Since he was in a rock band, he’d pretended he was arealrock star, not the play pretend one he felt like most of the time.
Mach said nothing. That’s how Tanner knew he agreed. Understood.
“How many of those women go home and say they had sex with Tanner Penton?” Tanner shook his head. “No, they say they fucked the drummer for Dimefront.”
He’d heard one of them in the bathroom after, making a call and saying that exact thing.
It should’ve made him feel gross, but it didn’t. Because in that moment he wasn’t Tanner Penton, he was the drummer for Dimefront. The drummer for Dimefront didn’t care.
“You pretend to be someone else.” Mach pulled his lips wide. “I can see how that’d work.”
Tanner shook his head. Dropped his forehead to the mouth of his beer bottle. “How the fuck do I talk to someone when I’m only me?”
Mach rubbed his thumb along the neck of his beer. Thinking, “Maybe don’t pretend you’re someone else. Pretend she is? Pretend she’s one of the ladies you can talk to—like Babushka.”
That wouldn’t work.
“Then I wouldn’t be attracted to her.” Tanner heaved a sigh. No offense to the elderly crew, there was just no attraction there. That’s why he did so great with them. Why he spent time there. He could be Tanner Penton there and no one knocked him for it.
“This sounds like a problem,” Mach said, a clear attempt at adding inappropriate levity.
“No shit.”
“Pretend to be me.” Mach lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have a problem talking to anyone.”
Ha. No.
“Or one of the other guys—pretend to be Bax or Linx. Or even fuckin’ Knox.” Mach grinned. “Pretend you’re them, talking to their wives before they were their wives. Then you’re not a fuckboy drummer. You’re not taking advantage.”
Tanner did know. And maybe that was the only way to make this thing work.
Pretend he wasn’t him.
Like role play. But different.
Chapter Three
TANNER
Tanner stoppedat the outer door of the Purple Peony. He’d come back. With more chocolate because bringing a gift at least gave him a reason to stop in that wasn’t only… I want to see Sam!
Though he had called ahead to confirm with Babushka that Sam worked this afternoon.
Yeah. He’d done that. And then he’d prepared to channel one of the other guys: Bax, Linx, or Knox. With only a small sliver of their ability to play the dating game, he’d be able to seal a deal with Sam.
No, that wasn’t right. No deal sealing. He simply wanted to talk to her. See where that took them.
Standing at the door, waiting to step inside? He had to decide which one to go with.
Linx, he’d go with the nonchalant bass player here. Linx, who had no problems with communication—Becca wouldn’t allow it. Uh-huh, he could pretend to be Linx. Linx, who said whatever the hell he wanted. And when he spoke to his wife? The gentle way he kept his tone? The other women in the room all got a soft look on their faces like they wanted a little slice of that.
He strode inside.
Be Linx. Be Linx.
Sam stood at the counter there. She glanced up and he was all Tanner. All tongue. No swagger.
“Hi,” she said, bright sunshine in a purple polo shirt.
