And they were also so much more impressionable. While I fought my way in a landscape that was still male-centric, I’d learned that female empowerment was just as important as getting my music out there.
The Taylor Swifts and Arianas of the world were well established, but rockers? Yeah, we still had so much to prove.
I slid into the booth across from Logan. Sam, the owner of Valentine’s, waved and hurried over with a pair of menus.
“I didn’t think we’d see you this year, Lindz.”
“I know. I was sorry to miss the festival this year.” I folded my hands on the table. “Like I need a menu. You know what I want.”
“Gravy fries.”
“And lots of ‘em. Oh, and a Diet Coke.”
“You got it.” His denim-colored eyes were friendly and didn’t give me a once-over like most men’s did. It was refreshing. “Your usual, Logan?”
“Nah. I think I’ll go for the club today.”
“No greasy burger? Who are you?”
Logan rubbed his flat stomach. “Takes more to work it off these days.”
“I hear that.” Sam laughed and left us alone.
I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
“What? I put on ten pounds with my daughter’s addiction to ice cream. I just managed to get it off. I don’t run around the stage like I used to anymore.”
“The minute you want to get back up there, your fans will be waiting for you.”
He covered my hand. “I know. We’ll get there.”
We discussed a few mutual friends as I gorged myself on fries with the best gravy in the friggin’ state. He gave me a heads-up on the album and what had been edited so far by our resident asshole.
Being with Logan was always easy. Once upon a time, I’d thought we might be able to drift into something more, but it had never really been anything other than a silly crush on my end. Considering I’d grown up listening to him in the various bands he’d been in and his poster had been on the wall of my bedroom as a teenager, I’d been a little starstruck myself.
But that was a long time ago. Logan didn’t have eyes for anyone but his wife.
It was nice to see, really. Affairs and hookups ran rampant in my circles. Even couples I’d thought would go the distance had been felled by touring schedules and distractions. In my own band, none of us seemed to be able to hold a significant other for longer than a few months.
Especially me. More like no months.
That dim bar held far too much significance for me simply because it was the last time a man had touched me.
Pathetic.
I’d been pursued, but it always felt as if men wanted to be with me because of what I was—not who.
I dragged my fry through the last bit of gravy on my plate.
“Where are you?”
I blinked back in, realizing I hadn’t spoken in a while. “Sorry. Just thinking about my schedule.”
“That’s not a schedule face.”
I laughed. “More like super busy schedule and wishing for downtime.”
“And I dragged you here on your week off.”