cravings; Toxsin showed them how to embrace them.
Ramsey was a true badass, because he wasn’t afraid of what the world would say about him.
She realized he was the most honest man she’d ever met.
“Oh. My. God! Look at the tat!”
Ramsey arched back, playing a solo on his guitar. His lean, ripped abs stretched out, his neck corded as he pushed the instrument and filled the arena with a perfect blending of sound. His leather pants slipped lower; his vest rose higher, baring his waist and the top of the dragon. There was a hint of the head and tail, tantalizing glimpses as he moved.
“It’s a dragon!”
“I want one!”
“I have to have one!”
She lost track of all the comments, feeling the praise wash through her. That dream she’d so carefully nurtured for the last few months suddenly surged back to robust health like a drowning victim who’d received CPR. It was no longer limping along as she fought for enough morsels of strength to resist tossing in the towel and falling into line with the rest of the world because it was the sensible thing to do. The thing that would help her sleep at night, because she wasn’t wondering how she was going to scrape together the rent.
Ramsey was a mythical creature who had defied the odds and won.
She let out another scream, enjoying the high of the moment. When the concert ended, she melted into the crowd, leaving the VIP pass in her bra. She made her way onto the pavement and followed a huge bunch of people toward the underground BART trains.
She was wrung out, but happily so.
And you’re a chicken…
Well, it was a necessity, self-defense at its best. One kiss, and her self-control would be a goner. Poof! Up in smoke for sure.
Chicken…
Oh, she was guilty as charged. No argument. Just a twinge of regret kept her company on the train ride back to her end of town. Okay, a little more than a twinge. More like a bucketful, leaving her sexually frustrated and kicking herself for walking away from a prime opportunity.
Which was why she’d done it.
Ramsey was a lot of things, but she didn’t want to see him as an alley cat. She wanted to hold the memory of him being an artist. Keep him on a pedestal. Let him be a panther, a creature with nobility.
Whimsical.
And she wasn’t even drunk.
No mere mortal man could claim to have intoxicated her.
Only a god.
So she’d leave him in the heavens and hold on to her worship of him.
* * *
“I’m sorry, sir. She never came this way.”
Ramsey considered the doorman before shrugging. But he turned and caught Syon watching him. His bandmate knew him. Really knew him.
Syon carried a beer over to him, handing it to him as he sipped from his own longneck.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ramsey said.
Syon only took another long sip. Ramsey twisted the cap off and indulged, but the beverage didn’t taste right. He ended up setting it aside. He was unsatisfied, and beer wasn’t what he wanted.
Brenton came into the performers’ backstage room. “Great work, gentlemen. I have some opportunities for promotion, if you’re interested.”
Their new road manager didn’t try to control them, always making suggestions instead of demands. Brenton read off a few clubs that had issued invitations, along with two trendy restaurants that promised epic meals if the band wanted to drop in.
“Your wife looks like she wants to go eat at the place with the view of the bay,” Ramsey said.
Syon grinned at him. “Think I can’t spot a decoy from you, Rams?”
Ramsey shrugged again. “I’m fine. Just don’t feel like drinking. It didn’t end too well a couple of nights ago.”
“I don’t know about that.” Syon looked down at the top of the dragon tattoo.
“Okay, it ended well. But in an ass-backward sort of way.”
“Yeah, you almost got a reputation for liking flowers,” Taz said from a few feet away. “I can just smell the dressing room in Portland now if the fans had caught sight of those cherry
Ramsey was a true badass, because he wasn’t afraid of what the world would say about him.
She realized he was the most honest man she’d ever met.
“Oh. My. God! Look at the tat!”
Ramsey arched back, playing a solo on his guitar. His lean, ripped abs stretched out, his neck corded as he pushed the instrument and filled the arena with a perfect blending of sound. His leather pants slipped lower; his vest rose higher, baring his waist and the top of the dragon. There was a hint of the head and tail, tantalizing glimpses as he moved.
“It’s a dragon!”
“I want one!”
“I have to have one!”
She lost track of all the comments, feeling the praise wash through her. That dream she’d so carefully nurtured for the last few months suddenly surged back to robust health like a drowning victim who’d received CPR. It was no longer limping along as she fought for enough morsels of strength to resist tossing in the towel and falling into line with the rest of the world because it was the sensible thing to do. The thing that would help her sleep at night, because she wasn’t wondering how she was going to scrape together the rent.
Ramsey was a mythical creature who had defied the odds and won.
She let out another scream, enjoying the high of the moment. When the concert ended, she melted into the crowd, leaving the VIP pass in her bra. She made her way onto the pavement and followed a huge bunch of people toward the underground BART trains.
She was wrung out, but happily so.
And you’re a chicken…
Well, it was a necessity, self-defense at its best. One kiss, and her self-control would be a goner. Poof! Up in smoke for sure.
Chicken…
Oh, she was guilty as charged. No argument. Just a twinge of regret kept her company on the train ride back to her end of town. Okay, a little more than a twinge. More like a bucketful, leaving her sexually frustrated and kicking herself for walking away from a prime opportunity.
Which was why she’d done it.
Ramsey was a lot of things, but she didn’t want to see him as an alley cat. She wanted to hold the memory of him being an artist. Keep him on a pedestal. Let him be a panther, a creature with nobility.
Whimsical.
And she wasn’t even drunk.
No mere mortal man could claim to have intoxicated her.
Only a god.
So she’d leave him in the heavens and hold on to her worship of him.
* * *
“I’m sorry, sir. She never came this way.”
Ramsey considered the doorman before shrugging. But he turned and caught Syon watching him. His bandmate knew him. Really knew him.
Syon carried a beer over to him, handing it to him as he sipped from his own longneck.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ramsey said.
Syon only took another long sip. Ramsey twisted the cap off and indulged, but the beverage didn’t taste right. He ended up setting it aside. He was unsatisfied, and beer wasn’t what he wanted.
Brenton came into the performers’ backstage room. “Great work, gentlemen. I have some opportunities for promotion, if you’re interested.”
Their new road manager didn’t try to control them, always making suggestions instead of demands. Brenton read off a few clubs that had issued invitations, along with two trendy restaurants that promised epic meals if the band wanted to drop in.
“Your wife looks like she wants to go eat at the place with the view of the bay,” Ramsey said.
Syon grinned at him. “Think I can’t spot a decoy from you, Rams?”
Ramsey shrugged again. “I’m fine. Just don’t feel like drinking. It didn’t end too well a couple of nights ago.”
“I don’t know about that.” Syon looked down at the top of the dragon tattoo.
“Okay, it ended well. But in an ass-backward sort of way.”
“Yeah, you almost got a reputation for liking flowers,” Taz said from a few feet away. “I can just smell the dressing room in Portland now if the fans had caught sight of those cherry
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