The rumors are true. At least where I’m concerned.
Drummers hit it harder and do it better.
Women love me and I love them. But I like to think of myself as a sensitive soul trapped in a lady-killer’s body. Not so surprisingly, I’ve been called cocky a time or two. What can I say? We can’t all be boy scouts.
Nikki Faris has thrown off my rhythm. With her red lips, smart aleck mouth, short skirts, long legs, and blue-sky eyes, the beautiful lead singer has become a complete distraction on this tour.
She loves to give me a hard time when all I want to do is give her the pleasure of my hard—time right back.
Tulsa Crow can save his pick up lines, great eight-pack abs, and cute dimples to use on someone else. My band earned their spot on The Resistance’s tour just like The Crow Brothers. I’m not going to blow it getting sidetracked by a cocky rock star that wants to sleep his way through the states. I’ve been called a name or two, but easy isn’t one of them.
But the best intentions with him turn into a walk of shame for me. Only, I don’t feel shame. Instead, I’m doing the very thing I said I wouldn’t—falling for a playboy.
We make sinful music when we’re on the road, but what happens to our melody when the tour ends?
Not only is she gorgeous, she’s also smart and strong. She says what she thinks, not worried about sharing her opinions or anyone judging her for them. She can defend the craziest ideas and has theories on everything from what she thinks jackfruit tastes like to why the stars always shine on the darkest nights.
Nikki Faris is mesmerizing.
The way her head tilts back when she laughs at her own jokes. She’s adorably funny. Even the way she rolls her eyes is growing on me.
Nikki Faris is the sexiest woman I’ve ever spent time with, and I haven’t even slept with her.
Her denim skirt rides up really fucking high when she’s sitting. I don’t know whether I should cover her or encourage her to wiggle more. Every time she moves around on that barstool, my eyes dash between her blues and those bare legs. I’m so tempted to run my hand over the smooth skin of her thigh, but I resist because I’m just starting to earn her trust.
But then she leans over, resting her hand on my leg, the tips of her fingers dipping toward my cock, waking it up, and whispers, “I think you got me drunk, Crow.”
Chuckling, I reply, “You got yourself drunk, Faris.”
Suddenly, her free hand wanders into my hair. “Your hair is soft. No gel.” She drags the bridge of her nose along my neck, causing my dick to harden. “You smell so good. So manly. What cologne do you wear?”
“Soap and sweat, sweetheart.”
“Tulsa. Tulsa. Tulsa.” Leaning back to look me in the eyes, she confesses, “It shouldn’t, but that really turns me on.”
I laugh again and stop her hand from wandering higher on my leg. “You’re a horny drunk.”
“I am,” she replies, resting her head on my shoulder. “Have you ever heard the phrase sleeping with the enemy?”
“I have.” I touch her, not able to stop myself as I tuck those wild strands of hair behind her ear.
The bartender sets the tab down in front of me. Nikki reaches for it, but I grab it first. “My treat.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to be swearing your name in the morning.”
I do a double take. “You mean because of the alcohol, right?” While waiting for her to answer a question I already know the answer to, images of her swearing my name for other reasons cross my mind.
She doesn’t answer, which is probably best.