Page 5 of Too Little Too Soon
“You’re the drummer for one of the fastest chart-climbing rock bands in the world. That’s got to be a pretty small number.”
That was true. Which sucked. But it was better than the alternative.
Someone shouted his name, and Travis glanced behind him. Oh shit. They were being followed by a cluster of fans decked out in Demigoddess Revival swag.
“Very small number,” Parker reiterated and put on a burst of speed. Travis followed his lead toward their hotel.
An hour later, Travis was showered and ready. He wasn’t dressed for the concert—not in a pair of slacks and button-down shirt under a cable-knit sweater. First of all, he’d sweat his balls off in this getup—if their fans didn’t laugh him off the stage.
Besides, they didn’t have to be at Madison Square Garden for another four hours.
But Travis was ready to go out in public without being recognized. He added a navy blue fisherman’s cap and hit the streets of New York.
While he wouldn’t want to live in this city, he certainly appreciated all it had to offer to tourists such as himself. The food. The people watching. The anonymity. Hell, he probably could go out without a disguise; if he hung out in the right places, there was bound to be some more famous movie star out and about who would overshadow him in an instant.
The first thing Travis did was head over to Brooklyn for some kickass soul food. LA had a lot going for it in the food department, but he had never found a soul food restaurant that could stand up to the one he’d discovered in this borough.
As soon as he tugged open the door, the scent of good old-fashioned fried chicken made his mouth water. Who needed regular sex when there was soul food to devour?
He was seated at the last remaining table and placed his order: fried chicken, collard greens, and macaroni and cheese—he figured he’d burned plenty of calories running from those groupies earlier—along with a bottle of Heineken.
He’d taken only a few bites when the door swung open and a woman stepped inside, paused, and swept her gaze over every person inside the restaurant, like she was judging each and every one of them.
Travis recognized the type. Wealthy, old money. Possibly famous, given the dark glasses she was still wearing despite the dimly lit interior of the restaurant.
Her wavy, chestnut hair was pulled back from her face and secured into a semi-messy bun at her nape. Her skin was dewy and clear, her lips coated with a shiny, nude gloss. She wore a pair of fitted yoga pants and a pullover under a buttoned-up wool coat.
Elegant. That’s the word he’d use to describe her.
If she were remotely a stereotype, she definitely wouldn’t recognize a rock ’n roll bad boy drummer. Especially dressed the way he was.
Of course, if the stereotype held, she also likely wasn’t the sort to be into one-night stands, so why he was even still staring at her was beyond him.
Okay, it wasn’t at all beyond him. She was fucking beautiful. It was easy to watch her while he polished off his late lunch.
He nearly choked on a chicken bone when she strode right up to his table and gazed at him through her sunglasses.
“May I join you?” she asked in a voice that wasn’t at all native New Yorker.
Shit, was his first impression that far off? Was she a groupie? Damn it, his disguise had never let him down before. “Do I know you?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s just that I’m absolutely craving some barbeque chicken, and this restaurant is the best in the area, hands down.”
“Okay.” What the hell did that have to do with him?
“And I don’t want to wait. And I don’t want to take it to go. I’m not ready to go back to my apartment yet.”
Was she for real? “So you figured you’d just ask some random stranger if you could join him?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I figured. You’re clearly eating alone, and to be honest, you look like you’re nearly done. I’ll pick up the tab if that will help sway you.”
“I don’t need you to buy my lunch.” He waved at the empty chair across from him. What the hell. This could be fun. And seriously, she wasnothard on the eyes.
The server headed over with a menu, but Travis’s new dining partner waved the plastic document off without looking at it and ordered barbeque chicken, tossed salad, fries, and two bottled waters. Clearly, she’d been here before.
“And another Heiny,” he added before the young guy walked away.
“I thought I wasn’t buying your lunch,” the woman said as she started to unbutton her coat. For a moment, he was mesmerized by the way her slender, nimble fingers plucked at the material, slid the buttons out of their holes, and holy shit, he was a freak.
