Say It Strong (Say You Love Me Book 2) (10 page)

I looked up to see a girl, the same girl I’d seen a few times before, with straight brown hair, straight eyebrows, and a look on her face like she was Liam’s babysitter and he’d crawled out of his crib again.

Liam ripped out of the kiss and whipped his head around. “Hey, babe. Um, I’m busy?”

“Babe?” I craned my neck.

He glanced at me. “Helen. We’re old friends.”

“Oh.” Automatically, I stood, and he followed my lead.

Babe/Helen perched her hands on her hips. “Sorry, but Robbie’s looking for you everywhere. He says you had a pre-show meeting with a fan club at two, and they’re waiting.
Have been
waiting.”

Liam’s shoulders dropped. He held out his arms in open surrender. “Makes the meeting all that more rewarding, doesn’t it?” He looked at me and winked. “Right, Ab?”

I said nothing, but I wasn’t oblivious to the stare I was getting from Babe/Helen. Old friends, as in they’d hooked up before? She seemed like a jealous ex-girlfriend to me. A preview, I thought, of things I could look forward to if he and I were to ever be together.

“So, are you coming?” Helen prompted.

“I’ll be right there,” Liam said, wisps of annoyance in his voice. “Go. Just give me a minute.” He literally shooed her.

Helen’s eyes flitted from him to me then to him again. Then she turned and strolled out of the garden, pausing just outside of it to light a cigarette, glancing back every so often.

Liam turned to me again. “Sorry about that.”

“Who is she?”

“My best friend. Known her since middle school.”

“Were you a couple once?”

He shook his head sheepishly. “Looks like it, doesn’t it? No, we weren’t.”

“Well, for someone who was never with you, she watches over you closely. I would’ve guessed ex-girlfriend or older sister. Either that, or she wants you very bad.”

The thought of that seemed to resonate with him. “Maybe. But she’s my homie, my homeslice, my ninja, my buddy.” He laughed. “But yeah, she can be my chaperoning grandma, too, I guess.”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, but…” I feared I might be showing the twinge of jealousy rearing its ugly head when I had no right to him. “She definitely wants you.”

A sly smile seeped onto his lips. “You sure about that?”

“A girl knows.” I turned my face from him, so he couldn’t see the warmth of the blush creeping into my cheeks.

“A girl knows what?”

A deeper thought sat just below the surface of that one, and I debated whether or not to say it out loud. However, considering I’d kissed him again, and that had resulted in the most astounding kiss ever, I urged myself to take another chance.
Say what you mean, Abby. Say it out loud… Say it strong.
“It takes a girl who wants a guy to recognize another one hovering. Literally. Outside the garden gates.”

“Are you saying you want me?” He inched closer and held me by the hips. As much trouble as I was already in—both with my string section and in my love life at the present time—I leaned into him. I didn’t know why. Maybe because he seemed to genuinely like me and didn’t just want to “get in my pants,” as I’d so horribly accused him. Maybe because we’d bonded over the song onstage.

Or maybe just because I felt like it…

My arms reached up and laced around his neck. He lowered his head considerably, so I could reach the whole way. I was almost an entire foot shorter than he was.

“Are you saying you want me?” he repeated, this time less like a question, more of a confirmation.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe you’re saying that, or maybe you want me?” His mouth hovered just over mine, lingering with proximity and warmth and making me crazy.

“Maybe I want you,” I said, completely breathless, as though the air had been sucked from my lungs. It was true. Whether or not it was the smart thing to do, the fact was I wanted him. The desire to keep kissing him for the next year, not to mention the warmth and wetness between my legs, confirmed it. “Definitely I want you,” I amended.

A half second later, his lips crushed down on mine. He breathed me in, tasting my mouth and tongue, sending crazy feelings into the pit of my stomach, even crazier ones between my thighs.

I reeled and gripped his shoulders to keep from falling.

He held me tightly. There was no way I was going anywhere.

“I want you, too,” he said, dotting my nose with one last kiss before pulling away. “But right now, you have rehearsal, and I have a meeting. I’ll look for you later? If I don’t see you before the show, I’ll see you onstage.” He laughed, then did something fabulous, scary, and delicious at the same time. He enveloped my upper body in a big bear hug and squeezed me tight. “Thank you, Abby.”

“For what?” My face pressed against his chest. I had no choice but to breathe in his scent again through his shirt, that awesome mix of damp skin and spice and sweetness I would never be able to describe well, not even with the most comprehensive dictionary. All I knew was that I had to smell him again.

Soon.

“For talking to me,” he said.

“Anytime,” I said. “I’ll see you later.” Me, Abby Chan, just agreed to see Liam Collier later, to head into dangerous, treacherous territory, despite knowing better. What was wrong with me?

Quickly, he tromped off, breaking into a little jog. At the garden gates, I heard him talking to Babe/Helen. “Robbie’s not my fucking dad, and you’re not my fucking mom, bro.” He plucked the cigarette from between her lips, and for a disappointing second, I thought he was going to take a drag from it himself, but he threw it on the ground and stepped on it. “And stop with these. They’ll fucking kill you.”

Helen punched his bicep hard. “Who’s acting like the fucking dad now?”

“Shut up,” he said.

I thought that was it—he’d be gone without another look my way.

But just as he was heading off with Helen leading the way, he turned and walked backward, connecting that amazing smile with my hopeful, grateful eyes once again. He kissed two fingertips and raised them in the air toward me. A moment was all it took to understand what women the world over saw in him—the hot, chiseled body, the handsome face, the sorcerer of kissery…

Embarrassingly, though, I was one of them now. But I refused to see him for just those things. In fact, Liam Collier was already proving himself to be more than a hot bod, more than a rock ’n’ roll playboy. He was a sweet, kind man, who made me feel respected every time I saw him. If I could summon up the nerve, I might allow myself to see past the punk cowboy into his real soul. I would explore him. Understand him. Hell, I might even master him.

I waved a little good-bye at him.

If I let myself, that is.

Which I intended to.

Liam

We rocked our first Seattle show right off its hinges!

I loved this city, and not just because our up-and-coming rock colleagues got their start here. It was always good to musicians of any genre. No, I loved Seattle because my grandparents lived here before they died. My brothers and I had visited often when we were kids.

Plus, our shows went on, rain or shine, and since it rained here like nobody’s business, it was not uncommon to do our whole show in the middle of a drizzle, which always made for an awesome vibe. Our fans were like,
Hey, fuck it, we’re already standing out here in the rain, we may as well party!

And they did.

And we loved it!

Made for some great photography, too, like me tonight suspended in midair, shaking water droplets off like a dog, or Corbin soaked from head to toe in his leather pants. Tucker didn’t like playing in the rain, but fuck him, because the pics of him smashing the drums, sending spattery drops flying everywhere, backlit by some hot-white lights, were KICKASS!

But what made tonight’s show even more awesome was when it was time for the orchestra to come out for their two songs. In the darkness, I watched as they shuffled in, took their seats, and that pervert Richard lifted his conducting baton, then the bright lights spilled all over the string section. Friggin’ yeah! Abby was dressed in her black skirt with a different white top, but still wearing her pearls, looking ever so classy, the hot NYC girl. She glanced at me and did a terrible job of holding back a smile.

What happened between us earlier in the garden was a shock to me, and yet it wasn’t. I’d kissed a lot of women, but they all knew who I was, they’d all listened to our music, and they’d all flocked to me because of it. They wanted me before they’d even met me. I was a fantasy to them.

With Abby, it was different.

I was pretty sure she’d never even heard of Point Break until she arrived in LA. And I was fairly sure, at that crucial moment in the garden, she’d been overcome by the raw need to feel close to me. I’d felt the connection, too. I hadn’t wanted to leave her.

So what now?

With any other woman, I’d have one night with her, maybe two or three, and then we’d go our separate ways. It was understood that I wasn’t looking to get married and settle down. I hadn’t made that crystal clear to Abby—that I wasn’t looking for a relationship. If I didn’t, she might expect more. Fuck, she deserved more. Not to say other girls didn’t deserve more, but the other women I’d been with knew the score. And besides, even if Abby agreed to something casual with me, something temporary, I knew it wouldn’t be the kind of casual I was used to.

For as long as we were together, Abby would demand attention. She wouldn’t put up with backstage parties, Tucker, Wes, Corbin, or any of our roadies’ shenanigans, for that matter. And yeah, it would’ve been nice to meet Abby a few years down the line. That way, I could seriously give her everything, but I was only twenty-two, about two years younger than I wanted to be when that happened. So I had no choice but to be honest with Abby about where my head was at. I also had to make sure that I really could follow through on whatever limited promises I made her. And I had to believe that when things did end between us, Abby wouldn’t be the worse for wear. That maybe she’d even smile as we said good-bye. That she wouldn’t collapse. That I wouldn’t see her lying on the floor, the way I’d seen…

No, stop. It wasn’t your fault. It was on her, all on her…

I couldn’t compare Abby to Vanessa. They were completely worlds apart. Abby was older. Stronger. And, truthfully, she was smarter. She was under no illusions about the life I led. So long as we were honest and up-front from the beginning, there was no reason we couldn’t take things one day at a time and explore the intense chemistry between us.

Starting with another kiss—or two or ten or twenty—as soon as possible.

*

After the show, I searched for Abby through throngs of photographers, celebrity friends, contest winners, and all our tech crew. She was trying to find me, too, I could tell, because we kept running circles near each other, only for someone like Helen or Robbie or Wes to spin me around and make me take a pic with someone waiting nearby.

Even backstage, the show never ended.

Shots all around, and liquor flowing freely, the girls—our
companions
—were let in, the usual ones and a few new ones who were giddy, nervous, and dressed to sex, something that titillated the fuck out of me when we first started but now made me sad. Why was this the only way we’d let women backstage, showing cleavage, baring asses, or plain walking around naked? Because we liked blow jobs after the show, sure, okay. But weren’t there any elegantly dressed women who also liked having sex? For once, I would’ve loved to see some CPA, doctor, or lawyer lady in a suit be admitted backstage for some fun. They were probably more refined and better lovers anyway, since they were more restrained in real life.

Anything for variety.

“Dude!” Wes hobbled up to me, downing a bottle of Grey Goose straight from the spout, his arm hanging around some other guy I’d never seen before. “This is Ben. Ben went to elementary school with me in Little Rock a long-ass time ago, and now he’s in Seattle. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Hey, Ben, good to meet you,” I said, shaking hands with the short, button-down shirt guy with glasses.

“Big fan,” he said, star-struck and studying me.

“Right on, dude.” Behind him, I spotted Abby waiting in the wings, checking me out every few seconds. That violinist friend of hers who looked like that Pulp Fiction chick’s hot string bean of a daughter kept stealing glances, too, but Wes went on and on, talking about how he and Ben used to ride bikes down the street then spend the rest of the day at his older sister’s house playing air hockey. A fun time was had by all.

“That’s great, you guys. Really great!” I patted them both on the back. “I gotta go, though. I’ll see you around in a bit.”

Wes locked a grip on my arm. “Where you going, man?” A worried look crossed his face, and I knew it was because I had almost missed the fan club meeting this afternoon. Wes probably thought I was misusing my rock star license, or not using it enough. He wanted me to stay and party more. He’d heard about me leaving Robbie’s house the night before the tour, too.

“Not far, just want to go say hi to someone.”