CHAPTER ONE
Present Day
“Good God, he’s looking at you again,” Heidi says in a hushed voice. Swinging her slim hips to the technoed-up Adele song that’s pulsing through the nightclub, she sneaks a glance over my shoulder toward the booths lining the far wall. When I refuse to follow her gaze to the guy who’s been eyeballing us for the better part of an hour, choosing to toss back my drink and lift my shoulders indifferently, my closest friend gives me a dark look. “Kylie, he’s looking at you. Like he wants to peel your jeans off with his teeth. Like he—”
“Like he’s some stranger who’ll probably strangle me to death when we get back to his hotel room.” I lift my hand to my throat, which burns like Hades from the drink I just downed, and rub my thumb back and forth across the delicate bones beneath. “Sorry, babe. Not in the mood to get choked tonight.”
Heidi’s perfectly arched eyebrows join, but I’m not sure if it’s because of what I just said or the DJ’s newest choice of song, Judas. She can’t stand that song almost as much as she loathes her ex-neighbor who played a repetitive loop of Lady Gaga on maximum volume every morning for months.
“You’re so morbid, Kylie Wolfe,” she finally moans, flipping her mane of loose chestnut curls over her shoulder. “You need to have fun and not think about him and his giant—”
“Don’t even touch that subject with a ten foot pole,” I say sharply. “And I’m not thinking of him.”
Heidi presses her purple-painted lips into a fine line but says nothing. Her gaze refocuses on something else. I follow it, twisting my head a little to take in a short, excessively tanned guy making his way through the crowd with two bottles of Shiner Bock held high over his head.
Even though I’m glad he’s distracted her from talking about Wyatt, I softly point out, “He’s not your type.” Heidi’s got a thing for ink and piercings—the more of both, the better—and Shiner Bock has neither. “And besides, more than one beer usually means they’re here with someone.” I give her a warning look, but Heidi lifts her eyebrow wickedly.
“Shiner Bock is here with those guys.” She jabs her finger at a group of men across the club. “So yeah . . .”
Heidi and I made a deal before we came out to Bourbon Street tonight—we were going back to our hotel room together. But by the way Shiner Bock’s face lights up when his eyes connect with hers, I know there’s no chance in hell she’s coming home with me.
And that leaves me alone.
At the risk of sounding like an eye roll-inducing 1970s power ballad, being by myself is the last thing I desire tonight—not when thoughts of Wyatt McCrae seem to elbow their way into my brain whenever I have a spare moment to think. But at the same time . . . I don’t want to stick around with Heidi and be that friend.
I dart my eyes from Shiner Bock to Heidi, and then down to the empty glass in my hand. Being the third wheel in an innuendo-laced conversation that will ultimately lead to a broken headboard? Maybe a vodka-infused drink?
Being the third wheel?
Screw that, vodka-infused drink it is.
“I’m going to get a refill,” I announce loudly. Heidi dips her head. She’s already dancing with Shiner Bock, grinding her ass against his crotch before I make it three steps in the opposite direction. Apparently, he’s forgotten about the intended recipient of the second beer.
Heidi generally has that effect on men.
I shove my way through the club, and by the time I reach the bar and sit down, I’ve had so many body parts brushing against my boobs and ass that I immediately ask the bartender for a double shot in my Bloody Mary.
“You look bored,” a voice behind me asks, and when I look back, I’m not the least bit surprised to see the man who’s spent most of the night staring at me. He slips onto the barstool next to me just as the bartender pushes my drink across the countertop.
Granting the stranger a little smile, I stir the stalk of celery around in my Bloody Mary in slow circles, clinking the ice up against the glass. “No, just tired,” I reply.
“Tired, huh?”
I lean over and take a swallow of my drink before answering him. “Very.”
It’s the honest truth. The vacation to New Orleans was last minute—I barely managed to get the flight booked—and Heidi and I have been going nonstop since we arrived several days ago. But, I’ll take exhaustion any day over having to be around Your Toxic Sequel, my brother’s band, as they record their newest album. Being that I’m Lucas’s personal assistant, avoiding the band would have been inevitable if I hadn’t reminded him he hadn’t given me a vacation in over a year.
“Ian,” the man beside of me murmurs, breaking my thoughts. He extends his hand out to me. I don’t move to take it.
“Kylie.”
“I’ve been wanting to say something to you, but I . . .” Ian’s voice trails off, and he casts grey eyes down to the bar countertop.
Wrinkling my straight nose, I bite into my celery. “You probably would’ve weirded me out less if you had.” But after I say it, I can’t resist grinning. He smiles, too, and it’s a sexy one. This must have been why Heidi was so insistent that I check him out.
“Look, I don’t—” he starts, but I hold up my hand. Better get this out of the way before I let him get too far into the conversation.
“I don’t do beads.” I incline my head to a couple of girls dancing with each other a few feet away from where we’re sitting. Several rows of purple, gold, and green beads dangle around their flushed necks. “So don’t ask how far I’ll go for some. And honestly, I think I’d better get back to my friend.”