“Oh?” I asked neutrally, my body heating up at the sight of Birdie.
Goddamn, I wished she’d forgive me, because I absolutely was jealous of every single second she was talking to somebody else. I had never thought of myself as a particularly jealous person, but now? I was green as hell.
“Love is pure,” Percival said earnestly. “And at your advanced age, I think you should learn to appreciate the essential qualities of our fellow humans.”
“He won’t,” Lulabel called back. “He’s an old horndog.”
Birdie ignored us, concentrating on the pins as she rolled her ball down the lane. That delicious, adorable concentration and focus was one of the many things I loved about her. One reason we were so perfectly matched—both of us so serious about being true to our music. And then she turned around and her face lit up in the happy, delighted expression that used to be reserved forme.
“Jerry? Oh, there you are!”
I turned in indignation to see my old friend stroll up in a pink polo shirt and slacks.
“What is he doing here?” I snarled.
“What areyoudoing here?” she shot back. “This isn’t your scene.”
“I am not a snob,” I said. “And I am here to make sure no other men get too close to you. And to show you I’m committed to changing the bastard parts of my personality.”
“Well, mind your business and don’t harass my new producer.”
“ButI’myour producer!”
“Are you?” she retorted coolly. “No, thanks. I want someone who really believes in my voice. Not someone who offered me a pity album after getting caught running away with his ex-wife.”
“I want nothing more to do with her,” I protested, but just over Birdie’s shoulder. . . I saw Phee enter the bowling alley.
Chapter twelve
Birdie
Wasn’t it just like Forrest Davies-Jones to come stalking into theone placeI thought I’d be safe from his insufferable pretentious ass?
And there he was frowning at the different sizes of bowling balls in a way that made me want to throttle him.
“This isn’t going to work,” I hissed at him, flouncing past.
“You’re driving meinsane, Birdie,” he choked out, and I gave Jerry a high-five.
"Nice spare,” the other man said.
Now did I really want Jerry as my sugar daddy? No, I wanted to make my own money. But I wasn’t about to tell Forrest that.
Looking like she would rather be literally anywhere else, Paige set her bowling ball down with a thud and watched with disdain as it rolled slowly down the lane.
“He is very jealous, isn’t he?” Jerry said with relish. “I would very much like to kiss you but I am, you might say, nervous about what The Maestro would do to me.”
“The Maestro and I are broken up,” I said. “And kissing me is not necessary for producing my album.”
“Oh, I’ll produce the hell out of that,” Jerry said, licking his lips. “With your voice? Easy sell. I can’t believe Forrest was leaving easy money on the table with that.”
“He’s an asshole.”
I felt two men’s eyes on me as I walked up to the lane, and only one of them was scorching my shorts and sending shivers of lusty rage up my spine.
Forrest’s sex appeal was stilldangerousas hell. But I had resisted everything he’d thrown at me. Nothing so far had convinced me to give him a second chance.
However, the way he could even sit on a bowling lane bench? Legs splayed, that thick dick pressed against his jeans and his muscular arm draped against the back, the way even a casual stance signaled power and authority?
