Page 6 of Forgot to Tell You Something

“If you can’t tell, she’s not a regular, so I want to keep my eye on her. Jump in should the need arise.”

Owen bites back a laugh, shaking his head as he clinks my beer bottle with his own.

“What’s so funny?” I demand.

“You are.”

“How so?” What did I say now?

“How tall are you, Tally? No offense, but you’re not exactly intimidating.”

I cross my arms over my chest, sending him my best fake glare. “You forget that you’re talking to the blood oath goat girl. I’m scary as hell.”

“Clearly.” And clearly, he doesn’t believe a word I say. Granted, he is at least a foot taller than me, but that’s hardly difficult. I barely tip the scales at five feet.

“Look. It’s my mantra.” I direct his attention to my top, noting the irony that I wore it this evening. It proclaims, ‘I’m too short for this shit (me, with almost everything)’.

His eyes skate over my shirt, and I swear he lingers a few extra seconds on my tits. Boys will be boys.

“Apropos, indeed.” Despite Owen’s unmistakable bad-boy exterior, he doesn’t behave—or speak—like the typical punk rocker. He possesses a quiet grace and power, exuding an air of importance without the usual cockiness or bravado.

I want to know more about this man. Much, much more. Even if he thinks I’m klutzy and a poor excuse for a guard dog.

“It’s a good crowd tonight. Surprising for a Wednesday.”

“Wicked Chuck’s may be part of the underground scene, but it’s well known in the area.” I take in the ever-growing sea of humans below us, wondering how long we have until one, or several, break into some form of violence. “It will be off the chain crowded tomorrow.”

“That’s right. Hedgecore plays tomorrow night.” Owen shifts his attention to my face, those gray eyes studying me. “Are you a fan?”

He’s kidding, right? “Am I a fan of Hedgecore? They’re only one of the greatest rockabilly bands in the history of the world.”

He chuckles, taking a pull from his bottle. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

I hold up my fingers. “Just a bit.”

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night, then, too.”

I scrunch up my face in confusion, even as my insides flash with warmth at the idea of seeing this man again. “Huh?”

“At the concert.”

My ego deflates to its standard size as I deduce his statement. “I wasn’t able to get a ticket. They sold out before I got one.”

He taps the beer bottle against his boot, clearing his throat. “That’s a shame.”

“It is. I guess you’re a lucky bastard with a ticket?”

Owen nods, chuckling. “I am definitely a lucky bastard. I’m also in need of a refill. You ready for another?” He motions to my empty beer bottle, which I gladly hand over.

“Thanks. I’ll hold down the fort.”

With a grin, Owen ducks out the door, and I release a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. Holy God, where did that man come from?

Owen is, without a doubt, the sexiest slice of heaven I’ve ever met, and if his nimble fingers are anything to go on, he’s talented in other areas, as well. Several other areas. Wouldn’t I love to test that theory...over and over again.

I don’t get all tongue-tied and fluttery over men, but Owen is not most men. Even better, he’s hanging out here with me, when there’s a bar full of eager recipients for anything he might be offering.

I peer over the railing, hoping to catch a glimpse of Owen. Even with the crowd, he’s easy to spot. Especially since he’s talking to Stefani.

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