Page 168 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

Dammit.

I couldn’t claim to be undersexed though, not after that crazy dressing room hookup—and the couple of days of laughter and movies and takeout and lovemaking that had come before it.

There was no reason I should have this tickle between my shoulder blades. Sure, we were new, but I wasn’t the type to hang all over a man.

Of course I’d never been officially in love before either. Not since I’d been a teenager with no clue about the true meaning of the word.

I was only beginning to grasp it now. And Alex wasn’t about to make it easy for me.

He had so many ghosts of his own, ones that made me ache for him. With him. As painful as the things he’d told me were, I felt honored he’d shared them with me. That he’d taken that step.

That he trusted me.

For those moments in the park, I’d felt so much closer to him. I didn’t want to think about him hurting or in pain. Knowing that he’d been in such agony for so many years over a dangerous mistake—one that could’ve been deadly, but luckily, had not been—had ripped me apart.

I’d cried a little in the park and in the bathroom after we’d gone back to his place, but then I’d repaired my makeup and put on a brave face.

For him, not for me. I would give him my tears.

Would give him far too much.

There was no denying I’d felt some definite distance after his revelations. We hadn’t spent long together afterward, but I’d wanted to say goodbye to Sarge and Brutus, the staring weirdos. Adorable as they were.

By then, Alex had already started retreating. I was pretty sure he’d locked himself away again entirely before we even made it out of the park.

He’d tried to cover it with smiles and conversation. I hadn’t been fooled.

Maybe that was why I regretted that we’d had no time to be together before I left. At least while we were naked, there was no room for anything but honesty between us.

Perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

I turned the doorknob to the conference room, widening my eyes at the sight of Lila, our prim and proper Ripper Records rep, on a shaggy-haired blond guy’s lap in one of the conference chairs. They were laughing, not making out—thank God—and no articles of clothing had been removed—also thank God—but still, whoa.

One more thank God? When the chair spun around and I could see the man’s face, it was that of her husband, Nick Crandall, Oblivion’s lead guitarist. I really hadn’t wanted to catch someone in the act of cheating.

I shuddered. Especially not someone as seemingly respectable as Lila, who just happened to be my band’s rep as well.

“Oh, hi. I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m early. I just figured I’d get my thoughts together before everyone arrived.” I held up my songbook.

That was a half-truth. I’d actually intended to tell Lila about the weird phone calls. After the Donovan meeting, I’d made the decision that all should be on the table, silly or not.

I didn’t want to seem like the type who jumped at shadows. I mean, prank phone calls? That was such seventh grade stuff. It wasn’t as if I’d been threatened. I couldn’t even fully make out what was being said. If anything.

Except it sounded like you…

“Hi, Lindsey. No worries. We traveled together, and he’s hard to get rid of.” She ruffled her husband’s longish hair, clearly in no rush to do so. I’d never seen his hair that length or his skin so tanned, shown off even more by his thin white collarless shirt.

“No problem. I’m early as I said. Hey, beach boy, summer’s over. That isn’t spray on, is it?”

Lila laughed as Nick shook his head. “Real nice, Lindz. No. Just had a good summer. Our girls tend to want to swim more than they sleep, so lots of sun. No spray. Dear God. Do you think my last name is Kagan?”

“Which Kagan are you referring to? I hear there are multiples these days.”

“Sure are. The younger model is just as annoying as the older one. Family trait.” Nick grinned. “By the way, looking forward to catching the show tonight. Nice move with the guitar too.”

I winced. I still hadn’t dealt with the fallout from Oz’s little stunt, but I knew it was probably coming. Lila’s furrowed brow didn’t exactly reassure me on that front.

“If you want to try it again, I have one you can use.” Nick clamped a hand on Lila’s hip when she moved to stand, holding her in place. “You know, like make it a show tradition. We don’t do that shit because everyone’s all married and domesticated and dealing with spit-up.”

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