Before she could reply with a resounding yes, the other dude scoffed. “Don’t toy with the groupies like this, Shepherd. Fair Floozies will stick to the tour like dog shit on your heel if you string them along.” Contempt oozed from his nasal, Midwestern cadence.
Helen turned to the mean troll in their midst. Jeez, she was playing. Not like she’d go full groupie and offer to blow Brian for the passes.
She planted her hands on her hips and scowled at Mr. Sideburns, spoiler of fun and wearer of ugly facial hair. “Slut-shaming is rude. And speaking of shit, you mixed too much of it into your metaphor. Epic fail.”
In a lightning-fast move, Brian capped the end of his marker and jabbed a finger in Mr. Sideburns’s chest, towering over him and getting in his face. “I’ve had it with you today. Quit hassling my fans and go make me some money.”
Unable to help herself, Helen stuck her tongue out at the balding jerk. A teeny, kittenish peep.
His face reddened. “Fine. I’m heading to the Wyoming ranch later to square away some details for the Bronze Phase party. Don’t dismiss this, Shepherd. These guys have unorthodox methods, but their results are solid. As you know, you need them more than ever.” Mr. Sideburns stalked off, frowning.
Brian took off his hat and ran a hand through short, chestnut hair highlighted silver. Silver, not gray. A distinction that made perfect sense. But a vibe heavier than sex appeal shaped her impression of the rock star. Sadness lurked in his distant gaze. Her heart swelled with a compulsion to erase the distress from his stare and make him smile again.
“Hey, I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. I meant what I said. I’m a huge fan of yours. Nobody toggles a whammy bar like Brian Shepherd, in my humble opinion.”
He smiled, this one less flirty. But it crinkled the corners of his eyes, so win.
“Thank you. And no worries, I’m the boss around here. I do apologize for Joe. I’m sick of him, but I need his connections. Anyway, yes, of course you are invited backstage. Who should I tell my people to put on the guest list?” Tone crisper than before, he replaced his hat, slid the marker behind his ear, and pulled a cell phone from inside of his jacket.
Though bummed to lose their flash of chemistry, she dug this personable, relatable side of Brian. His affable manner put her at ease. No small feat.
“Thank you. Helen Schrader and Lisa Shimizu, please.”
“Which one are you?” A sickle-shaped wrinkle split the left side of his face when he spoke, running from the corner of his eye to the middle of his cheek like a tributary carved by a tear.
“I’m Helen.” The softness in her tone startled her. Tough to play the part of Ms. Jaded around such a nice and disarming guy. Swept up in a budding sense of affection for Brian, she reached in her purse and scooped up the velvet bag of crystals. She took out one of the clear minerals. As the charm caught bits of setting sun, the plated sides glittered. “This is for positive energy. Have a fantastic show, and I hope tension with your staff blows over.”
Brian accepted Helen’s offering, stroking her index finger with his. He slipped the charm in the front pocket of his pants. “Beautiful gift from a beautiful person.”
She laughed and scratched the back of her neck. “You don’t know me.”
Brian pinned Helen with a laser beam stare. “A fact I’d love to change. Find me after the show.”
“I guess this would be the time to tell you I don’t hook up.”
While trying to act the part of the badass stripper chick, Helen had convinced herself she could enjoy casual sex and gotten her heart broken. Hence her policy of informing men right off the bat that one-nighters didn’t work for her.
He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, ghosting a callused fingertip over a sensitive spot near her throat. Tickles of pleasure raced over her skin, making their way between her legs. Warmth pooled in her core. Damn Brian and his rock star superpowers, tempting her neglected body and making her rethink a hookup.
“Neither do I,” Brian said in his posh, buttercream voice.
Puh-lease. Everyone knew what happened on tour. And in her car. Ugh.
“Sure you don’t.” Though she laid the sarcasm on thick, Helen kept her tone teasing.
“Come round later and learn what I’m all about.”
“In case we miss each other, will you sign my shirt now?” Because come on, Brian no doubt met zillions of women on the road. He’d forget her the second a more willing lady offered him no-strings release.
Brian clucked his tongue. “I need to work for your trust, eh?”
Fair statement, B-man.
He pulled the cloth of her shirt taut with one hand and signed a patch of fabric near her shoulder with the other. Brian pulled away, leaving a pleasant recollection of his touch.
“Can I get a selfie?” Helen asked.
Brian threw his arm around Helen and urged her to his body, smooth leather stroking her bare forearm. Helen surrendered her phone, and Brian held his free hand high and snapped a few pictures.
With a crooked smile, Brian broke the hold. “See you later, Helen Schrader.”
“After a while, crocodile. And you got lucky that my name rhymes with the first part of the saying.” She missed him already. Double-damn this guy.
He handed her the phone. “Hope to see you later this evening.”
Returning cell to purse, she forced herself not to giggle or grin like an idiot. What a player. Best to forget him. She didn’t pine over men or even date anymore. Narcissists and others of the asshole persuasion flocked to Helen. They smelled her damage and manipulated her accordingly. No worries, though. Single life suited her. More to the point, she had to circle back to her goal of breaking the good news to
