Face the Music Read online

  “You act like I’ve never had a good time,” I say to my brother. “I have.”

  “When?” He challenges.

  “I don’t need to list every instance I’ve had fun—”

  “Most recent?”

  I swallow hard. “Elliot and I—”

  “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Kid fun doesn’t count. Adult fun.”

  Okay, so maybe it’s been a while.

  I could put up a fight, dig in my heels, and refuse, but something tells me that’d be more revealing to the group than if I go have a drink and come home. The only thing I’d have to worry about is the DOEE finding out I was there, but that would be impossible. “Fine. I’ll go.”

  “What?” Ashleigh says loudly.

  I look at her and the intricate braids in her hair. She looks like some kind of elfin dominatrix. “I’ll go. Unless you don’t want me to.”

  “Whatever. It’s a free country.” She’s acting as if she couldn’t care less if I go or stay, but she won’t meet my eyes.

  “Then it’s settled,” Jesiah says. “After we feed him and he changes into something less… Mr. Rodgers, we’ll send him your way.”

  He turns to Bethany and folds his tall body over her, kissing her on every available inch of skin while murmuring how much he loves her and missed her.

  Ashleigh and I shift awkwardly until she finally speaks up. “I have to go. I’m already running late.” She says a quick goodbye, and as she moves to the door she passes me. Without looking at my face, she says, “If you change your mind, I totally understand.”

  “I won’t. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

  “Cool.”

  I hear the word, but something makes me think it’s not at all cool that I’ll be showing up where she works.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ashleigh

  Friday nights at Club Crush are a madhouse of overworked young executive types eager to spend their money on a little release. The booze flows freely, the music charges the atmosphere, and inhibitions are left at the door, which means I make an insane amount of money in tips.

  Anthony’s hand brushes against the exposed skin of my lower back, slipping a little lower as he reaches beyond me to grab a couple limes. I’ve been running around trying to keep up with bar orders and don’t have the time or energy to reprimand him for his wandering hand. I’ve lost track of time—it could be eight o’clock or ten o’clock—and I haven’t seen Ben, so I assume he decided not to stop in. Or maybe he did come and, once he saw the crowd, decided it wasn’t worth it and left.

  I say a quiet thank you to God.

  I enjoy watching Ben in his element, both on the pulpit and at home with his kid, but to have Ben watching me? The thought is unnerving.

  “What can I get you?” I yell to a couple of guys who squeezed through the crowd.

  They lean in to be heard over the music. One orders a scotch and the other a beer.

  I nod to a Post Malone techno remix and throw their drinks together. “That’ll be twelve fifty.”

  I turn to the cash register to ring them up and make change. They leave a couple bills on the bar and get absorbed back into the crowd.

  I knock out a couple drinks for the waitresses, Stormie included. And back to the bar. But this time when I whirl around, I lock onto the dark eyes of a grinning Ben Langley.

  “You came,” I say to myself.

  He must read lips because he nods slightly then looks down the bar as if to take in the crowd and brings his gaze back to me.

  What am I doing? I step closer and lean in over the bar. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “No?” His eyes sparkle in the flashing lights. “Why not?”

  I fold my arms on the bar. “Not your scene.”

  The couple next to him is making out, hands all over each other, tongues dueling drunkenly.

  He laughs.

  I wipe the already clean bar top in front of him. “You want a drink?”

  He squints at the glowing wall of booze behind me, then meets my eyes and says, “I’ll take a beer.”

  Surrounded by people, Ben seems even more masculine than normal. His casual flannel shirt is rolled up to his elbows, the top couple buttons opened to reveal the thick, muscular column of his neck, and his hair is different than it was when he came home from work this afternoon. The scents of soap and cologne waft off of him and smell like cedar and fresh cut herbs.

  “Any particular kind?”

  His playful eyes move down the length of my braids that fall over my breasts, but only for a second before they’re back on my face. “Surprise me.”

  “You got it.” I grab the frostiest pint glass in the freezer and pour him a locally brewed IPA from draft, feeling clumsy and uncoordinated while his eyes are on me. I place a napkin and the glass in front of him. His wallet is in his hand. I hold up mine. “Put that away. This one’s on me.”

  Playfulness slips from his eyes and he frowns. “You don’t have to do that. I’m happy to pay for my own beer.”

  I’m already shaking my head. “Not a chance. This one is absolutely on me.”

  His wallet is still in his hand, open, his fingers in the cash slot. “Ash…”

  Free beers for life if you keep calling me Ash in that warm, slightly reprimanding way.

  “Please. Let me buy you a drink.”

  He struggles but eventually puts his wallet away. “Thank you.” He takes a gulp, licking his upper lip when he pulls the glass away, and oh, how I’d love to taste beer from his lips. “I’ve never had a woman buy me a drink before.”

  “Welcome to the modern age, Ben.” I wink at him and turn to the two women waving cash two seats down the bar.

  After I pour their shots of Fireball, I make my way back to Ben, who is in his own stratosphere. He’s calm water in a hurricane of noise and chaos.

  “Ash!” Stormie impatiently waves me over to the well bar, where there’s a long receipt of drinks to make. “Did you forget about us?”

  Rather than answer her, I make all ten drinks in two minutes and set them out for her.

  She leans in. “Who’s the hottie at the bar?”

  I don’t have to look—I know she’s talking about Ben—but just to make sure, I turn and catch Ben’s eyes on us. I smile, he smiles back, then I drop the grin and look at Stormie. “That’s Pastor Ben from Grace Church.”

  That should turn her off and redirect her sex-glare.

  She tilts her head to see him better from around the people blocking her view. “He’s a pastor?”

  I don’t like the way she’s looking at him one fucking bit. “Stormie! Your drinks!” I shove them closer to her.

  She slowly drags her eyes away from Ben, who’s looking at Stormie now, but he’s not smiling. He looks more casually curious. I head back to Ben while she gathers her drinks to deliver.

  “Still good?” I ask, and he nods. “Don’t mind her, she’s just perpetually thirsty, ya know?”

  “Thirsty?” he asks, his gaze on my eyes. “The woman you were talking to?”

  “Stormie, yeah.” I pretend to be busy wiping the bar and rearranging small cans of Bloody Mary mix. “She’s my roommate.”

  “Ah, so the new Bethany.” He drinks his beer, his elbow on the bar, looking more relaxed than I would expect for a guy like him in a place like this.

  “Not even close.” I roll my eyes.

  “You’re really good back there. How long have you been bartending?”

  “My entire adult life. I can make just about any drink blindfolded.”

  “Really?” What is it about this man’s smile? And how does he manage to act interested in every word I say?

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’ll have to show me that some time.”

  My heart beats a little harder. “Love to.”

  A couple push up to the bar. I make their drinks and fill the waitresses’ orders, but I take a few minutes to check in with Ben in between.

  “Is it always l
ike this?” he asks.

  “Weekends, yeah?”

  He nods and looks around while I steal a moment to admire his throat and strong jawline. As attractive as Jesse is, Ben is a fuller, bulkier version with thicker lips and a stronger nose—

  A warm arm snakes around my stomach from behind and Anthony’s hot breath is at my ear. “Cut the small talk, babe.”

  Ben eyes Anthony’s arm at my waist.

  “Get your sexy ass back to work.” Anthony releases me with a slap to my ass.

  Ben’s expression is hard as he follows Anthony’s retreat with a glare that could set a fire. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. He goes from glaring at Anthony to checking his watch.

  I clear my throat and try to act normal. I don’t want him to feel like leaving should be uncomfortable, that he can’t just throw me a wave and walk away. “Getting late? I’m sure Jesse and Bethany are eager to get back to their—”

  “I’ll have another beer.” He slides his empty pint glass toward me.

  “Really?”

  He’s not smiling as freely as he was, but his death scowl has softened a bit. “Sure. But this one I’m paying for.”

  I grab him a fresh glass and fill it with beer. He hands me a twenty and tells me to keep the change. “Ben—”

  “Don’t argue. Just take it.”

  Goose bumps run up my arms at the sound of his firm command.

  I shove the change into my tip jar and leave Ben to catch up on drink orders. There’s a slight lull at the bar and I check the clock. It’s close to ten o’clock. Ben’s beer is three quarters of the way to empty.

  I head to Anthony. “I’m taking a fifteen-minute break”

  He frowns. “Right now?”

  “Yeah. And if you ever slap my ass again, I’ll send your balls into your chest cavity.”

  He chuckles. “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

  I flip him off and head to the opposite end of the bar. “Ben, I’m taking a break. Want to hang out with me for a bit?”

  He pushes away his drink. “Sure.”

  “Meet me in the alley out back.”

  He seems relieved to vacate his place at the bar.

  I scurry away before anyone can ask me for something and slip from the pulsing music and strobe lights into the staging area of the club, with concrete floors and fluorescent lights. Past the lockers, storage rooms, and tech rooms to the back door. I feel for my key in my back pocket, then push out into the fresh air of a mild desert night.

  As if called by my thoughts, I look up as Ben comes around the corner of the brick building. Damn, he looks even better than I thought. His flannel is untucked over fantastic fitting jeans and brown boots. He looks like an Old Spice commercial, but hotter.

  “How long will my ears be ringing for after tonight?” he says as he approaches me.

  I laugh, grateful to see his playfulness return. “At least until morning.” I can’t stop smiling, and there’s no doubt he notices. I lean against the brick building. “Thank you for coming.”

  He puts his back to the wall next to me—not close enough to touch, but close. “Thank you for inviting me.” He looks down the alley, left then right. “You leave through this door at night?”

  “Yeah, my car is parked in the lot over there.” I point at the lot a little ways down from where we’re standing. When I see the hard slash of his brows—and knowing his chivalrous ways—I set his mind at ease. “I’ve worked here for years and never had a safety issue.”

  “That’s good,” he says absently, then shakes his head, seeming to push away whatever concern he had. “What kind of beer did you serve me?”

  “A local IPA, why? Did you like it?”

  “I did. It’s strong.” He smiles shyly. “I feel it a little.”

  “I probably should’ve considered that you don’t drink much. Those beers can be pretty strong.”

  “I’m okay. And thank you for the beer.”

  “Thank you for the tip.”

  He angles his head toward me. “You’re welcome.”

  A few seconds of silence stretch between us as we stare, seeing who will be the first to look away. He loses, blinking at his shoes, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “So uh…” He looks at me. “Who’s the guy?”

  There’s no question as to who he’s asking about.

  “Anthony?” I shrug. “No one.”

  He lifts his brows. “Does he know that?”

  I chuckle uncomfortably. “He’s been told, he just doesn’t listen.”

  He makes a face as if someone flashed blinding light in his eyes. “You want me to talk to him?”

  “Oh my Go—I mean, Ben, no.” I’m shaking my head. “No. That’s not necessary.”

  “Looked like it might be,” he mumbles.

  “He’s just playing around.”

  He angles his head at me again. “You didn’t like it.”

  Again, not a question. “No.”

  He sniffs and stares at the brick building across from us. “I didn’t like it either.”

  That gets my attention. I tell myself not to read into it. I tell myself Ben’s just a nice guy and this has less to do with me than it does his feelings for women in general. “Not all men are as noble as you, Ben Langley.”

  He shakes his head and goes back to studying his shoes. “If you only knew…”

  Now it’s me who angles my head to see his face. “Are you saying you’re not?”

  “Oh, Ash…” He flashes a small smile. “I think that beer is loosening my lips.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I rub my hands together conspiratorially. “Do tell. I want to hear all your deep, dark secrets.”

  We laugh a little, and he drops his head back to the wall to look at the starless sky. Even though I’m in heels, he’s so much taller than me. He’s got to be over six feet, maybe six-two.

  I turn to face him, my shoulder to the wall. He spots my change of position and turns toward me, mimicking my stance. I cross my arms, and he does the same.

  “Just one, Ben. Tell me one deep, dark secret. I have to know that behind all that goodness lives a little rebellion.”

  “More than a little.”

  I feel my jaw fall open. “What?”

  He laughs. “That surprises you?”

  “Um, yeah! I mean… you’re Ben Langley. You’re Pastor Ben Langley.”

  “I’m still a man,” he says in his deep voice.

  I suck in a breath, waiting with rabid anticipation. “Oh, you have to tell me. Tell me just one. Or better yet, let me guess.”

  “This should be interesting.” His eyes never leave mine. “Give it a shot.”

  “Hmmm…” I run my teeth along my lower lip. “You don’t put your grocery cart back in the corral after shopping.”

  “What kind of monster doesn’t put the cart back?”

  “Okay, so not that. Hmm… oh! You have an unpaid parking ticket.”

  “No. Never had a parking ticket.”

  I roll my eyes. “Shocking.”

  “You’re horrible at this game.”

  “Let me try again! Hmm, let’s see… you sneak into another movie after the one you paid for is over?”

  “Never done that, no.”

  “Not even as a kid?”

  “Especially not as a kid.”

  “Huh. Taken more than one sample at Costco?”

  “No.”

  “Stolen a towel from a hotel?”

  “I would never do that.”

  “Oh my gosh, seriously? How can you even call what you live a life if you’ve never broken even the tiniest of rules?”

  He doesn’t answer, just looks thoughtfully at me.

  I throw my hands to my sides. “I give up. I can’t think of anything. You really are a saint, aren’t you?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Are you capable of anything but? Because honestly, I’d take a lie at this point. You’re just so… perfect.”

&n
bsp; “I’m not.”

  “You are!”

  “Ash…” His expression sobers and his eyes drop to my lips.

  “What?” I breathe.

  “Would you still think I’m a saint if I told you I’ve thought about kissing you?”

  I blink, sure I misunderstood.

  “Nothing to say, huh?” He’s not smiling.

  “Can you um… can you repeat that?”

  He steps closer, or maybe I swayed closer to him. Either way, we’re nearly touching now. “I have spent many hours thinking about what it would be like to kiss you. Still think I’m a saint?”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “What?” He seems honestly surprised by that. Silly, silly man.

  “Maybe if you do it, you’ll know and then you’ll stop thinking about it.”

  His eyebrows drop low, his gaze fixed firmly on my lips. I step closer until I feel his denim-covered thighs on the backs of my hands. My pulse races, the fear of his rejection a blazing warning that I’d never forget or get over being rejected by someone as handsome and good as Ben.

  “You’re so tall.” My head falls back to look up at him. “If you want the kiss, you’re going to have to come down for it.”

  He blinks and leans in. His hands fall to his sides and I expect to feel his firm grip at my hips, but the heat of his palms never come.

  “I shouldn’t,” he whispers, so close I can feel the heat of his breath, smell the sweet beer on his tongue.

  I slide my hands up and grip his shirt at his waist. My mind whirls with a heady combination of lust and excitement. I lick my lips. His dark eyes flare with fire, and in that moment, I know Ben is lost to his baser instincts. The voice in his head reasoning he should walk away has been snuffed out by whatever this connection is between us.

  He moves. Dips. I close my eyes and feel the brush of his lips against mine. So soft, tender, a feather against my mouth. Sweet. And not nearly enough.

  Ben

  I clench my hands at my sides to keep them from shaking. Not shaking out of fear or nervousness—shaking from need. I lock down my desire to pull her to me, crush her delicate body against mine, pin her against the wall to keep her from slipping away.

  My veins flood with a dangerous cocktail of appetites and I give in, just a little, to the single thing I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all night. Kissing Ashleigh.