Fresh Ice by Sarah J. Bradley

else was dark and silent, like a protective cloud around them. There was no time, no sound, just the glow of recognition in his beautiful eyes. It didn’t matter one bit that they were strangers and would probably never be closer to each other than in this dumpy space . There was a connection between them, and Izzy was lost in it.
    “What are you staring at? Do you know that guy?”
    Izzy blinked at the staccato blast of Adele’s voice, and the connection was lost. The party below raged on as the band Quinn introduced started playing. Quinn was gone.
    Izzy, too, ached to leave. “I’m sorry, Adele. I’m not good company tonight. I don’t think I feel well. I’m going to go back to the hotel.”
    “You’re not sick are you?” Adele’s eyes narrowed. “We have a lot of moving to do tomorrow you know.”
    No room for discussion about that. “Oh, no,” Izzy wiped her eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need…I need some air. I think I’ll walk back to the hotel.”
    “What , right now? Alone?”
    “Sure. It’s not that late, really, and besides, you and Sean, you guys need some time alone, too. So I’ll just get back.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Izzy looked over the balcony hoping to spot Quinn, but she couldn’t find him. “Oh, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”
    ***
    She’s here. Quinn walked backstage and laid his guitar in its case. Isabella Landry is here, in this building. I could reach out and touch her and it wouldn’t be weird or stalkerish.
    But what could I possibly say?
    Well, she seemed really interested in what I saying. I could go up and maybe thank her for coming or something. That wouldn’t seem weird. Quinn rubbed his hands across his face. That’s the best reason I can muster for going up to meet a woman? Good manners? My, how the mighty lady killer has fallen. Shaking his head at his own folly, Quinn started for the stairs.
    “Quinn, dude, where ya goin’?” One of the musicians put a hand on his arm.
    “I saw someone…I have to catch up with.”
    The musician’s face creased with a lecherous grin. “It’s a chick, isn’t it? I spotted a couple out there I’m thinkin’ of scorin’ on, too.”
    Quinn shook off the drummer’s hand, repulsed by the lecherous expression on his face. “You’re a pig.”
    The drummer shrugged. “Yep. I’m a pig. But I’m a pig that’s gonna get laid.”
    Quinn ignored the band members’ cat calls as he ran through the back stage and up the stairs. Once in the bar, he scanned the crowded room. She’s gone.
    “Hey, Quinn!” Chance shouted over the din of conversation. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re good for business!”
    Quinn nodded to Chance, but searched for Isabella.
    “Who ya lookin’ for?”
    “There was a woman up here. Probably at that table where that couple is.”
    “Buddy , there are a thousand women here and quite a few of them are age appropriate. Take your pick.”
    “No, Chance, this one was…well, I’m looking for her. You don’t remember if she was with that couple?”
    “Quinn, are you kiddn’ me? Look around! I’m workin’ here! If you’re so interested, go ask them if they know her.”
    Quinn nodded to Chance and stepped away from the bar. He studied the couple at the table and toyed with the idea of approaching them. A light tap on his arm broke his concentration. Looking to his left, he saw two women, girls really, both looking very interested in him. “Hello, ladies.”
    “My friend and I think you are the hottest thing in this place.”
    Quinn’s face warmed as the two women moved close enough for him to be very aware that neither was wearing a bra…and both were young and firm enough, not to need the support. “Well, um, thank you ladies.”
    “So how about if we get out of here?”
    Quinn closed his eyes. How often have I turned down an offer like this?
    Never.
    When was the last time anyone offered?
    Sally.
    The thought choked him. He couldn’t breathe the air in the bar anymore.
    “Oh