I lead him into the bar and walk behind it to pour us each a drink. “What have you been drinking tonight? Jack and Coke?”

“Just the Coke,” he replies. “I don’t need the Jack.”

I pour his drink, surprised to hear that he didn’t drink any alcohol while he played, but I don’t ask him about it. I pour myself a glass of wine, and reach over the bar to clink glasses with him.

“To your first night.”

“Cheers.” His eyes smile at me over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip of his drink. “Come sit with me. Get off those killer heels.”

“I’m used to the heels,” I reply as I circle around the bar and settle into a stool next to him. “But I’ve been on them all day.”

“You worked all day, and stayed tonight too?”

“Of course. It was your first night.”

“My audition,” he says with a nod. “I don’t think I’ve ever auditioned for anything.”

“Well, you passed. You’re welcome to play here for as long as you like.”

His amazing green eyes warm as he smiles at me. “Thank you. I like it. It’s an intimate crowd, and the room has great acoustics. I’d like to bring Max with me sometimes so we can play some of the old songs, sing some harmonies, if that’s okay.”

If that’s okay?

Duh.

“Sounds fine to me.” I taste my wine.

It’s quiet in here now, and the silence is too loud. He’s staring down at his drink, his eyes a deep green in the low light of the bar. A crease forms between his eyebrows in a frown, and then he shakes his head, just a tiny bit. Jake sips his drink, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

And I’m a woman, so I ask.

Because who ever heeded the whole don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer warning?

“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I asked.”

He swivels in the stool, facing me, and rests his hand on the arm of my own stool, leaning into me, and it takes everything in me not to back away. His eyes lower to my lips.

I lick them, and watch his eyes dilate.

This is a very bad idea.

I swallow hard as he continues to watch my mouth.

“It’s quiet in here,” he says evenly.

“I was thinking the same.”

“Are you comfortable in the quiet, Addie?”

I frown and feel my nipples pucker when he reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm.

And when he’s this close, I can’t help but breathe him in and enjoy the scent of him.

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Some aren’t. Some need chaos, noise. The quiet makes them nervous.”

You make me nervous.

I lick my lips again.

“I don’t mind quiet. You?”

“I love the quiet.”

I smirk. “You’re a musician.”

“And I love music too. But the quiet is where the truth lives.”

I blink once, twice.

“Where the truth lives?” I’m whispering now.

He simply nods. “There’s no distraction. No way to deny what is. It’s honest.”

“And you claim to be honest?”

“To a fault,” he confirms. “I’d also love to hear more about this sexcation you’re scheming.”

I feel my cheeks flush and turn away, taking another sip of my wine.

“I was simply being silly with my friends, Jake. Drop it.”

He doesn’t answer. Damn the fucking quiet.

I risk a peek at him, only to find him still watching me, lust heavy in his eyes. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not staring. But you’re fucking gorgeous when you blush and I can’t help but wonder how far down that blush goes.”

My jaw drops, then I quickly close it again.

“I guess you are honest.”

He smiles, that damn cocky smile, and I’m just . . . mad.

“Guilty.”

“And too charming for your own good.”

“Charming isn’t a bad thing.”

I laugh, but not in an oh, you’re so funny way, and his face sobers.

“Do you really think you’re getting in my pants with this? Buy me a drink, say sexy things, use the impossible-to-say-no-to body language?”

“It’s just a drink and conversation, Addie.”

“Right. I don’t buy it. I’ve been down this road before with men like you, Jake, on a motorcycle with no helmet going way too fast, and all that it leads to is a fiery crash.”

“Look—”

“No, you look.” I slide off the stool and pace away, too much energy flowing through my body. Too much frustration. My heels echo in the silent room. “I’ve dated a dozen of you, and you’re all the same.”

“No. We’re not.” I turn to find his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“Oh, really? Are you telling me that you haven’t been with countless women?” I cross my arms, cock my hip to the side, and watch him clench his hands into fists.

But he doesn’t deny it.

“Are you going to deny ever having some poor girl think she means something to you, but all the while you were with someone else in the same night?”

He swallows hard and stands, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t try to tell me that you’re not a man-whore, Jake, because I know differently. I’ve dated the bad boy my whole life. And I’ve read the tabloids. I know your past.” His face transforms for just a split second into pure pain, then it’s gone and all that’s left is . . . nothing.