He laughed. “That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me your name. I got here a little late.”
“Oh, right,” she said, feeling lightheaded. “I’m kind of scattered at the moment because I’ve dreamed of this so many times that it doesn’t seem real.”
Giving her a crooked smile, Zane said, “But it is real. And you still haven’t told me your name.”
“Claudia.”
His eyes lit up. “Wait, are you the one with a thousand songs?”
She nodded. “Well, umm… I may have exaggerated somewhat.” She scrambled to add, “I do write songs, I do. All the time. But not likeyouwrite songs. Mine are… just… I don’t know…” She laughed at herself, then added, “Silly.”
“Silly ones are among my favorites.” Turning to the audience, he squinted. “Guys? We all agree, right?”
“Yup.”
“Absolutely.”
“Sure…”
Zane smiled at the other guys. “Send everyone else home with our thanks. Claudia’s our girl.”
Five minutes later, Claudia found herself in a private back room at The Frog and Hare Pub seated at a table with all four members of The Vows and Dean. She’d gone deep down the rabbit hole now, and, for a second, the walls of the pub appeared to tilt and shift, and the carpeted floor seemed to ripple under her feet, even though none of thatwas really happening. ‘Honky Tonk Woman’ by the Stones played over the speaker in the corner and she’d already forgotten it was still daylight outside.
The server was fast with the drinks, deftly doling out six pints of beer before popping shot glasses and a bottle of Jack onto the table. She glanced at Claudia and said, “Be careful with these boys. They’re charmers, all of them.”
“Thanks, I’ll make sure to keep my guard up,” Claudia told her, even though none of these men would be interested in her. Her arms were too thick, her thighs rubbed together, and her tummy positioned itself into two rolls when she sat down. These men dated only the most beautiful women walking the planet—tall and thin, with perfectly shaped eyebrows, twenty-four-inch waists, and long, lean legs that went on for miles.
Mike Kurilla, the bass player, snagged the chair next to Claudia’s. These days Mike kept his nearly-black hair in a crew cut tighter than the t-shirts that pulled across his powerful chest. Tattoos adorned his arms—a mash-up of different styles and colors that together told the story of a man who spent many a drunk night in dingy shops around the world letting lucky artists use him as a canvas. He was all the things her mother warned her about. He was lust and wild parties and too much testosterone.
She looked over at him, for the first time noticing that he had strikingly beautiful hazel eyes with a thick, curved line of eyelashes framing them.
His gaze flicked down to her chest. “That’s a pretty top.”
“Thanks.” Claudia blushed and picked up her beer, taking a long sip.
“All right, Mike,” Zane said. “We need to keep it professional.”
“Do we really?” Mike asked.
Rusty tucked his curly light brown hair behind his ear and gave Mike a sharp look. “Yeah, we do.”
As a response, Mike stretched his arm out and slung it over the back of Claudia’s chair, which was both invasive and exciting to her. That wasn’t just any arm brushing against her upper back. It was attached to a legend.
Steven Moore, the drummer with long, dark hair that women on every continent wanted to run their fingers through, busied himself pouring shots. “So Claudia? Tell us about yourself. You married? Got a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” He grinned at her. “I’m actually hoping for the last one.”
She chuckled, her face and neck warming. “None of the above. I have a roommate though, Hilary.”Oh my God, why are you telling them about your roommate? They don’t care!
Steven smiled at her. “I’m assuming you and Hilary have naked pillow fights most evenings?”
Oh, boy. This wasn’t starting out the way she had hoped. “Sorry to disappoint, but not even once. We’re both waitresses at Delucca’s over in Redondo Beach.”
“That’s hard work. Your life is about to change drastically.” Dean passed each of them a shot, then picked his up. “To new beginnings.”
The last thing Claudia wanted to do was to have a shot of whiskey, but she could hardly say no. So she raised the tiny glass in salute, then downed the liquid, feeling it burn it’s way to her chest.
“Dean tells me your dream had a fast-approaching expiration date?” Zane said, placing his shot glass down.
“Five days ago, in fact,” she answered, surprised that they’d been talking about her in such detail. “I told myself I’d give it until I turned twenty-five, then grow up and get a real job.”
