you, too, Lucy and Jake!” Julia waved as the door jangled shut.
“Whoa.” Lucy leaned against the counter next to Jake. “That was tense.”
“Very tense,” Jake agreed. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a sphincter level of about ninety-nine point nine.”
“Your father is gorgeous,” Lucy said.
Marisa grabbed her purse from the file-cabinet drawer and pulled out her keys. “Don’t think he doesn’t know it.”
Lucy switched the lights off and they started toward the door. “Are you really going to go to their wedding?”
“I might. I’m a little curious, I guess.” They stepped outside into the stifling heat and Marisa locked up behind them.
“Your family is so scandalous,” Lucy said. “I envy you. I’ve got a family full of practicing Catholics. It’s so dull.”
They wove their way down Main Street toward the bar. As was the case every Friday night, the streets of the trendy town were clogged with people. “Lucy, trust me when I tell you it’s not as exciting as you may think. Especially for the people directly involved.”
Jake only nodded silently. Having grown up in an equally dysfunctional family, no one had to explain the concept to him.
When they reached the bar, they walked past the long line of customers waiting for a table and the bouncer motioned them through the door.
They negotiated through a sea of people to the table marked Reserved just to the left of the dance floor.
“I’ll see you after the set,” Jake said, and headed for the stage, instantly encompassed by the usual preperformance harem.
Having been so distracted by the pain and her father’s unexpected visit, Marisa barely noticed Jake’s appearance. Not that he looked any different than usual. Under the dim, smoky lights he looked unbelievably handsome. Well, actually, he looked unbelievably handsome all the time. And it wasn’t just good looks that made him so attractive. There were endearing little things that added to his appeal. The hair that was always a little messy. The slightly crooked nose—a battle scar from one of his father’s rages—and the way his mouth lifted a fraction higher on the left when he smiled.
He turned and flashed her that crooked grin and a funny little flutter danced through her stomach.
From across the table, Lucy nudged her.
She tore her eyes away from the stage. “Huh?”
“I said, Jake looks good tonight.”
A rush of heat claimed her cheeks when she realized she’d been caught staring. She tried to sound casual. “Oh, yeah, I guess he does.”
“You need a tissue?”
“What for?”
“The drool on your chin.”
Before she could embarrass herself further with a denial Lucy would most surely see right through, a waitress appeared to take their drink orders. A moment later Jake introduced the band and began the set with a rich, lazy rhythm, rendering a hush over the entire bar. Marisa propped her chin on the back of her hands, gazing up at him, lulled by a haunting tune she didn’t recognize. Then he sought her out, his eyes locking on hers, and she had the irrational, almost thrilling sensation that they were the only two people there. That he was playing for her alone. A slow, melodic seduction. She’d never heard him play more soulfully.
It went on that way throughout the forty-minute set and by the end, she felt as if she’d been picked apart, dragged out emotionally and left raw and exposed.
A burst of wild applause snapped her back to reality. His music had touched everyone there, not just her. Although, he had been watching her…
Jake thanked the crowd, passed the entertainment over to the DJ, then eased his way past a throng of eager young women. Between autographs and words of praise, he slowly made his way to Marisa and Lucy’s table. As Marisa rose to greet him, a tall, leggy blonde seated at the table behind them body-slammed her out of the way. Marisa stumbled, catching her balance on the edge of the table.
The blonde attached herself to Jake like a leech, whispering in his ear. He laughed, whispered something in return and when she handed him a business card he tucked it into his shirt pocket. It occurred to Marisa that Jake hadn’t been looking at her.
He’d been fixed on the blonde sitting directly behind her.
Humiliation blistered Marisa’s pride. What had she been thinking? Why would she let herself believe that Jake could look at her as anything but a friend? How could she have ever even considered that he would agree to be her baby’s father? That the thought of making love to her might not be such a bad thing after all. She should have known better.
Though she wanted to deny it, something had happened between them today. Something had changed and she didn’t know how to reverse it. How to fix it.
“Sorry about that.” Jake folded himself into the chair opposite her and signaled the waitress for his usual soda. “The longer I’m in this business, the more aggressive they seem to get.”
“Poor baby,” Lucy teased, and he pinched her playfully, making her squeal.
Holding in the tears of humiliation burning behind her eyes, Marisa grabbed her purse and rose from her chair. “I’m going home.”
“Already?” Disappointment twisted Jake’s gut. He had hoped she would stay for a while, so he could see if the connection he’d experienced, the charge of electricity he’d felt pass between them, was real or a figment of his imagination. “You’re sure you can’t stay a while?”
“I’m beat.”
“Do you mind if I stay?” Lucy asked. “Or do you want company walking home?”
“You should stay,” Marisa told her. “Have a good time.”
Jake got up. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t like you walking home alone at night. See you later, Luce.”
“You two have fun,” Lucy called after them. Her tone suggested she knew exactly what had been on Jake’s mind all night. Hell, all day. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t shake it.
On the way out he saw the producer who’d approached him. She appeared deep in conversation with the owner of the bar, but as he passed, she glanced over and mouthed the words call me.
He’d tried to explain that he was producing his music himself, under an independent label, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was approached regularly by so-called producers. He’d gone that route before. Never again would he sign away his creative rights. This was his music. He would record it the way he saw fit. Though he made a decent living as a studio musician, and he enjoyed the work, writing music was his true passion.
The night air was still heavy with moisture as they stepped out the door, but the temperature had lowered to a
