“I can’t. Avery needs me.”

“I need you.” His lips brush against my neck. “Need to be inside you.”

I groan. “That will give me incentive to work faster.”

Dylan shifts me so our bodies are lined up and draws me even closer. “Feel what you do to me?” Evidence of his arousal digs into my stomach. “The longer you keep us here, the more difficult it will be for you to walk tomorrow.”

After a quick peck on the lips that Dylan tries to turn into more, I hurry back behind the bar, before I don’t. Sometimes I still can’t believe how things turned out. I’m dating the man whose poster spent years on my bedroom wall, the rockstar who helped put Lucky’s on the map. The sign behind the bar catches my eye, and I’m suddenly feeling nostalgic about so many things.

Lucky—
Twelve years earlier,
age thirteen

“Keep your eyes shut, Luciana.”

Uh oh. He’s using Luciana. That usually means I’m in trouble. I was named after my grandfather, Luciano Valentine. My parents thought changing the o to an a would make it a more acceptable feminine name. They’d planned to call me Luciana Alessandra Valentine, until I was born. Apparently, my auburn hair and fair skin didn’t match the name, so Lucky I became.

“Where are we going?” Dad insisted I keep my eyes closed since we climbed the stairs from the subway. That had to be a whole block ago.

“We’re almost there. No peeking.” A door creaks and he guides me inside. I open my lids just enough for a quick peep, but wherever he’s taking me is darker inside than outside, and the sun is already long gone.

Another couple of steps, the floor squeaks beneath us, and then I hear a light switch flip on.

“Okay. You can open up.”

I open my eyes and look around. The big room is empty, but I know where I am. I should have guessed from the smell. He’s snuck me into the back room at plenty of places like this, since the day I could walk. “A bar? You brought me to a bar?”

He smiles. “It’s not just any bar.” Dad’s eyes meet mine. “It’s ours.”

“What do you mean, it’s ours?”

“I mean, no more road. I know you like it here. So we’re going to stay.”

“Really?” The teenage I-don’t-give-a-crap attitude I wear most of the time slips off, the excitement of a little kid gleaming through in its place. Of all the places we’ve lived, I love New York the most. The trains, the sidewalks packed with people, even the blare of the cabbies’ horns sounds like urban music to my ears. And I have a best friend here. OhmyGod. I can’t wait to tell Avery.

“Yep. I’m going to turn it into a karaoke bar.” Dad lifts me up onto the dusty bar and points to a corner. The dimly lit room is mostly empty, with some lingering garbage strewn over the floor, but I can see the vision through Dad’s excited eyes. “We’re going to build a stage over there. And over here”—he waves his hand toward the other side—”we’ll put little round tables for people to watch the singers.”

“Can I sing on stage?”

My dad chuckles. “Once we’re open, it will be over twenty-one only, squirt.”

The enthusiasm I felt fades a bit. My life has been filled with places I’m not really supposed to be. Bars, clubs, festivals. I’m always stuck hiding backstage. I’ve heard some of the best bands play, but seen only a few perform.

Dad lifts my chin. “You will be on that stage when you’re ready. If it’s before you’re twenty-one, we’ll shut the bar down and have a private party. Think your old man will be good enough on drums to back you?”

“Do you think Mom will come?”

His face wilts a bit. “I don’t know, Lucky. She’s on the road a lot.”

“Can I ask her?”

“Of course.”

“So what’s the name of this place?”

“I was thinking of naming it after my favorite woman.”

“Iris sounds nice. I’m sure Mom will love it.”

“Who said anything about Iris? This place is ours. I’m going to call it Lucky’s.”

Unlike most bars in New York City, Lucky’s has been blessed with a crowd since the first night we opened. We get an eclectic mix of tourists who’ve read about the occasional surprise musical guest that stops in, and the local crowd that appreciates friendly service with live music. On nights like tonight, when a celebrity is in the bar, word spreads quickly.

“Hey, Avery,” Dylan calls. His posse seems to have grown from ten to thirty over the last hour; they’re taking up one entire end of the bar. Dylan has his phone up to his ear and he’s gesturing Avery over, even though her hands are elbow-deep in the double sink.

“Sure. Don’t get up,” she mutters so I can hear her as she passes.

“The guy you have working the door won’t let someone in who’s coming to meet me.”

“That’s because we’re at capacity. Someone needs to leave in order to let someone in.”

“It’s one person.”

“It’s a five-thousand-dollar fine, not to mention a fire hazard.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “So kick someone out.”

“I’m not going to kick out people. Tell someone from your entourage to leave.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dylan’s voice rises, so I step in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Rockstar here wants me to kick a customer out so he can bring another member of his tribe in.”

“You know what, don’t do me any favors.” Dylan looks around and calls to a guy I’ve seen before. I think he’s part of the road crew. “You.” He points. “Go wait outside.”

The man points to himself.

Dylan huffs, annoyed that he has to explain. “The place is at capacity. I’m meeting someone here and they won’t let him in until someone leaves. Can you go outside so he can get in?”

“Sure.” The guy looks put off, but finishes his beer and heads to the door.

Avery disappears to serve customers. “Who else are you meeting? It looks like you have your usual crew all here.”

“The singer from the new band we signed to open the tour.”

Chapter Four

Flynn

The place is twice as crowded as when I was here last week. The same woman is bartending, no sign of Lucky anywhere. It’s not hard to find Dylan once I’m finally inside—he’s got an entourage the size of his ego.

“What’s up, Foreplay?” Dylan shakes my hand. He motions to the men around him, some of whom I recognize from Easy Ryder. “Guys…this is Flynn Beckham from In Like Flynn. His band is going to replace Resin for the second half of the tour. Get the audience all worked up so we can slide in and finish the job.”

I smile, even though everything about this guy rubs me the wrong way.

“You want a beer, Flynn?” Avery yells from behind the bar with a warm smile.

“Absolutely.”

“Guinness?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve been here before?” Dylan asks.

“Last week. I was already here when you had to cancel.”