“You.”
Her eyebrows rise along with her tone. “And you think I’ll fuck you because you’re the famous Jem Jones? We’re good. I don’t need to sleep with anyone to put Ruby Riot on the map. We’ll get there on our own because we’re fucking good.”
I laugh at the girl whose scowl grows. She thinks either I’m a complete asshole or she’s considering me in a fuckable light. Closing the door, I lean against the wood and cross my legs at the ankles.
The girl stiffens.
“I meant the band,” I say in a low voice. “Not your delightful self.”
“Oh. Shit.” Despite her bravado, the girl’s hands shake. She roots around in a large bag and pulls out a small bottle of whiskey.
This time when she drinks straight from the bottle, I lick my lips imagining my mouth around the bottle instead.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Ruby.”
“Ruby from Ruby Riot. Cute.” I flick my fingers at her. “You dyed your hair to match your name?”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Ruby isn’t my real name.”
“What’s your real name?”
“What does that matter?”
Much more lies beneath our staccato conversation. Ruby’s pale blue eyes completely freak me out. Why is she so lost?
“You guys are good,” I tell her.
“Thanks, I know.”
“Wow, you’re hard to talk to.” I pull out one of Steve’s business cards and wave it at Ruby. “This is my manager. I’m helping him find a support act for the next Blue Phoenix tour—send him a demo.”
Ruby looks at the card as if I’m handing her a bomb. “Blue Phoenix split.”
I huff. “No, we’re taking time out, but we’re touring again early next year.” I step forward, still holding out the card. “Gonna take this?”
I’m close enough to inhale Ruby - her scent, her warmth, her loneliness - and close enough to see the fading bruise beneath the make-up on her cheek. For a split second, I want to reach out and touch Ruby’s face, stroke away the mark. One of her hands goes to her cheek, eyes warning me not to speak.
Then Ruby snatches the card. “I’ll ask the guys. Jax - the guitarist - makes the big decisions.”
Awesome. He might be less prickly than Ruby although I can’t imagine anyone telling this chick what to do. “Sure.”
Turning away, Ruby sits on the table and places her feet on the chair. Damn those boots are sexy, halfway up those amazing legs. “And you can leave now.”
“You can’t be found alone in a room with Jem Jones, huh?”
“Yeah, exactly. Besides, I always preferred Dylan. I might’ve said yes to him,” she shoots back.
Burned. “Oh, yeah. Always Dylan.”
Ruby parts her lips, as if she had an afterthought, but doesn’t speak.
I head to and open the door, and the buzz of voices and music from the bar enter the quiet space.
No. Wait. I turn back. “Don’t waste the opportunity. You guys are good. Really fucking good.”
Ruby nods slowly, the curious look still on her face. “I was lying by the way.”
“About the guitarist making the decisions for the band?”
“No, about preferring Dylan.” When our gazes lock again, I’m dragged back to the place we belong that I saw behind her eyes earlier.Somewhere filled with unhappiness and loss—one you can’t leave on your own.
But I’m not visiting that place again, not for anybody. I can’t fix people. I only kill them, don’t I?
“Sure,” I say and close the door on my way out.