Reforming the Rock Star Read online

  Her full lips split into a shy smile and her pink cheeks went magenta. “Um, thanks. Callie did it. So. You know, I’m not sure it will stick, but it was fun to try for a night.”

  It would stick with him for far longer than the night, but he’d be good either way. She was wrong about being all librarian. She had a sex appeal that had nothing to do with clothes or makeup, and he’d be happy to take her either way. He only hoped this marked change in her meant that maybe she was opening her eyes to the possibility of a little fun in her life.

  And damn, did he want to be the source of that fun. It had been a long time since he’d felt that way.

  He grabbed the keys for the Mustang from the side table in the foyer and held out his arm.

  “Ready?”

  She paused and then linked her arm with his and nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”

  They crossed the parking-lot-sized driveway, and he unlocked the car with the remote on the key ring. The car responded with the traditional friendly beep, and if Sydney was impressed by the fire-red sports car, she sure as hell was careful not to let on.

  Instead, she slipped into the passenger seat and didn’t spare another word, choosing to focus on tugging insistently on her skirt. Apparently the thing had a mind of its own because she fussed with it—and every other item of clothing—for the entire ride. He had half a mind to offer her his shirtsleeve to tug on, just in case she ran out of distractions.

  “You all right over there, killer?” They sped past a statue of a blimp-sized gilded cow that marked the turn onto the main drag.

  “Sorry?” She touched the bridge of her nose, as if to adjust imaginary glasses. Jesus, he hoped there were some good drink specials because this girl needed serious unwinding. And, if he was being entirely honest with himself, the idea of her getting a little wild was tempting as hell.

  “You seem a little stressed-out.” On edge. Not at all the way girls normally were with him. Usually it was all fawning and coy smiles on the few dates he’d had since Bridget. But this? This was different.

  She peered out the window every three seconds, but was so quick to turn back to the dashboard, that he was shocked she hadn’t given herself whiplash yet. And the way she sank deeper into her seat with every passing sign was vaguely reminiscent of the way he and the rest of the band acted when they knew paps were around.

  “Nah, I’m fine.” She toyed with the radio and then scowled at him. “Are these all programmed to rock stations?” she asked finally, before sitting back with a sigh.

  “That’s what I play, that’s what I listen to,” he said unapologetically.

  The song ended and a familiar intro flowed from the speakers. A Rift song. He almost changed the station. The first time he’d heard the band on the radio, he’d nearly lost his mind with excitement. Now, though, it was hard not to just sit and analyze every note, looking for flaws or ways to improve. It felt more like work. Not a good sign.

  He clenched the wheel tighter, wondering yet again what the future would hold for them as a group. It had all come so easy before, and now…

  He’d been too caught up in his own thoughts to notice that Syd had start shimmying in her seat a little. “I thought you only liked country music?”

  “This one’s kinda catchy, I guess.” She bobbed her head slightly, and he fought hard to maintain his composure.

  Biting back laughter, he said, “The guitarist really knows his stuff.”

  She paused for a moment and tilted her head like an appraiser in an art gallery before nodding. “Yeah. Not bad.”

  For the rest of the ride, she hummed along with the chorus, occasionally repeating words a solid second after Jacob crooned them through the speakers. By the end, his laughter was so pent up that he was amazed it didn’t ooze out of his ears, but at least she was relaxing. To his music, no less. That made him way happier than it should have.

  Finally, the song drifted to an end and he reached to turn the dial, but she caught his wrist, sending a sizzle of awareness straight to his groin.

  “Wait. I want to hear who it is,” she said.

  He opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late. The broadcaster was already talking. “And that was your newest single from The Rift, ‘Break me to Pieces.’ Rumor has it that the song might have more to do with tensions in the band than lead singer Jake’s now-infamous breakup. What do you guys think? Is there a rift in The Rift? Call in or message us—”

  “I knew the whole time. Totally fooled you.” Syd’s shaky laugh drowned out the rest of the DJ’s words, and though he was hardly convinced, if she was going to leave off grilling him about possible issues in the band, he’d let her pretend she’d known it was them on the radio. Seemed like a more than fair trade. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his evening talking about that. This was supposed to be fun.

  He parked the car on the street in front of the bar and one look at Syd let him know that whatever tension had eked away during their ride was back in full force. Her shoulders were hiked up to her chin, and she bit down so hard on her lower lip that he was half certain she’d draw blood.

  After opening her door, he held out a hand and pulled her from the car.

  “Don’t you think people will notice this kind of car parked outside of this kind of place?” she said.

  She had a point. In his haste to make sure he got to spend time with her, he’d forgotten some of the finer points of evading the paparazzi. Still, he and the rest of the band weren’t supposed to be in town for another week. The odds of anyone here and on the hunt already were slim at best.

  “I think we’re cool. Nobody even knows we’re here yet.”

  He ushered her inside and toward a booth in the far corner of the room, to the right of the milk-crate-and-palette-board contraption that passed as a stage. The band had already started and, in spite of her nervous glances around the room, he and Syd still seemed to skate by largely unnoticed.

  One more point to small-town charm.

  He ordered two beers and they sat at a small, round table for two. The band was loud enough that conversation wasn’t necessary, and they were pretty good, but it was nearly impossible to watch anything other than Syd. The way she raised her eyebrows slightly at the more complex melodies. The tiny curve of her smile when she heard certain lyrics. The flush of her cheeks when they twanged about country love.

  Just like she had in the car, she threw in the occasional murmured chorus or shoulder shimmy. It was as endearing as it was mesmerizing, and he found himself relaxing right along with her.

  And it made her that much more captivating.

  Apparently so much so that she caught him staring. Again. “What?” she asked before swigging her newly arrived beer.

  “Nothing. You just, uh, you got something in your hair.” He reached across the table and smoothed back a silky lock that had fallen over her face as she swayed. “Got it.”

  This time when she flushed, he knew it had nothing to do with lyrics. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  …

  Anytime? Lucky for her, the band stopped playing before she got totally lost in Laz’s eyes and did something really stupid.

  “We’re going to take a short break, but stick around for the second set,” the slim, dark-haired singer announced with a smile. A second later, the tinny bar speakers began piping out a prerecorded set of old country hits.

  But in spite of the terrible acoustics and the even worse surroundings, she couldn’t find much to complain about it. She only recognized one person in the entire bar, and still fewer people seemed to recognize Laz.

  Who knew? Maybe she could actually have a night of fun. In Fairbanks.

  Stranger things had happened.

  “See, why can’t all music be like this?” She leaned closer to the speaker that hung loosely from an unmounted wire. It was a Johnny Cash tune that she recognized, but she couldn’t quite make out the words.

  “I think he just explained that he shot his wife t
wice and went to the bar. That’s the romance this world is missing?” He laughed, but his gaze didn’t flicker from hers for an instant. All night he’d been sizing her up that way. Like a sheep for slaughter.

  It would have been intimidating if it wasn’t so often accompanied by the slightest twitch of his lips or hard swallow. And if she didn’t do something to distract herself from those dark eyes, she might wind up pinned under him in bed with a whole different outcome. “Maybe not this song.” She took a long pull from her beer to soothe her suddenly dry mouth and licked the foam from her upper lip. Was it her imagination, or had he groaned at that? “But country music is just so real, you know? I don’t need all those rock bands banging on drums to get out their aggression or pop bands singing about how ‘I don’t know I’m beautiful.’”

  “Actually, I think you in particular could stand to have five hundred more songs on that front.” He swallowed his own beer, but his appraising stare cut right through her, making every limb in her body turn to Jell-O.

  “But I do think,” he continued, “maybe you’re just not listening to the right music. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

  She opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted as the one person she’d recognized at the bar sidled up to the table. Luckily, he was also one of the few people she didn’t mind running into. They weren’t friends in high school, but he’d been nice to her when they’d shared a chemistry class together, and she’d always admired his dedication to music, even then.

  “Hey, Syd, long time no see.” He held his arms out and bent down for an awkward half hug. “You look amazing.”

  She resisted the urge to touch her hair and smiled, warming at the compliment even though it was probably just part of the usual social hokey pokey people did. “Thanks, you, too.”

  “Gigging six nights a week keeps me spry.” He turned from Syd and extended a hand toward Laz, “I’m Dave Lewis.” He managed to keep up the cool-guy facade for a good ten seconds before his face broke into a childlike grin as he leaned in closer and whispered, “I’m a huge fan of yours. You are Lazlo Stone, right? We do a killer cover of ‘Broken Pieces,’ man. You should play it with us. You could sing it too, I mean, if you want. No pressure. None of these old-timers will know who you are, and we’ll keep it on the DL and all.”

  Dave’s words picked up speed as he went, and the end of his speech it was nearly impossible to understand what he’d said. On the plus side, the man’s anxiousness had clearly renewed Laz’s sense of ease. The tense handshake and cool smile he had initially offered melted into one of friendliness.

  “Sure thing. When your break is over, I’ll come on up and jam with you on that one.”

  A wide grin split Dave’s face, and Laz’s expression matched his pound for pound. Then, the other man scurried away, presumably to share the good news with his bandmates.

  “I hope you don’t mind. Plus, I know you’re a big fan of the song, after all. You know all the words.”

  She shot him a withering stare at the dig “Yeah, but the guitar could use some work.” Ha! Look at her, baiting Laz Stone. Where the hell had that come from?

  Based on his raised eyebrows, he was wondering the same thing. And based on his smile, he didn’t much care.

  Dave called him over and he stood. “I’m up. Be back after the song.” He marched into the little cluster of the band, though his height still made him stand out. For a long while, she just watched him—the way he moved, the way his face lit up talking about music with the guys—unsure whether or not she was supposed to and discovering more and more how little she cared.

  He was a vision, and she was going to look her fill.

  She’d always thought of him as being handsome when he was on TV or in the paper, but seeing him in person was something else entirely. There was a certain energy about him, a kind of humor and grace that drew everyone to him. Like the sole light source in a blackout or a solitary fire in winter.

  Being around him didn’t feel like company, it felt like necessity.

  And once he began to play, the magic that was Laz Stone became that much more enthralling

  When he lifted his face to the audience, it felt like he was seeing everyone, individually, but all at once, and offering them a gift. The lyrics were beautiful, but they didn’t matter because he sang them with feeling. Laz had been right. She was listening to the wrong kind of music.

  Too soon, it was over and he was stepping from the stage into a crowd of applause. Dave rolled on, announcing a few meetings for the ladies’ bingo league before he could continue the set, but Syd barely noticed any of it.

  All she could see was Laz, cutting his way through the dance floor toward her, that same wild passion in his eyes still not quite dissipated.

  When he finally reached her, he held out a hand.

  “Do you want to dance?”

  She looked down at the jean skirt with a cautious eye. Her beer had already been putting it to the test. One wrong move on the floor, and they might change the town name from Fairview to Sydview.

  But this was Laz. And there was no saying no to him.

  She placed her hand in his and straightened before using her free hand to pull at the hem of her skirt.

  Better safe than sorry.

  His hand closed over hers and squeezed. “Did I already tell you how amazing you look?”

  He had, but it sure didn’t hurt to hear it again. A warm glow radiated from her stomach and she smiled, shushing every little voice that urged her to argue with him. “Thank you.”

  His grip tightened on her hip, and he led them away from the center of the floor to the outskirts where they could still sway but not get in the way of the people who were cutting a rug out there and clearly knew all the steps to this dance. “I honestly don’t know which look I prefer,” he murmured thoughtfully, taking a wavy lock of hair between his thumb and forefinger and giving it a tug. “This, or the harried librarian.”

  She forced a self-conscious laugh, the warm glow fading some. He didn’t need to remind her that up until twenty-four hours ago, she’d been a hot mess in the appearance department.

  When she looked into his eyes, though, he was solemn. “I’m not kidding. I see women every day who put it all out there in hopes of getting the most attention possible. Hell, we have girls at shows who throw their bras onstage. Don’t get me wrong. If you want to throw your bra at me, I’ll happily catch it and enjoy the view, but it’s nice to have a little mystery once in a while. And you are that, Sydney Metcalf. A mystery.”

  Sydney Metcalf. A mystery. She wanted to belly laugh at that, but her throat was too tight to squeeze it out.

  He was studying her face so intently, his eyes filled with curiosity and…what? Desire? She actually felt her legs tremble. Don’t get sucked in by the charm, a little voice whispered. As flattering as his interest was—it even seemed sincere—he’d already come right out and admitted the cause for it. She was an anomaly.

  Something new and different.

  A chunk of turquoise in his world of diamonds and rubies. And just like a child with a new toy, if she gave in, he’d tire of her soon enough. She needed to stay focused on what was important. Making sure her business continued to flourish.

  Lazlo Stone was exactly the kind of distraction she didn’t need.

  She just wished his sparkling chocolaty eyes weren’t locked on hers, getting darker by the second. It’d be a whole lot easier to stay focused if he stopped looking at her like that.

  “I’m just boring old Syd. Fan of food, turtles, fantasy football, and old movies. I live in a one-bedroom apartment that has no furniture except a bed and a TV, but has six thousand three hundred and forty-two dollars’ worth of top-end cookware and a two thousand dollar knife.”

  She’d expected him to be bored by now. For the light in his gaze to dim with the realization that she truly was a regular girl. There was no mystery to be revealed or hidden depths to explore. She didn’t harbor dreams of being a spy and wasn�
��t an adrenaline junky just lying in wait for the next adventure.

  Instead, though, as she talked, his gaze only grew more appreciative.

  “You play fantasy football? I’m obsessed with it,” he admitted with a panty-melting grin. “Can’t get enough. The guys in the band already know we can’t do a gig on draft day.”

  She and this behemoth rock god had something else in common. Who would’ve thought? “I get first pick this year. I can’t decide whether to choose a quarterback first or a running back.”

  The music played on, and they danced as Laz launched into a thoroughly engaging argument on the benefits of each position. By the time they’d finished talking, a handful of songs and an hour had passed in what felt like a flash. She thought back to her last date.

  It had been of the blind variety, and calling it unsuccessful was an understatement. Bruce was an accountant who Callie’s mom, Minerva, had thought she’d be perfect for. He’d requested she meet him at a restaurant that was at the midpoint between their homes.

  His insistence that they get there by four thirty in order to catch the early bird specials should’ve been a clue that things were going to get weird. Once they got there, he proceeded to order them each an ice water and a burger before she even had a chance to look at the menu. When the waitress had walked away, he smiled at her and leaned in like he was talking to a child.

  “Now, if you want an appetizer, you can order one when she comes back with the drinks, but I’d expect you to pay for that portion of the meal, all right?” Then he handed her a wrinkled packet of Crystal Light he’d tugged from his pocket. “If you prefer lemonade to water,” he said with a wink. Twenty minutes in Bruce’s company had felt like an eternity.

  It was amazing how different two experiences could be.

  “I know you said you can’t eat much, but I can’t imagine you can say no to trying the wings here, or a piece of that pie.”

  He laced his fingers with hers and gestured toward a table where a man sat, forking up a giant bite of fruit pie. Laz’s grip was warm and reassuring, but she felt anything but safe. In fact, her whole body was tense, like it was about to snap. They’d only met a couple days ago, but here they were holding hands like old lovers.