Читать книгу His For One Night - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 11

Two

God, she looked amazing.

Brooke Bonner wasn’t wearing the skintight crop top and leather miniskirt she’d had on the last time Flash had seen her. For this small crowd, she was wearing a black hippy-style skirt that came just below her knees and showed off her turquoise cowboy boots. A long sweater vest thing without sleeves was held in place over a deep-cut white shirt with the kind of studded belt that Flash’s sister Chloe sold for her Princess of the Rodeo clothing line.

Turquoise dripped off her ears and around her neck but—he had to lean to the side to see—her fingers were bare. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he didn’t think there was even a tan line for an engagement ring on her finger.

Thank God.

When she’d disappeared from the public eye a few months ago, Flash had been terrified to think she might have met someone, might have gotten married. If she had, he’d have had to walk out the Bluebird’s door without a look back. He wasn’t going to screw up a marriage. But no ring meant he settled in and ordered another ginger ale. He was here for the duration.

Had he ever seen a more beautiful woman? He’d met a lot of hot women and slept with his fair share of them, but there was something about the way Brooke was put together that drew his eye. He couldn’t look away, hadn’t been able to since the very first moment he’d seen her in Fort Worth. He’d kissed her hand and that had been that.

Brooke wasn’t wearing a hat tonight, so he could see the glory of her dark red hair as it flowed down her back in long waves. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that hair, wrap it around his fist like he’d done the last time, holding her head so he could kiss her again and again.

Apparently, absence really did make the heart grow fonder, because Flash was so glad to see Brooke right now that he wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her far, far away from this crowded little place and show her how damned glad he was to see her.

He’d spent a year trying not to miss this woman. A year of trying to put the most intense sexual experience of his life out of his mind. He’d tried to pick up buckle bunnies since that night, but he hadn’t succeeded. Not once in thirteen months.

He was afraid Brooke Bonner had ruined him for any other woman.

And that would be a damn shame.

No way in hell he wanted to be tied down. Especially not this year, when the All-Around All-Stars Cowboy of the Year was in his sights. After a wreck of a year—mostly brought on by Flash’s own hot temper and alcohol-fueled brawls—he was back and ready to prove he wasn’t just a chip on his shoulder with a good right hook.

For too long, people had assumed that Flash only won the All-Stars because the Lawrence family owned the circuit, and he understood now that most of his fights had been about proving he wasn’t just a Lawrence, but that when it came to the rodeo, he was one of the best.

Getting suspended from the rodeo after that last fight—along with forfeiting his winnings up to that point—had been a blessing, although it sure hadn’t felt like it at the time, especially not with the busted jaw Flash had gotten brawling. But it’d forced him to come to grips with his temper and grow the hell up. Plus, it’d shown everyone the All-Stars wasn’t just a family business coddling the baby of the family. The rodeo family understood now that Flash had earned his place in the rankings.

This was his year and, for once, he wasn’t going to shoot himself in his own foot. That included this thing between him and Brooke.

He just wanted...well, he wanted another night with her, to see if there was still that same electric current between them.

Best case, they’d make an effort to meet up on the road a few times a year, whenever his rodeo was in town during her concerts. He wouldn’t say no to something like that. Not with her. He could focus on winning it all and she could focus on her career, and they’d get the chance to enjoy themselves during their downtime, like they had in Texas.

Then she announced the name of her first new song. “One-Night Stand.”

The tips of Flash’s ears went hot. That wasn’t about him, right?

Couldn’t be. It was the height of egotism to think that one night with him had left Brooke with anything other than a fond memory.

“Everyone should have one good night stand, don’t you think?” Brooke went on, and the crowd chuckled approvingly. Someone to his left wolf whistled. Flash didn’t see who, but he’d like to bust whoever it was in the jaw.

But the moment that thought crossed his mind, Flash clamped down on it. He was not going to lose his temper here. People were allowed to be jerks. He wasn’t responsible for teaching them the errors of their ways when they crossed the line. Throwing a punch to defend Brooke’s honor was something the old Flash would’ve done. The new-and-hopefully-improved Flash settled for glaring in the direction of the whistler.

Besides, causing a scene didn’t serve his goals. He wanted to get reacquainted with Brooke Bonner. He needed to find out if there was something worth chasing between them or if he just needed to man up and move on.

If he got lucky, then he’d get lucky. If not, well, he still had to win it all.

The All-Around All-Stars Rodeo was in Nashville this weekend and he’d been hoping to find a way to run into her. When she’d posted on social media she’d be at the Bluebird tonight, he’d driven like a bat out of hell to get to Tennessee five days early just to see her.

At the bare minimum, he needed to make things right between them. Starting a brawl less than two minutes into her set would pretty much guarantee he’d never get another shot. So he kept a lid on his temper and took another drink of his soda.

When the crowd settled down, Brooke leaned in close to the microphone and said, “I’m so glad to see so many people agree—it’s my favorite piece of furniture, too!”

Flash let out a slow breath, grinning in spite of his nerves. He’d loved her snarky sense of humor last year, too. She hadn’t fawned over him and he had done his best not to fawn over her. There’d been an...understanding between them, almost. And a woman with a sense of humor was surprisingly erotic.

Thank goodness that a year of superstardom hadn’t changed that about her.

Then Brooke began to sing as she played her guitar, and something in Flash’s chest let go as the sound of her voice washed over him. By God, he’d missed the hell out of her. She might not remember him—although, given how her eyes had widened slightly when they’d made eye contact, he thought maybe she did. And she might not want to see him again. But for a little while, he could lose himself in her world.

Until he realized what she was singing.

“It’s just a one-night stand,

No tomorrow, no plans.”

Well, damn. Yeah, she remembered him. But it wasn’t a good thing. Especially not when she got to the chorus.

“You weren’t worth the fun.

My one-night stand.”

And the hell of it was, it was a great song. She had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand.

“Don’t want to hear your excuses,

I don’t care about your plans.

Not waiting any longer.

Screw your demands.

It’s time I made my one-night stand.”

Chills raced down his back as she held the last note, strong and powerful. He hadn’t even had the chance to say hello and she was already shutting him down.

When the song ended, she did not look at him. She didn’t sneak a peek out of the corner of her eye, didn’t pivot in her chair, nothing. If she’d recognized him, it was clear she was ignoring him. “Whoo, y’all like that? That’s just the beginning—I have a whole album of sass coming your way!”

Anger—an old, familiar feeling—began to push through his veins, but Flash refused to let it win. It was entirely possible that Brooke Bonner had forgotten all about him after her whirlwind breakout year. There was also a distinct possibility that, if she did remember him, she didn’t hold him in any particularly high esteem.

He should’ve anticipated the song, though. He should’ve anticipated her anger. Anger was his second language. It came as naturally to him as breathing. But he hadn’t seen this attack coming.

Okay, yeah, there’d been a superhot one-night stand. They’d hooked up in her dressing room before the show, which had made her late to go on because leather miniskirts weren’t easy to work around. And it’d been good.

God, he still went hard just thinking about taking her against the wall in that tiny room, staring into her eyes as they both fought not to make a single sound. So damn good. And she had to have agreed, right? Because he’d hung around after the show, and when she’d seen him waiting for her, her entire face had lit up and she’d crooked her finger at him. They’d spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other in her hotel suite, having hot sex and ordering room service and, in between the seductions, making each other laugh.

They’d parted friends the next morning. He’d made damn sure to leave her with a smile on her face. He knew he hadn’t stopped grinning for days. Weeks, even.

So how had they gotten from that to this?

“My next song—now just wait for it,” she all but purred into the mike, “is called ‘How Many Licks’ because that was always the question, right?” The crowd hooted. “How many licks to get to the center of the sucker?”

“Three!” some jackass yelled.

“As many licks as it takes,” a different ass yelled. Brooke wagged a scolding finger at him.

Flash had to close his eyes and focus on his breathing. Behind his eyelids, the world was red. They weren’t disrespecting her. She’d chosen that title to get that exact reaction. She knew what she was doing and it wasn’t his job to defend her from every slight. He’d already tried that once and had the criminal record—and nemesis—to prove it. He’d busted Tex McGraw up pretty damn good because the man had dared to put Brooke’s name in his mouth.

Obviously, Flash understood why Tex hated him with a white-hot fury—Flash had knocked the man out of the All-Stars with a solid right hook. But Tex hadn’t let up any with his online attacks since then, and he sure as hell hadn’t accepted either of Flash’s apologies—not the court-mandated one and not the more sincere one Flash had made after a few months of sobriety. But it was fine. Flash had gotten to a place in his life where he could handle online swipes from Tex without being driven to fits of rage. That was how far Flash had come in a year.

Brooke launched into the song, which cut off any other outbursts. The red haze behind his eyes faded, and he was able to breathe without feeling like punching someone.

Not surprisingly, this song felt personal, too. The double entendres flew fast and furious, but the core of the song was about a guy who couldn’t take his licks and bailed.

A lot of people didn’t like Flash. He’d never made it particularly easy for anyone to like him, but at least he knew it. However, he’d never inspired such strong feelings that someone could write an entire album based on how much they hated him, for God’s sake.

Right. Instead of being insulted and letting it get to him, he was going to focus on feeling...flattered. Yeah, flattered. Not just any rodeo rider had an entire album dedicated to him, officially or unofficially. And if she publicly acknowledged that he was the inspiration, well, Flash was sure that his sister, Chloe, would find a way to spin Brooke’s new album as a positive for Flash and the All-Around All-Stars Rodeo. Probably.

Besides, Brooke had said herself the album wouldn’t be out for a few more months. She was still fine-tuning some of the material, still recording. Forewarned was forearmed. It was a good thing he was here tonight. He could work with Chloe to plan for a couple of different contingencies. His sister had already basically figured out that Flash was crushing hard on Brooke.

Although...she’d want to know why Brooke was so furious with him. And he did not have an answer for that. Brooke had kissed him goodbye. Thanked him for the amazing night. Told him to take care.

And that was it.

At least she hadn’t forgotten him, right? If there was one word that described Flash Lawrence, it was memorable.

When Brooke started the next song—titled “Not Going Down (Without a Fight)”—Flash almost couldn’t take it. What the hell? If it’d been any other club or dive bar in Nashville, he would’ve bailed. But when a songwriter or a singer started their set at the Bluebird, no one moved and no one talked—house rules. So he had no choice but to sit there and listen.

He’d spent a year trying to make sense of the fact that Brooke Bonner was an itch he hadn’t finished scratching. Before her, he’d bounced around bars and rodeos for four, maybe five years, picking up buckle bunnies and beautiful women in every town from Phoenix to Peoria while riding on the All-Stars circuit. Brooke Bonner should’ve been just one more woman. It’d been a one-night. Meaningless. Satisfying.

Except that that night had meant something to him and he’d spent nearly thirteen months unsatisfied.

Coming here tonight hadn’t been a good idea. But damn it, he needed to know if their night together had meant anything to her.

Something more than raw material.

Finally, her set ended and the crowd came back to life. Because she was the last act, she stayed in the center of the room and signed autographs and posed for pictures. Flash hung back at the bar, debating his next move. Should he wait for the crowd to thin and then approach her? Or would it be better if they didn’t have an audience? In that case, he should head out to the parking lot and wait by her car. Or was that too creepy?

Brooke glanced at him, a frown wrinkling her forehead before she quickly looked away. Nothing about that said invitation.

But he didn’t care about that little frown. He didn’t care about the songs or the radio silence that had lasted over a year.

He wanted to look her in the eye, make his case and then hear whatever she needed to get off her chest in person—without losing his temper. He wanted to know how they’d gotten from that wild night to this.

And if he didn’t get lucky...he’d walk.

But he wasn’t playing this guessing game.

He paid his tab and headed outside. The Bluebird was in a nondescript strip mall, and it took some work for Flash to work his way around to the back of the building. There—that plain sand-colored sedan had to be hers. She’d told him that she drove a boring car because it blended in.

He took up residence against a wall a good ten feet from the door of the Bluebird, giving her plenty of room. Lying in wait for her was a terrible idea, especially after that window into her mind and most especially after that frown. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled a gun on him.

But that was a risk he was willing to take.