Easy Ryder’s security breezes us from the dark SUV directly into the club, skipping the line that people are waiting on and causing a murmur of interest as we pass. Inside, the first floor has a live rock-and-roll band, a tremendous dance floor, and bars outlining almost the entire expansive perimeter. Looking up, I see two more floors, a balcony wrapping around each, protected by a wall of glass. People mill around, watching the crowd dance beneath them. Men who resemble tree trunks guard the entrance to the upper levels.
All the guys from Easy Ryder and their dates, except Linc and Flynn, pile into an elevator, and we’re escorted to a glass room on the second floor above the dance floor. It’s truly glass—the floor, the walls, everything. I look down and watch a mob of people swaying on the dance floor. Distracted, I don’t notice the guy I saw pick up Flynn outside of the bus today walk in. He takes one look at my face and smiles, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “It’s one way…they can’t see up your skirt.”
I look around the room—there’s a bar in the corner, a couple of guys who look vaguely familiar, but no sign of Flynn. Lydia, Mick’s wife, walks over and hooks arms with me. “You look like someone ran over your dog.” I’ve met Lydia a few times. She’s smart, sarcastic and has zero filter—if it pops into her head, it comes out her mouth. She’d get along great with Avery. I’m actually looking forward to introducing them tomorrow night at the show.
“I’m just tired. Haven’t slept so good.”
“Life on the road is tough.” She looks over at Mick and Dylan. “Even tougher with moody assholes like them.” We both laugh. “C’mon, Lucky. Let’s go live a little. These old bastards are going to stand around and drink beer. I see a cute bartender with shot glasses and a dance floor calling our name.”
I do one shot for every two that Lydia does; the two I drink have my head spinning and yet she seems perfectly fine after her four. I’ve got to be the biggest lightweight to ever own a bar.
An hour later I’m on my second fruity drink. The music is pumping and I feel it in my veins. Or perhaps it’s the alcohol. Either way, it flows through me, taking away all my worries. The crowd downstairs has thickened, the music has changed from rock to more of an R&B. Bodies sway with a sensual vibe.
“Come on. Let’s go dance.” Lydia grabs my hand. We stop by the booth that Dylan and Mick are sitting at. Mick waves off his wife, not caring where she’s going. Dylan, on the other hand, gives me a look of annoyance.
“Why don’t you come with me, then?” I yell over music that seems to have gotten louder since we started talking.
“Go. But save some of your energy for me later,” he says. I’ve feigned everything from tired to a headache the last few days every time he’s tried to get intimate.
Down on the dance floor, the music is so loud that I can’t even hear myself think. Which is exactly what I need. A new song with an incredible beat fills the air and I start moving my body, letting the music take control of my mind.
“There you go, beautiful girl. Let whatever is bothering you go,” Lydia says, but I more or less have to read her lips. She closes her eyes and joins me in getting lost in the music. A few guys try to dance with us, but we shoo them away and keep to ourselves. I lift my arms over my head, letting my hips sway from side to side, and my eyes drift closed.
I’m at the fringe of awareness, lost somewhere in my own semiconsciousness, when I feel it. Goose bumps break out all over my skin before I even understand what it is that’s happening. I open my eyes and, like metal to a magnet, I see him. Flynn. He’s two floors up, standing against the glass wall, and his blue eyes are burning into mine. Even with all the space between us, the anger is clear in his eyes. I watch as he tosses his drink back and hands the scantily clad waitress his empty glass without so much as a glance in her direction.
“You okay?” Lydia asks, noticing I’m frozen on the dance floor.
“Yeah. I. Uh. I was just looking at the VIP rooms upstairs, trying to figure out which one we’re in.”
“Oh. We’re right up there.” She points to the second floor. To the room directly below where Flynn is standing. Still zeroing in on us, Flynn follows our gaze, and I watch as he looks down and sees all the guys from Easy Ryder beneath him. He can see down, they can’t see up. It makes me wonder how long he’s been standing there. Was he watching me the last hour in the room directly below him?
Not knowing what to do under the scrutiny of his stare, eventually I attempt to dance again. But I’ve lost the vibe—the atmosphere changed from being lost in the moment to being lost in the man. Another drink is definitely in order. Lydia pouts but leaves with me, again hooking her arm into mine as we make our way into the elevator to return to the second-floor VIP room.
Security pushes a button and the doors slide open. Inside, the guard presses number two…but then I realize there is no button for the floor above us. “There’re only two floors on the panel. How do people get up to the third floor?” I ask.
“You need a security card.” He motions to the top of the panel. “Slips into the slot and takes you upstairs. Boss man, his friends and employees only.”
I know I’ve had way too much to drink when I start singing in public. It’s only a whisper of the words, but the beat thumps along in unison with my heart and I feel the words as I sing the song “Someone New” along with Hozier. The last few lines of the chorus croons about falling in love a little bit more every day with someone new. I sing the words looking up, wondering if Flynn’s singing them looking down at me too.
Eventually, the song comes to an end. Still staring up at the opaque glass ceiling, I blow out a shaky breath. Feeling bereft, I decide I need a few minutes of privacy to clear my head. Dylan’s busy arguing with the tour manager when I excuse myself telling, him I need to find a ladies’ room, but really I head to the elevator to search for some desperately needed fresh air.
The security guard is on the phone, but he opens the door to the elevator when I arrive. A few seconds later, the doors slide open—I hadn’t even noticed we weren’t going down. “Boss man wants to see you.” The hulk of a man extends his arm, gesturing for me to exit the elevator.
I don’t have to ask which way to go. I walk toward the same room I was just in, only one floor up. My insides churn at the sight of a woman vying for Flynn’s attention as he stands in the corner, arms folded tightly over his chest. I may notice the tall, svelte blonde, but Flynn…his eyes are trained on me.
We stand at opposite ends of the room, our gazes locked, until he pushes off the wall and, with a few long strides, stalks to me. I can see the flex of his jaw and the darkness in his normally light-blue eyes.
His friend from today approaches us, his face going through a mental Rolodex before recognition dawns. “You’re Dylan Ryder’s girlfriend, right?”
Flynn looks at his friend, then back to me. His response is spoken into my eyes, even though his words aren’t for me. “Can you clear this room, Blake?”
Through my peripheral vision, I see his friend’s brows draw down, then understanding hits him. “Shit. You’re asking for trouble.” Blake shakes his head, but a minute later the room is cleared of everyone except Flynn and me.
Flynn looks down, then closes his eyes and takes a breath before speaking.
“My mother raised me and my sister, Bec, alone. She struggled every day to make ends meet and never had time for herself. Our dad left when I was eight. Had his secretary actually waiting in the car the day he moved out.”
He drags a hand through his hair. I reach out to touch him, but he puts his hand up. “Don’t.” The disdain in his voice makes me want to vomit.
“Bec married Professor Douchebag. My niece, Laney, has a half-sister three weeks younger than her. Compliments of her father’s TA.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. And I truly am. Although I’m not sure my words bring any comfort, since I’m the cause of his turmoil.