Page 5 of A Little Broken

“Don’t be a smartass.” Her bottom lip wobbles. “But like, since when are there twenty-one and older venues?”

I bite the inside of my cheek in hopes of keeping my smartassery at bay and gently reply, “Since…forever?”

Her eyelids fall closed, and a tear rolls down her cheek, slipping past her defenses. I’d tell her to stop crying, but Rory’s Rory, and there’s a reason the family calls her Squeaks. The girl’s been a tear factory since birth. Puppy commercial? She cries. Old couple at a fast-food restaurant sharing French fries? Let me get her a tissue. Got a B on a test? Cue the waterworks, people.

Even though she hates that particular trait, I find it…endearing, almost. And reliable. I can always count on Rory Buchanan tofeel. Meanwhile, people describe me as an ice queen most days. I’m not complaining. I’d rather keep my emotions in check than let them air out at the drop of a hat. But I digress. I should’ve expected this. Something messing up my birthday. The venue is for guests twenty-one and older. We’re not allowed inside.

Of course, we aren’t.

Grabbing her shoulders, I force her to face me. “Rory, I’m teasing. You’re totally fine.”

“No, I’m not,” she squeaks. “I feel so stupid!”

“It could’ve happened to anyone.”

Her bottom lip juts out even more, and she wipes at her cheeks. “I ruined your birthday.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I argue. Determined to fix the situation just to stop my friend’s tears from falling, I scan the venue in search of…I don’t know. A solution, maybe? And then, it hits me.

I grin. “Come on. I think I have a plan.”

Keeping myself in full-alert mode, I sneak around the edge of the massive building to a large metal door. If it’s unlocked, we can sneak inside and no one will know. It’ll be perfect.

“Tatum,” Rory seethes behind me, realizing my intentions. “Tatum, this is a bad idea.”

I keep my head down, scanning the small alleyway one more time. Reaching for the door handle, I confirm it’s locked with a quick twist of my wrist. “Shit.”

“Did you really think they’d leave it open?” Rory argues.

Peeking over my shoulder, I find Rory with her arms crossed and her head cocked in challenge.

Who’s the smartass now?

Holding her gaze, I knock my knuckles against the thick steel.

She gasps. “You did not just knock.”

“I think I did.”

“What if someone answers?” she screeches while trying to keep her voice down as she glances over her shoulder toward the crowded front.

“Then someone answers.” I turn back to the solid door and make a fist, preparing for another round of knocking when the door pulls open, and a blond guy appears with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Well, shit.

I jerk back, nearly running into a stunned Rory behind me. Not gonna lie. The guy’s built like a god. Broad shoulders. Strong arms. A black shirt hugs his biceps, and light reflects off his warm, coffee-colored eyes and tan skin.

Did my tongue just grow three times its original size? I think—yup—it totally did. He’s…well, he appears to be a surfer-boy with a side of bad decisions, and the tattoos etched onto his forearm are enough to make a girl like me fall to my knees and worship the bastard right here, right now. That is, if I didn’t have my best friend three feet away from me, and I wasn’t already on a mission to sneak into the place.

Catching the unlit cigarette in his hand, the stranger scans us up and down before his eyes cut to the front of the building, his brows pulled low in confusion. “What are you?—”

“We’re with the band,” I rush out, snapping myself out of whatever daze his annoyingly gorgeous face put me in. But seriously. This guy is something else entirely.

“Uh, Tate?” Rory starts.

“I’ve got this,” I promise her while holding the security guard’s intimidating gaze. “Like I said, we’re with the band, so…”

His brows lift. “The band.”

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