Sex I can do—I’ve certainly imagined long, sweat-inducing sessions of our bodies engaged every which way. Love on the other hand—the stability, the longevity—no fucking way.

So why do I keep looking at the stairway for her?

Talk about an unexpected surprise to look up from the quick-and-easy twins who I had a unique and interesting time with last month to find Quinlan standing there in the meet and greet room. With his arm around her.

And his lips on hers.

Her fucking perfect tits in that tight tank top and her sexy as hell legs, bare and long, beneath the short skirt that begged for me to yank it up around her waist while I discovered her perfection beneath. Goddamn. Talk about wanting to go over there and rip his hands off her, let him know where things stand between us, but shit, a make-out session on the porch and a one-sided phone call doesn’t make her mine.

Yet.

Then she gave me the chance, rabbiting down the hall to escape after displaying the tiny flash of emotion in her eyes that I didn’t have enough time to read. And I couldn’t resist, had to follow her even with the opportunity for the twins again—shit, with any of the females in that room—sitting right in front of me, because I want only her.

I wanted to ask her so many things, most important what the fuck she was doing with that guy, but there was no stopping me from sampling her mouth the minute I pressed up against that ridiculous body of hers. Fucking hell, the woman kisses with every part of herself, like an R&B song that demands you to think of making slow, sweet love to someone. The kind of sex you can’t shake long after the condom’s tied off and your sheets fall cold.

I groan, the sound lost in the noise of the club, as I think of how fucking hard she made me with that selfish desperation she responded with. Nothing wrong with a woman going for what she wants. Talk about adding to her sex appeal and then some.

Take me. The thought has been on constant repeat since our first kiss. Pathetic, maybe. A necessary one, definitely.

And of course to make matters worse, I had to leave the sweetness of her in the bathroom to go back and watch that fucker’s arm go around her. I’m not a possessive guy—shit, in my business chicks come and go in and out of our lives like on a constant lazy Susan—so it’s not a feeling I’m too familiar with.

I sure as shit felt her react, tasted the need in our kiss, heard the way she called out my name, so where the fuck is she? Rocker trumps racer every time. Hands down.

What is it about her that has me wanting more? Ice cream is ice cream, so you need to keep sampling flavors so you don’t get sick of the one you like the most, and yet she seems like a new flavor that I can’t get enough of.

Addictive and has me craving more each time I get a taste.

You’re so fucked in the head, I tell myself, comparing her to ice cream, all the while thinking of just where I want my tongue to lick her. Damn.

I lean forward and set my empty beer bottle down to pick up the glass where my Jack and Coke sits half gone. And fuck if I know what causes me to take note of my tats, the symbols telling the sordid story of my life when my shirt pulls up my bicep, but I do. To others they’re just permanent ink on my skin; to me they are symbolic of everything churning inside me, past and present. All of them have their meaning, all of them tell of my hurt, my heartbreak, my motivation to move forward, to prove that I’m worthy of the things he robbed me of.

I draw in a deep breath, and try to shake the memories, the images that have forever left their indelible mark in my mind. It must be the mixture of alcohol that has me so contemplative. Quinlan not showing up.

It’s all eating at me, spurring on the self-doubt that always lingers just beneath the surface. Singles hitting number one on the charts, more money than I can spend, fame … They do nothing to replace the emptiness or the need to prove to everyone that I’m worthy of it all. If I can’t win over the one girl I want, then I sure as fuck am not enough to save the two people left in my life.

Fuck this. I down the rest of the drink, resign myself to the thought that I’ll go find my own fun for the night. Get lost in someone else or call up the girls from earlier, I think I have their number somewhere. Fuck, or find a fangirl who’ll be thrilled to be with me so that I can close my eyes and think of Quinlan.

I toss back the shot of Jäger on the table in front of me and when I slam the glass back down, I resolve that I need to take this back to where it all started, get my head on straight and simplify the situation. This is a bet, a challenge. Nothing more. Nothing less. A bet I have to win because fuck if I’m getting a tattoo of a pink damn heart.

Vince plops down on the other end of the couch and jars me from the shit fucking up my head and just eyes me up and down. “She show?”

“Who?” I play dumb even though I know he can see right through it.

“Your only hope at not getting a pussy pink heart tattooed on that wrist of yours.” He throws his head back and laughs.

I’m about to tell him, fuck you, because hell no, I don’t want to lose the bet. Won’t lose. But immediately the thoughts about after I do sneak in, the ones that give possibility to the things I’ll never allow in my life because they’ll make you weak. Jesus Christ, I haven’t even fucked her. Talk about a pussy predicament. Griff from the D-Bags beats me to it. “Fuck you, Vinny boy. The only pussy pink my man, Hawkin, here wears is on his lips.”

I double over in laughter momentarily before I fist bump Griff. “Classic,” I tell him. “Hey, Kellan,” I say over his shoulder when I notice their band’s lead singer on the other side of him. “You guys heading out?”

“Pussies,” Vince mutters, making a show of checking his watch to tell them they’re leaving way too early in the night.

“Well, yeah, that’s next on my agenda,” Griff says, all four of us laughing. “And definitely in the plural sense too.”

“Early flight back to the tour,” Kellan explains as he shakes my hand. “Thanks for letting us play tonight. My best to your family.”

“Thanks for playing, man. Appreciate it!”

The guys finish saying good-bye to Vince and when they clear the space in front of us, I look up and my eyes lock on to Quinlan’s. Goddamn. She’s a few steps behind Luke, her hand’s in his, but he’s leading so she has the freedom to hold my stare.

And fuck the jolt that hits is like a live wire running rampant through my every nerve. It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time and shit, it’s not like she’s doing anything other than walking, but it’s as if she just made so many things that are off-kilter inside me even out.

The thought unnerves me enough that when they approach, I focus on Luke with glances aimed her way intermittently. But it’s not enough.

I love the feistiness that sparks in the golden color of her eyes, the desire too, but I’m also intrigued to recognize her uncertainty over whether or nor I’ll keep the promises I made earlier. And that tells me so much: that she’s all-in with whatever this is between us. So I give her the only response I can with Luke present. I dart my eyes down to where my mark on her breast is hidden to let her know I’ll live up to my words. No doubt there.

Even better is the hitch in her breath when she understands my intentions.

We make niceties for a bit and I just want to buy Luke a drink to occupy his mouth so he stops talking for a minute. He’s a decent dude and all … just currently sitting with his arm around Quin. And she’s mine.

Between the subtle and fleeting meeting of our eyes and the way her tits bounce beneath the tank as she moves instinctively to the music’s beat, it takes every ounce of my effort to be attentive to whatever Luke is trying to talk about. I just nod and smile, pretend I’m more drunk than I really am because I learned a long-ass time ago that gets me out of having to converse with people when I don’t want to. All the while my mind fixates on the aggressive desperation in her touch in the backstage bathroom what feels like a lifetime ago.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Luke offers as he stands up. “What’s your poison?”

Fuck if I’m going to tell him in the VIP lounge we have servers bring us our drinks, that we don’t have to make a trip downstairs to the bar. Because now I get to be alone with Quinlan.

“Jack and Coke. Thanks.” I nod to him.

He holds his hand out to help Quinlan up and I swear it takes everything I have to not tell him she’s staying here. “I’m gonna stay here,” she says, reading my mind. I bite back the laugh when Luke glances back and forth between the two of us, my comment about losing the girl to a rock star from earlier obviously having left its impression. “My feet hurt,” she explains, lifting up her tanned calf in a move that has thoughts of running my tongue up its inseam clouding my mind.

I lick my lips and when I look up from her sexy-ass heels, Quin’s eyes are focused straight at me and are now full of libidinous hunger. It’s almost as if the longer we’re within each other’s proximity, our attraction is irrefutable, growing stronger. And she must sense that the desire in her eyes is unmistakable to Luke as well because she averts her gaze suddenly as if she knows she’s giving too much away.

But the damage has already been done. I’m sold. Check please. Time to go.

My dick’s already rising to the occasion because if the look in her eyes showed me just a smidgen of the tigress beneath, I’m already done for.