arms over my chest. The tequila was finally working. “Hey, Doug.” “I missed you today.” “Sorry. Got caught up in sightseeing.” 50

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“Understandable. You know it’s dangerous in this part of town. You shouldn’t be out here alone.” “I’ll remember that.” “Someone like me might grab you,” he murmured. “And take you someplace better.” “You wouldn’t want me to miss the show, would you?” He looked down at me and smiled. Suddenly the space between us closed, and his hot breaths replaced the cool night. My hands clenched and I took a step back, but he caught me by the arm. No one had ever aggressively gone after me and I held my breath, wishing I’d taken my sister up on her offer for a self-defense class. “Doug,” I warned. “Let me go.” He released my arm and copped a feel of my breast. “I can think of at least ten things better to do right now than watch Maloney play. Number one on the list is you take me back to your hotel and let me fuck you ’til you can’t think straight tonight and can’t walk straight tomorrow.” What the hell? First a woman who wanted to show me her nipple piercing and now Stone Bogart’s lead singer attempting to lure me away. That was it. I was done being nice. “I’m going back inside. I’ll see ya.” “Josie.” He stepped in front of me. Two people across the street stared at me but continued walking, apparently deciding not to get involved. “I know you’re not really a tease, doll. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.” “They’re free.” I kept walking. “So, what? You’re only getting liquored up for Crow.” 51

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“I’m not getting liquored up for anybody.” “That’s not what it looked like yesterday night. How many drinks did he buy you? Five?” “I don’t remember.” “Must have been more than five or you’re a lightweight, and you don’t strike me as the good-girl type.” My mother would have been proud. I didn’t lower myself to his level with an answer. Instead, I let him insult the hell out of me. “Did he fuck you in the back seat of his car, or make it special and take you all the way to your hotel room first?” “What I do is none of your damn business,” I snapped. “Crow’s got your business and your tab covered, right, sweetheart?” “Fuck you.” “No, thanks. I don’t take his sloppy seconds.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and lumbered away. I stood and stared at the vacant street until Gary hauled me back inside and handed me another shot of tequila. Without hesitation I took it and the next three drinks he offered, wondering when liquor would erase Doug’s words. *

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*

By the end of the night Gary had me, Nikki, and some hot girls he’d found at the bar dancing in front of the stage. I’d managed to jot down enough notes and snap a handful of digital photographs at the beginning of the show to write my 52

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article. Most were of Jon, the lead singer, but I sneaked two or three of Crow that turned out halfway decent. I’d learned before that it was nearly impossible to photograph a drummer. They always contorted their faces or had snot hanging from their noses. Crow, however, made a sex face. Good enough for me. If I needed anything more, Gary promised to hook me up with a file of the performance the soundboard guy made at each show. After three shots of tequila I didn’t care about my obligation to Dark Horse Reviews. Screw writing, cheating boyfriends, and asshole lead singers. I didn’t want boundaries or expectations. All of my life I’d been predictable and boring. I wanted to be the girl who snatched men away from their unsuspecting partners, even if it was only a two-second smile from across the room. While Jon worked the crowd, I wondered what Nick’s Malibu Barbie had that I didn’t have. Then some guy in a white cowboy hat came up, mouthed something, and I smiled. Before I knew what had happened, he grabbed me around the waist and ground his hips against mine. “Beautiful women should never dance alone,” he said in my ear. “I agree.” He held me tightly and took advantage of dancing in a small space by grabbing my ass and fingering my bra strap. “Come with me and we’ll talk,” he suggested between songs. His hand inched up the back of my thigh and slid under 53

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my panties. Startled, I leaned back and swatted his hand away. If it had been Crow I would have let him touch me anywhere. But this guy? He was cute in a frat-boy-who-never-grew-up sort of way. He was probably the type with a gigantic bald spot under his cowboy hat and a tiny dick only he found impressive hidden in his jeans. Cute, but one-dimensional. That was where my opinion of him started and ended. I didn’t even know basic information like his name, what type of toothpaste he preferred, or if he liked his mom. What in the hell was I doing? “Something wrong?” “What do you want to talk about?” I nervously asked. “I want to know all about you.” He motioned toward the dark hallway leading to the bathrooms and I stopped. My purse was under the table beside Nikki’s coat and Gary’s messenger bag. “My stuff,” I said lamely. “I can’t just leave it here.” “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. My driver’s license.” And my credit card, my cash, my cell phone…my entire life was in that bag. “What are you afraid of?” “Identity theft.” A simple Not interested would have sufficed, but I went for elaborate. He snickered. “What?” “It happens every day.” I disappeared through the crowd, unsure of whether I should laugh at the absurdity or light a novena candle that I’d made it out alive. Once I reached the table I glanced back and wondered what he would have done 54

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to me the moment we were alone. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who bothered with foreplay. Or condoms. Shit. Reality had no business sneaking up on me at a time like this. I took another shot from the immensely depleted supply of alcohol and didn’t bother with the lime. Strangely, I felt calm again. Another couple of hours and I’d be myself, Cinderella in reverse. “Hey, get up on stage.” Gary wrapped his arms around me. “I want to take your picture and put it on our website.” “Wha—” He lifted me into his arms and deposited me onto the stage. Red and blue lights blinded me temporarily and Jon, like the face of God, appeared and handed me a tambourine. “This is Josie,” he announced. “Tell her to shake her ass.”

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CHAPTER 7 After my stage debut—in which I danced stiff as a white girl—I sat alone on a barstool in the back with my purse tucked under my arm and a half-empty glass of Coke beside a burned-out candle. The guys in the band tore down equipment and hauled it to a van parked on the sidewalk while I zoned. I was certain Nick was happily humping his Playboy bunny in her posh apartment overlooking the Chicago River. By now he’d probably forgotten my name. Maybe he’d even moved on from his stint with Fifi and found a sophisticated woman named Britney or Skittles. But I couldn’t move on. I wasn’t attracted to Doug and I sure as hell wasn’t attracted to the nameless guy in the cowboy 56

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hat. The only person I wanted was Crow, which was stupid because he was in Phoenix and tomorrow I’d be back in Chicago. I couldn’t do a long-term relationship and I couldn’t do temporary, which pissed me off. I sucked. Suddenly a hand clapped my shoulder. “What’s up?” I nearly toppled from my chair. “Nothing.” I shrugged Crow’s hand away. It would be better if it all ended tonight. Tomorrow I could rent a car and sightsee alone. “Why are you sitting back here?” “Free country. I can sit wherever I want to sit.” He sipped his beer and studied me a moment. “Gary and Nikki are about to take off. Are you driving with them or am I taking you?” “Are you expecting me to fuck you again if you drive me back?” He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. For the first time since I’d met him he looked uncomfortable. “That wasn’t the question.” “But it’s what you’re expecting, isn’t it? You take me back to my hotel room, I suck you off and repay the favor.” He picked up my glass and took a sip of Coke. “What were you drinking tonight?” “I can hold my liquor.” But I can’t hold my tongue. Crow ignored me and turned to give Gary a thumbs down. The band manager nodded and waved, then took his ex by the arm and scooted her out through the gates. “What the hell was that?” I sprang up from my barstool and dropped my purse. Somehow I managed to tangle my foot 57

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in the strap without ever moving. “They’re leaving.” “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” But completely incapable of removing the purse strap from my foot. “I’m sure you are.” He paused and watched me wrestle my foot free. I wrenched my purse loose and it swung up, narrowly missing my chin. Just what I needed, to knock myself out cold. “When you’re sober. Until then you’ll have to wait for me to load the van.” Before I could storm off and catch up with Gary and Nikki, Crow grabbed me by the arm. Again he stared through me and I felt childish. This was worse than those Telemundo soap operas my Tia Maria used to watch while she babysat me and my sister. All I wanted was to crawl into bed—preferably alone—and wait until it was time to return to Phoenix International. My boring life beckoned, a siren song I wanted to hear. “I’m not drunk,” I protested softly. “But you’re not sober. Sit.” Fifteen minutes later he returned and we walked to his car in silence. I dutifully handed him the keys and plunked down in the passenger’s seat, completely humiliated. This wasn’t me. Somewhere between Chicago and Phoenix my alter ego had bound and gagged the real me and taken over. Once she was bitten in the ass, she handed over the reins and disappeared. I wasn’t sure if I owed him an apology, an explanation, or a quiet, unassuming exit. What was the 58

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protocol for a weekend fling? Crow parked in front of the hotel, and brooding silence turned sour and awkward. He turned toward me and frowned. This was it, the end of my disastrous weekend. No strings attached my ass. I was strangled by all the loose ends. “Josie.” His tone was stern and commanding. “I had no intention of picking you up from the airport for sex.” “What was your intent?” The driver’s side door opened and he stepped out to open my door. “I didn’t have one. You called me to pick you up, I picked you up. You invited me to your bed, I accepted.” “Do you regret it?” “Do you?” he countered as he followed me into the elevator. Lips pursed, I turned away. “No, I don’t.” The heat of his body startled me and I hurriedly walked off the elevator and unlocked my door. He held it open and leaned into me until my shoulder grazed his hard chest. “But I don’t know how you feel.” “Do you think if I regretted sleeping with you I would have picked you up the next day for lunch?” “I don’t know what you would have done.” I walked into the bathroom and grabbed a scrunchie. He stood behind me with his arms crossed. “Look at me.” I stared at his reflection. “No, I mean look at me.” Every muscle in my body wanted to chicken out again, but I turned and faced him, this man who should have been out of 59

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my life the moment he was out of my bed. “What would you have done?” My lips twitched. “I don’t know,” I blurted out. “I’m not like this.” “Not like what?” Easy. Able to turn on sex and turn off emotion. A fascinating, sophisticated writer who never looks back. “I don’t know anymore.” He shifted his weight and I knew he wasn’t buying it. I rubbed my eyes, then remembered my mascara wasn’t smudge-proof. Now I was a raccoon on the verge of blubbering. “I don’t go to shows, get drunk, and sleep with members of the band. Or the audience. Or the stage crew.” “I know you’re not some band whore.” Our eyes met. “I saw you outside Cooper’stown with Doug.” “I wasn’t with Doug.” “I saw him speaking with you outside,” he corrected himself. “And he’s damn lucky he walked away before he tried to pull some shit.” “Why were you outside?” “I walked out the side door to tell you we were starting in a few minutes. If you knew the area, you wouldn’t have gone outside without me or Jon.” He paused and gave a crooked smile. “Of course, you weren’t safe next to Nikki either.” “True.” He cracked his knuckles and continued to stare at me. Any second now he would shrug his shoulders and tell me the hotel offered a free shuttle service to the airport. My weekend 60

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would officially be over. Instead he ran his fingers through his black hair, which I so wanted to do for him. Awkward or not, he was still a beautiful man. “What were you like before this?” I could feel myself turning all sorts of red. “Boring.” “I’ve never known anyone with a wizard in their email signature who was boring.” “You know a lot of people with wizard signatures?” That same devious smile returned, the one he’d used in the car yesterday—the one that made him highly fuckable. “Actually, no, but I hoped to confuse you and change the subject.” Our close proximity tempted me, but I folded my arms and blew a strand of hair from my eyes. If I’d been a brave, lusty woman without inhibitions I would have shoved him to the bed, but that wasn’t me. It never was going to be me, at least not once I returned to Chicago and went from Cinderella to plain ol’ Josie. “I don’t really understand why you’re still here. After all of this.” He stepped closer and ran his fingertip along the shell of my ear. “Look…Josie…we may not be best friends, but the chick with the perfect grammar and snarky emails definitely wasn’t the same woman I picked up at the airport yesterday night.” My head dropped, but he lifted my chin with his finger and I frowned. “I’m really not the person you picked up at the airport. I’m…” 61

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“What?” Lips pursed, I released the death grip on his arm. “I’m not into one-night stands.” There, I’d said it. I wanted commitment, needed to know there was more to look forward to than this moment. My heart thudded to the bottom of my shoes. “I’m sorry.” Soft lips closed over mine in a tender kiss. My heart did a somersault and I wanted him again—only this time in a completely different way. I wanted to know what he felt like when he made love to me. I wanted to remember how his tongue would slip into my mouth, how he’d run his hands down my sides and pull me closer. I wanted to rest my head on his chest and listen to him breathe, to feel his fingers running through my hair and his lips against my cheek and throat—and to know he would be there the next day. Marriage and kids were too much to consider. All I wanted was Crow. “Don’t apologize.” A crooked smile made him look sly and ornery. He was six feet four inches of pure trouble. “There isn’t a damn moment with you I regret.” And he knew how to make me feel good. “Now what?” I asked softly. He sighed. “I don’t want to walk away without knowing you, Josie.” He tilted his head back and watched me beneath heavy-lidded eyes. Dark eyes fringed with dark lashes were like sexual magnets pulling me in. I wanted to blame him for seducing me. “What do you want to know about me?” 62

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“Whatever you want to share.” A smile tugged at my lips. “I’m afraid of parrots, I prefer my couch to swanky clubs, and I’m probably the only woman with Mexican blood who thinks jalapeños are like biting into fire. What else?” “That’s a good start.” He held me tighter. “Let’s go down to the Parrot Bay club, grab some jalapeño poppers with hot sauce, and chat.” “How about room service? I’d kill for an espresso and a hunk of cheese cake.” “Deal.” He wound a strand of my hair around his finger and his expression softened, his eyes no longer searching. I merely smiled. I felt as though he’d already found me.

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CHAPTER 8 About a week after I returned from Phoenix, Dark Horse Reviews had another concert lined up for me in Los Angeles, but I bowed out and gave the show—and some damn good perks—to this new guy named Gordon. It was a chick band I’d seen before when they opened for Pete Yorn. I told him he owed me big time since they had some wild, wild fan girls. My apartment was cool and quiet, a welcomed change. Sort of. The left-hand side of the closet was bare except for an old U of C T-shirt I wore when I clean the house on Sundays. Technically, it belonged to Nick, but he either felt guilty and left it or abandoned it as some sort of parting gift while he 64

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rode his bimbo into the sunset. I no longer cared. The river walk seventeen stories below glowed with strings of lights. In a few months there would be outdoor weddings and swarms of guests. For now it was peopled by those brave enough to face the riverside in March. Beautiful and serene, but definitely not mountains. I missed the desert, but mostly I missed Crow, who’d said he’d come to visit once his company hired a second driver and he could take off for a long weekend. Reality swooped back down. I was living alone with an eggplant-colored couch, a floor lamp, and a kitchen table missing two chairs—which apparently Nick had bought about an eon ago. I thought about getting a cat. Nick despised cats. Yep, it was definitely time to do what I wanted. “Home sweet home,” I muttered under my breath. I plunked down on the couch and sifted through junk mail, wondering why credit card applications always seemed to come from Delaware. I set my mail on the coffee table, looped a strand of hair around my finger, and sighed. Next to my laptop was a framed picture of me and Crow in Sedona. It was off-center and a little crooked; not a bad picture considering I’d turned the camera around and taken it myself. We drove two hours north late Saturday night and stayed up to watch the sun rise over the famous red rocks. Just the other day I’d received an envelope in the mail with a rubber scorpion inside and smiled, thinking of how he’d promised to 65

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suck the venom out of a scorpion or snake bite if I happened to fall on one, which he swore he’d never seen happen. Even without the venomous bite, he sucked my thigh in our hotel room overlooking the mountains. Now that impressed me. I reached for the photograph and my cell phone rang, giving me a cheap thrill from my back pocket. “Hey.” “Hey yourself.” My heart always skipped a beat when I heard Crow’s voice. “How was tonight’s show?” “We didn’t play. The bar booked two bands. Didn’t I tell you that?” I gave a pouty face even though he couldn’t see me. “Nope, you didn’t.” “I needed a night off. I’m still exhausted from last weekend.” “Me, too.” I stretched, fully prepared for a night of curling up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and late-night talk shows. “What are you doing tonight?” There was a long pause and the sound of traffic in the background. I glanced at my watch and calculated the time change. He couldn’t still be at work at this hour. It was almost eight his time. “I was just at the airport.” I laughed. “Looking for another music reviewer hiding in the dark?” “Nah, that’s too much trouble. In fact, this whole trip was 66

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a lot of trouble. Red line, yellow line, brown line…what’s up with the Chicago train system?” My lips parted and the most ungodly screech left my mouth. “You’re in Chicago? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” “Relax. I didn’t think about it until this afternoon.” “Where are you?” I grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter and ran into my bedroom to check out my ass in a new pair of jeans. Thankfully there were no remnants of the cheesecake drizzled with strawberry sauce we’d shared in my hotel room. “You’re not lost, are you?” “Men don’t get lost.” “Another man fable.” I rolled my eyes. He could believe whatever he wanted. “Seriously. Where are you?” “I’m watching boats on the Chicago River and wondering what it looks like from your apartment. I hear the view from the roof is pretty damn good.” “Yep, we have fireworks on Fridays.” Keys in hand, I loped into the hallway and pressed the button for the elevator. “And it’s more impressive than Dobb’s Point?” “Come up and find out for yourself.” The elevator doors opened with a muffled ding and I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored glass interior. There wasn’t a damn thing I wanted to change. The kitty inside me purred.

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GABRINA GARZA

Mom, crazy person, and animal rescuer. That’s the gist of it. A native of the Chicago suburbs, Gabrina Garza writes to get out of doing the dishes. When she’s not writing or dodging household duties, she’s either embarrassing her children in public or walking her foster dogs, of which she has way too many. Check out her web site for all you never wanted to know: www.gabrina.com. *

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