“You ready to head out?” He held open the door for her to slide in. She did, situating herself in the passenger seat. There wasn’t a backseat. Probably because a backseat would ruin the muscle car appeal or something.
Tanner climbed in. Buckled up. Checked to be sure she buckled—she had. That was super sweet and very attentive. Also, practical, and sensible. All good things.
“Your place?” she asked, rubbing her palms on the jean fabric of her thighs. Then she stopped herself. No nervousness allowed. This was Tanner. He was only a guy with a nice car and an impressive body. That those things made her tummy flutter, and he played in a rock band, meant nothing.
He nodded.
“Figured we’d lie low.” He flicked the blinker to hang a left at the light. “Go back to my place. Eat in. Jump in the pool.” He glanced her way, as though checking to ensure this was an acceptable arrangement.
Did he have a game plan? A guy wasn’t this attentive unless he had nefarious plans. Wasn’t that what her grand aunt Etta always said?
“Men are nefarious, Samantha. Don’t trust ’em when they’re nice. Don’t trust ’em when they’re mean. Just don’t trust ’em!”
Then again, Great Aunt Etta was involved in this entire set-up, so the message was definitely mixed.
“That work for you?” Tanner asked, frowning.
What?
Right. Staying in. Movie. Food.
“Yes.” She toyed with the end of her ponytail. “Works for me. Lying low. You know my views on swimming.”
“You brought your suit?” He glanced at the small bag, like he didn’t believe it.
“Uh-huh,” she assured. “I’m wearing it under.”
His cheeks pinked at that. He pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and, oh boy, she wished she could taste him.
She settled in as he tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel with his index fingers and thumbs.
“The guys sometimes stop by. You want me to ask them not to?” He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “Then again, if I ask them not to come by, they’ll want to know why. They’ll figure out you’re with me, and then they’ll definitely make it a point to come by. So that’s probably not the best idea.”
“The guys? As in… your band?” She choked a little on the last word.
“Uh-huh.” He nodded as he pulled up to a stop sign and flashed her a smile. “They’re great. Sort of like Babushka’s crew—they mean well, but they get their noses stuck in everyone else’s business.”
“Dimefront?” she asked, for clarification. “The guys from Dimefrontmightstop by? And willdefinitelystop in if they know I’m coming?”
“See, you already know all about the guys from Dimefront,” he said, grinning.
“I mean, everyone knows Dimefront.” Literally, everyone in North America who ever visited anywhere with a working radio, stereo, or karaoke machine. “I remember when Bax and Linx and Knox all went on tour for the first time. Getting tickets was bananas.”
“You’ve seen the band?” he asked, tone carefully curious.
“Ages ago.” Way back when she hadn’t been hiding out, Dimefront had their first big hit about a woman’s mouth and the things they liked about it.
“You’re a Ten?” he asked. His expression went oddly neutral and impassive, as though her answer to this question mattered a lot.
Ten was the pet name the band used for their groupies. She wasdefinitelynot that.
“No.” She shook her head. “Only the one concert and I was in the nosebleeds. But my best friend, Ashley, is totally a Ten, and she’s already super jealous. Now, if you can introduce me to Irina Carmichael? I’ll lose my mind. She’s amazing.”
Irina was an actual movie star, and she was brilliant.
He glanced from the road to her. Only a little look, but it made her warm all over.
“Irina’s not in town right now. But she’ll be back, and we’ll get everyone together another night. Invite her over. The guys are cool. Their girls are awesome. You’ll like them. They’ll like you. Since they’ll like you, they’ll absolutely like Ashley.”
