I must look dubious, because she holds up the set of keys in her hand and shakes them at me like a maraca. “See these?”
I nod.
She jerks her chin at the stairs that lead to the second floor apartment above the bar. Her lips twist. “I live upstairs.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Yep.”
I rub my stubble, feeling like a total tool. I’m so out of my comfort zone here, it’s almost laughable. Flirting and fucking: those I can handle, no problem. It’s this shit — thisgood guyshit — that trips me up. Probably ‘cause I’ve never had any practice at it.
“Guess it’s goodnight, then.” I glance down and realize I’m still holding her hand. It looks so small inside mine. Fragile. I tell myself to drop it, but my fingers don’t cooperate. “Sorry I tied up your night with my drunken bullshit. Not my finest hour.”
“I’m sure the hangover will be punishment enough. And it was actually pretty amusing.”
“I live to please.” With effort, I let go of her hand. I clench mine into a fist so it doesn’t feel so empty. “Goodnight, Felicity.”
“Goodnight, Ryder,” she murmurs, walking toward her stairs. I watch her go, rooted to the spot like some sappy, sullen version of Romeo staring up at Juliet’s balcony, wanting something he can’t ever have. Something doomed to fail from the very start.
She unlocks the door, but turns to peer down over the railing at me one last time before stepping inside.
“Are you guys playing here again anytime soon?”
Am I crazy, or is that hope in her voice?
“Not for a while,” I tell her, a pang of regret moving through me. “We’ve got a gig at Tootsie’s on Broadway next Friday, then we’re one of the opening acts at theLet Freedom Singfestival the following week.”
She looks at me blankly.
“Shit, I forget you’re new here.” I grin. “Every year on the Fourth of July they shut down the streets and set up a stage down by the river. There’s live music all day, plus a big firework display when the sun goes down, of course. Our time slot is pretty prime this year, so it should be solid exposure for the band.”
Assuming we’re still playing together.
Assuming I’m not out in LA by then.
“Oh,” Felicity says, brows arching. “That sounds like a good time.”
I nod and lock my jaw shut to prevent myself from doing something idiotic — like asking her to come to the festival with me. I can’t get involved, especially not with someone like her. She needs stability. Security. Basically the exact opposite of everything I have to offer. All I can give her is sex without strings. And even if I tried to change… to be different for her…
How long would it last before I leave?
A few days?
A few weeks?
The plain truth is, I’m getting out of this city. The more entanglements I have when that day comes, the harder it will be to walk away. So, as much as I want to kick my own ass for doing it… I keep my mouth shut and let the opportunity slide by without asking her out or making any kind of plans to see her again.
A large yawn overtakes her face, drawing my attention to her mouth.
“‘Scuse me.” She smiles, looking drowsy as she leans against the railing. Her ponytail is coming loose; several long tendrils of hair frame her face. The urge to touch her becomes almost unbearable.
“Get to sleep before you fall over, kiddo,” I force myself to call, sounding blasé even to my own ears. “Nashville is a small town. I’m sure I’ll see you around sometime.”
Surprise — or is it disappointment? — flashes across her face, but she just nods.
“Oh. Yeah. See you around,” she echoes in a dull voice, turning away from me.
It could be my imagination, but I think her door slams a bit harder than necessary. I tell myself this is for the best in the long run, but it’s pretty damn unconvincing. I’m so fucking tempted to run up those stairs in three bounds, knock down her door, and pull her into my arms. To slide my hands into that hair and crush my lips against hers, kissing her until her body melts into mine. Until she stops caring that I’m a messed up asshole who’s no good for her; until I no longer remember that I’d only leave her hurt when I inevitably walk away.