She gripped Fox's hand tighter when she was groped by some random person while she was squeezing through the crowd. Fox pulled her in closer to him and gave the throng behind her the stink eye. She gave him a peck on the cheek. He really was her best friend. She loved that he was not even slightly “vagiphobic” as some of her gay friends called themselves. He had no problem fronting as her boyfriend to take the pressure off her and she had no doubt he would defend her with his fists (or fangs?) if it ever came down to it.
Dom was in a booth with a couple of regulars and Fox pulled her over that way. “Can we squeeze in?” he asked. The regulars bumped fists with Dom and got up to make room for them.
“You're on fire tonight,” Dom said.
She grinned and her face went warm. She met his eyes for a brief moment.
“That was more like a second set kind of pace. I wasn't sure if they would go there with you at first.”
Shit. He hadn't liked it. “I'm sorry—it was too fast for ten at night, wasn't it? Do you think it was okay?”
He shrugged. “You pulled it off.” He waved out at the audience. “They were dancing.”
She felt like crawling under the table or crying or both. She was always fragile when she first came off stage. To open herself up and perform with her whole heart made her feel both euphoric and vulnerable. For an hour or two afterward as she came off the high of it all, she could easily plummet into depression if she felt like she'd screwed it up.
She looked up and was dismayed to see that Dom was studying her with what suspiciously looked like comprehension. He covered her hand with his own—it was cooler in temperature, like Fox's. “That wasn't a criticism. You were great.”
Her eyes filled with tears then—because it was Dom and she was embarrassed. She was saved by Nanette, who arrived with the tequila shot. She immediately threw it back and sunk her teeth into the lime. “One more, please.”
Dom frowned.
“I'll pay for it,” she said quickly. Everyone got a free shift drink, but maybe he thought she was abusing his generosity.
He shook his head. “No, it's on the house. You sure you can handle two shots in a row like that?”
She shrugged. But he was right to doubt her drinking capacity. She was a lightweight—five feet, three inches, 115 pounds. One drink usually had her tipsy, two and she'd be drunk. The fire of the Herradura was relaxing her limbs, and it helped her forget the awkward moment with Dom. She sneaked a look at him and felt that thrill of danger imagining what it would be like to be with him.
“Let's keep rockin' it,” she said when they were back on stage. She kept the vibe up at a fevered pace again—giving everything she had to her performance, trying to make up to Dom for the shortcomings of the last set. The mixture of the alcohol and caffeine now had her in an anything-goes kind of mood and she was going to use it to its full extent.
The Marilyn dress wasn't working for her, though, especially not in this mood. She was wearing spanky shorts on underneath in case the audience looked up her dress while she was on stage, so she made a big show of ripping the dress off and twirling it overhead like she was a member of the US Women's Soccer team and just won the title. She threw the dress out to the cheering audience and then posed in her black and hot pink bra and spankies, throwing her arms up in the air. The crowd screamed. Her all-male band-mates were laughing.
“How about 'Tainted Love?'” she asked, standing behind her keyboard and adjusting the mic. Fox grinned, plucking the melody on his electric guitar. The rest of the band got on board after trying out a few bars and she gave a nod and started in for real.
She sang it strong and sultry. “Sometimes I feel I've got to…” she snapped her head from side to side for the accent beats of the keyboard: bong-bong, “…run away, I've got to…” snappy head: bong-bong “get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me…”
* * *
Dom was all about women ripping off their clothes whenever they felt like it, but this particular time didn't feel right to him. And it wasn't because he didn't love to look at Kate Strand's hot little body. Watching her now, he could see the pulse of her heart beat under her pale skin, the veins looking plump with oxygen. His eyes traced the blue lines, following the one that plunged down into her bra, then moving to the one at her inner thigh, watching the quiver of that lush femoral artery that was exposed by her short shorts. He shook his head to clear it.
It wasn't that he didn't want everyone else looking at her hot little body, either. Well, maybe some of that. But this wasn't really like her. She always gave a good show, but didn't usually drink that much and he didn't want her to do something she'd regret. He felt like she was somehow inviting danger by getting so wild up there. He felt protective of her. But then, every employee at No Return felt the same way and Fox was right there next to her. Just to be safe, he would make sure Fox accompanied her home or to her car when she left.
“What the—?” The singing stopped with a yelp mid-note and there was a series of loud crashes. Oh shit. He couldn't see Kate at all, which meant she must have fallen off the front of the stage. How was that possible?
“I'm on it!” Stella yelled, pushing her way toward the stage. He pushed his own way through the
