Brooklyn Rockstar (Kendall Family #1) (4 page)

“Dating on and off.” Eyes burning even brighter, her fingers hook the diamond pendant hanging from her neck. A bead of sweat pricks along her hairline. Having developed a sixth sense for this kind of thing, I can fucking
smell
just how turned on she’s become.

Snagging the recorder from the table, I press the STOP button and wave it in front of her. “Here’s the deal. I don’t
do
these kinds of interviews in penthouses, surrounded by thousand dollar pillows with billion dollar views. If you want something to write about, come watch me perform at Leona’s in Brooklyn Heights tomorrow night. I’ll personally make sure you have the best seat in the house. We can talk after my gig when I’m still on a performance high. It’s the best mood you’ll catch me in.”

Flashing the grin I know to drive women wild, I touch her bare calf and drag my fingers down to her ankle, caressing the skin around it. Eyes wide as saucers, she shutters and makes a small noise of pleasure deep in her throat.

“Wear these shoes,” I whisper into her ear.

I pause, reveling in the way she flounders against my hand when it moves up toward her skirt. Her breaths are heavy and tight. She’s so fucking close that it would only take a slip of my finger
.
Older women are always more in touch with their bodies—literally—and that much easier to get off. It’s part of the reason Danny always preferred his women to be over 30.

She braces herself against my chest. “I’m old enough to be your goddamn mother.”

“Doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about doing things to this body,” I answer, dragging my fingertips back down to her knees. “Show up tomorrow and I promise to give you an unforgettable show.”

Unable to speak, Gwen hums in understanding. She slaps her hand around my wrist, begging it to climb higher. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“What exactly do you want, Gwen?” I tease.

“I want you to make me come,” she whispers in a strained voice. “
Please, Charlie
.”

The way she purrs, it’s almost impossible to hold off any longer. As much as I want to bend her over the couch right now and fuck her senseless, however, there wouldn’t be any fun in that. It’s all about the pursuit and anticipation.

She digs her fingers into my thigh with a pleading look. “It would most definitely be off the record.”

There’s a brisk knock at the door and she reluctantly releases me. Her face is stone cold as she attempts to straighten herself out. “That must be my photographer. She’s
early.”

Knowing she’s in no state to answer the door, I move across the room and do it myself. Two middle aged women carrying equipment openly swoon as they introduce themselves, then hurry over to Gwen. Lorenzo saunters in behind them, studying the still blushing reporter with narrowed eyes.

“
Please
tell me you didn’t fuck her,” he whispers, clapping me on the back. “One screw up a day is more than I can handle.”

“Nah. But she’s coming to the show tomorrow.”

As I watch Gwen and her staff busily prepare for the photo shoot, I sink against the wall and take a deep breath. If Danny were here he’d tell me everything’s going to be okay and I’m going to rock that bar tomorrow night. I just wish he was going to be there to back me up.

F
rom the minute
we’re both awake, Sharlo bends over backwards to give me a memorable day. A private car takes us over to Manhattan, where she insists on giving me a crash course of the biggest sites in the city. By mid-afternoon we’ve walked through Times Square, taken a ferry past the Statue of Liberty, visited the observation deck on the Empire State Building, strolled through Central Park, and ate dirty water dogs from a street vendor before grabbing a cupcake from Magnolia Bakery. It’s everything I could hope to see my first day in the city.

We’re both giddy by the time we’re back in the apartment, stoked for our night out with Charlie Walker. Though I didn’t share all the details of what I was doing when I watched his music video, I did let her know I was impressed by what I saw.

After trying on nearly every outfit I’ve packed, we agree on a white, loose-fitting tank top with a cut-out back and a pair of torn capris with my gladiator sandals. Since Sharlo worked for a short time as a makeup artist and I don’t own much beyond a tube of mascara, I allow her to dote on me until I become someone I hardly recognize while still somehow appearing natural. The smoky look she gave my eyes is sexy as hell and makes them look bigger while the dark freckles that normally make me appear exceptionally young somehow enhance my features with a bit of bronzer.

After I straighten my hair, she braids my bangs away from my face and clips them into place with bobby pins, then loans me a pair of silver dangling earrings. Between the braid and her expert makeup job, I look trendier than ever. People won't be able to tell I spent half my life driving tractors covered in dirt.

By the time Sharlo’s ready to go, having changed into a flowing skirt and sleeveless lacy top with a high collar, hair teased into a loose ballerina bun, it’s as if we’ve been friends our whole lives. We link arms and chat excitedly on the five-block stroll to the bar as I take in the sights of my new neighborhood.

Leona’s, the trendy corner bar where Sharlo used her connections to score me a waitressing job, is already packed when we arrive even though it’s still an hour before the show. We have a hard time making our way through the crowd to the mahogany bar in back, stacked three-deep with customers waiting to put in an order. If it’s always like this on Friday nights, at least I can expect big tips in my future.

While Sharlo orders margaritas, I take a look around. Ceiling covered in pounded metal and old vinyl records covering the walls among pictures of notable rockstars who apparently have played here in the past, there’s a rustic vibe to the place that already makes me feel at home. The way the bar seems to be built around a respectably large stage, I would expect it draws a big crowd on a regular basis. My stomach flips excitedly, knowing I’ll be surrounded by live music—one of my favorite pastimes.

Oddly enough, there seems to be four times as many women as men, and they’ve all clearly dressed to impress in tight skirts, low-cut tops, and killer heels. Suddenly very conscious of my wardrobe choice, I touch my hair and adjust my bra straps beneath my top. I may even be tempted to leave if it weren’t for Sharlo’s equally individual style.

Margaritas in either hand, my roommate appears with a mouth-watering hot man at her side. Early 30s, black blazer, shirt unbuttoned to a deeply tanned chest, bulky everywhere with muscle. My eyes don’t stray from him when Sharlo hands me my drink.

“Evelyn Kendall, meet your new employer, Nolan Zimmerman.”

Nolan’s dark eyes spark with interest when they meet my gaze. Just under six feet tall with spiky black hair and a well-groomed beard, he towers over me in both height and size. I know I shouldn’t have impure thoughts about my new boss, but the way he carries himself, broad shoulders relaxed, easygoing smile, hand casually extended, there’s no denying he’s gorgeous. The type to look damn good wearing a tailored suit and expensive watch, like he was born to run a business. The type who knows what he wants out of life and isn’t going to back down until it’s his.

His full lips bend with a grin. “Good to finally meet you, Evelyn. I look forward to having you on my payroll.”

As I take his smooth hand and my lungs fill with his manly scent, my traitorous cheeks warm. “Thanks for giving me the job. If you hadn’t, I probably wouldn't have had the chance to move out here.”

“Are you sure you aren’t yanking my chain with this farm girl business?” Nolan asks Sharlo while still holding my hand. Eyes hitting mine, his smile grows. “She’s not what I was expecting after everything you told me.”

I squint Sharlo’s way. “What exactly did you tell him?”

One of her hands raises at her side in a defensive move. “I merely requested that he keep an eye on you since you’re new to the big city life. Don’t need you winding up in the emergency room because some bloke slipped something into your drink.” She tilts her head in Nolan’s direction. “Don’t let the suit fool you. This one was a Marine and trained with the SEALs in Pearl Harbor. Now he dabbles in jujutsu. You ought to feel safe when he’s around.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of,” Nolan promises, seeming embarrassed by her praise.

Again I feel a flush rise in my cheeks and want to hide. One minute with my new boss and I’m already acting like a young school girl with a crush. It doesn’t help that Sharlo’s doing her best to play matchmaker.

I slip my hand from Nolan’s and twist my fingers together in front of me. Never fails to make me uncomfortable when talking to a good-looking guy. It’s just one of many reasons I’ve been single for so many years.

“My brother Braden is a Marine,” I tell him. “He’s stationed in Japan.”

Nolan’s eyebrows raise. “How long’s he been in?”

“Almost three years. I think he’s going to sign up for another tour.”

“Oorah.”

When Nolan crosses his arms over his chest, I can’t stop watching the way his generous muscles strain beneath his clothes. Ugh, everything he does comes off as being sexy. If he’s such good friends with Sharlo, why hasn’t she snagged him up by now? Maybe my hormones are just in overdrive now that I realize I finally have the freedom to date whomever I want.

Nolan eyes Sharlo thoughtfully. “Do you mind saving a place for Evelyn up by the stage while I show her around?”

“Not at all,” Sharlo answers brightly. Taking my drink from my hands, she whispers in my ear, “Enjoy the
private
tour, love.”

My stomach tightens into a giant knot. Though it feels like a blatant set-up on her part, I suppose it makes sense for him to familiarize me with the place. Nolan tilts his head for me to follow him through the crowd in the opposite direction of the stage.

Three women and a guy all around my age take orders and pour drinks behind the massive mahogany bar, moving around each other like a choreographed dance. Nolan grabs their attention one-by-one to let them know I’ll be starting on Monday. Despite being stressed by the demanding crowd, they each stop long enough to flash a welcoming smile and mutter some kind of greeting.

Nerves swell in my gut when I picture my first time working behind the bar on a busy night. Thank
God
my brother James isn’t around to keep an eye on me like he often did when I was waitressing back home. I figured he’d blow a nut when I told him about this job, but for some reason he didn’t protest. He’d probably feel differently if he saw this crowd.

“You’ll be fine,” Nolan promises, as if sensing my unease. “We’re starting you out on a slow night. C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the bar.”

Several patrons shout out enthusiastic greetings to Nolan as we make our way to a set of heavy doors in the far back. We slip into a quiet, comfortable room filled with a collection of rich leather furniture. Nolan makes his way over to a well-stocked wet-bar.

“This is where everyone hangs out on their breaks,” he says with his back to me as he pours something. “Sometimes the bands will come back here after they’re done and have a few drinks. A few times we’ve ended up ordering carry-out and staying until late morning.”

A jealous swell comes over me when I picture the other waitresses hanging out later tonight with Charlie Walker. “I noticed you get some pretty famous acts to perform. How long have you owned this place?”

“A few years. I basically grew up here. Believe it or not, I inherited it from my grandma. She was a total hippie back in her day. Even now in her eighties she still likes to dye her hair in outrageous colors and the live-in nurse we hired is always complaining her music’s too loud.”

I laugh. “Your grandma sounds awesome.”

“She is.” He returns to hand me one of two low-ball glasses with a shot of something dark. “Here’s to your new adventure in the city.”

We clink glasses, and I take a drink, sputtering as the burn of a spicy whiskey slips down my throat.

Nolan touches my arm, eyebrows stitched with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Whoa, that’s strong,” I say, holding it away from my body. “Jameson?”

“Middleton.”

The smile he flashes is brilliant, making the burn of whiskey in my gut even stronger. Though he’s gorgeous and acting like a complete gentleman, I suddenly feel a need to get away from him before I start flirting. It wouldn’t be too smart to cross the employee/employer line on a job I haven’t even started yet. I set the glass on an end-table and take a step back. “Thanks for the tour, Mr. Zi—”

“It’s Nolan,” he insists. “I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable.”

“No, I just feel like I’m ditching Shar.” I continue toward the doors, smiling politely. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

I leave the room and push my way through the mob of scantily dressed women until I find Sharlo leaning up against the stage, chatting it up with a middle-aged, bleached blonde with large breasts barely contained by a camisole. The woman flashes a freakishly white smile, though I get the feeling it’s not sincere and more of a territorial thing. Intimidated by her striking features, I can hardly return the smile. When she turns away, my eyes catch on her impossibly high designer heels. They’re the kind my brother James calls “fuck me shoes” and once
forbade me
to wear.

“Anything on the tour tickle your fancy?” Sharlo asks.

“Why do I get the feeling you
really
want me to hit it off with my new boss?”

Laughing, she links her arm with mine. “Nolan’s a kind man who’s desperate to find someone to properly spoil with all his millions. He only works here because this bar means the world to him. I’m waiting for the right woman to come along and drag him away from his work.”

“Why don’t
you
go out with him?”

“Because that would be ridiculous. He’s like a
brother
. Took me under his wing when I moved into the neighborhood and always has my back.”

When I’m elbowed from behind, I move closer to Sharlo. “This place is dripping with pheromones.”

“You think it’s nutters now, just wait until Charlie takes the stage.”

Before long the small bar erupts with screams, whistles, and applause. Nolan appears on the stage, adjusting the microphone to his height and waiting as the noise dies down. “Thank you
all
for coming here tonight!” Sweat beads at his hairline as he brushes his fingers over the sides of his jeans. “It gives me great pleasure to bring to you one of Brooklyn’s own, a man who needs no introduction, the one and only
Charlie Walker
!”

A man even bigger than Nolan with unruly dark hair swaggers across the small stage, black acoustic guitar in hand, and claps Nolan on the back. The decibel level increases until I worry I’ve popped an eardrum.

In person, Charlie Walker is ten times more handsome—and
built
—than he appeared in the “Coney Island Kid” video, possessing the charisma of a movie star. There’s a golden glow to his skin like there was in the video, though his face doesn’t appear as flawless, mostly due in large part to a light stubble growing along his jawline and a small scar nestled inside one of his eyebrows. With his extraordinarily good looks and the sculpted body of a gym rat, he makes holey jeans, flip-flops, and a faded T-shirt look like something right off a runway.

A confident flare ignites Charlie’s beautiful eyes, adding to the laid-back ease of his movements that must come with stardom. There’s a hint of something else to his dazzling smile that I can’t quite decipher, though it makes him all the more intriguing. I get the feeling that deep down, there’s something dangerous about him. He’s the worst kind of bad boy all wrapped up in a smoking hot body.

My heart races when I recall the way he flirted with the camera and his deep voice rumbled from my computer’s speakers while I brought myself to a blissful climax. If he had been the one touching me, I would’ve combusted on the spot. Just the thought of tasting his pouting bottom lip has me suddenly wet.

After casually settling on the wooden stool in the center, he sets the guitar in his lap and adjusts the microphone. When the women continue to holler like they’ve lost their minds, his full lips bend with a slow smile and his icy blue eyes spark to life. Laughing, he combs a hand through his hair, giving it that tousled look that only his type can perfect, before continuing to flash the crowd his million dollar smile.

When the older blonde at my side blows him a kiss, Charlie answers with a wink that jars me from my fantasies. Then, as if drawn by a magnet, his icy blue eyes catch with mine and his smile slowly fades. Something deep inside my chest clicks into place as we stare at each other. Holy hell, the man is certifiably gorgeous.
But why is he staring at me like he’s going to be sick?

“
Someone's
made an impression,” Sharlo teases, elbowing me in the ribs. “Be careful or you’ll become one of his groupies. Before you know it you’ll be preggers with his love child and following him on tour.”

Charlie’s eyes close and he shakes his head before his dazzling smile returns. His eyes avert away from me to the general crowd as he takes the microphone in his thick fingers. “Hello, Brooklyn!” he calls out in the same low, rumbling sound that brought me to orgasm when watching his video.