Page 30 of Shattered Chords

“I will. Thank you. And please go home.”

“I’m about to. I’ll see you tomorrow night at the shop?”

“Yes, we’ll be there. Bye.”

“Buh-bye, hon.”

The tip of my shoe continued to tap the asphalt. I killed the call and glanced at the gleaming armada of cars that crammed the lot. Most shops were closing down for the day. The only place that still buzzed was the pizzeria next door and, obviously, the club.

Inside, the music ended and clusters of parents poured out onto the sweltering street.

“Nervous?” a voice behind me purred.

A shiver rolled down my spine. “Oh.” Startled, I spun around and came face-to-face with Dante. Our gazes clashed. “You scared me.” An anxious laugh bubbled up my throat and I rested my palm on my chest as if that would stop my heartbeat from going berserk.

It didn’t.

Only a couple feet of empty space separated us and the subtle scent of him, a blend of spice and wood, pierced the hot air and crept up my nose.

“I was hoping for a different reaction.” He raised a brow and ran his eyes down my body. I couldn’t remember when a man had ever looked at me the way Dante did—with curiosity.

The buzz in my head twisted my thoughts. “And what reaction would that be?”

He took a step forward. “Joy maybe.” A soft smile touched his lips.

“Ha.” I tossed my head back and belly-laughed.

“I must say, I’m impressed with the showmanship so far.” He motioned in the direction of the club.

“Did you see The New Arcade? They were so good.”

“Sadly, I didn’t catch them.”

“What did you think of the last band?” I slid my phone into the back pocket of my capris and took a moment to drink him in. He wore very simple clothes that were probably meant to help him blend in—a black T-shirt and a black hoodie that hid the ink on his arms. His jeans were somewhere between loose and fitted and sat low on his hips. He wanted women to notice him, but he didn’t want them to see too much. His height, however, put him at a disadvantage. Broad-shouldered and tall, Dante Martinez was—as Harper would say—eye candy.

“I think they were pretty good for fifteen-year-olds.” He dialed up his smirk.

“Yes,” I agreed. Clouds of fuzz in my head messed with my brain function. I’d set the bar high with my ID request during our first meeting. I wanted to give the man another witty comeback. But instead, I ogled him like my daughter would ogle guitars in a music store. Part of me almost wished I hadn’t spent the last three days secretly reading tabloids and checking out his photos.

“Ally doesn’t need moral support?” Dante asked, his gaze returning to my face.

“Oh.” I drew in a deep breath, then whispered, “She’s at that age where she’d rather not have me around.”

“Why on earth would someone not want to have you around?” There was a little lilt in his rasp that gave away his Latino roots. I found it sexy. I also noticed he hadn’t really spoken like this at the shop when we’d met. Ah, the man had some tricks he used only when he was trying to impress a woman.

“She’s a teenager,” I pointed out. “She’s embarrassed by my absolute lack of knowledge about all things rock music.”

“Well, that’s fixable. I’m available for private lessons.”

He was flirting and every fiber in my body screamed to be careful and not fall for his charm.

“Trust me,” I said, pushing my ideology on how all men were useless to the very back of my mind. “You can be the coolest and most understanding parent and your fifteen-year-old kid will still think you’re lame. That’s just how it is.”

Dante smiled, and the faint lines in the corners of his eyes deepened, revealing his years. “I assure you, you’re not lame.”

“Tell that to my daughter.”

“I personally think you’re pretty stunning.” He patted his pockets and fished out a lollipop.

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