He surveyed the crowd. A group of three girls danced at the foot of the stage. Two of them smiled widely, invitingly, as he made eye contact. He offered an automatic smile back, but he felt nothing.
They were the usual women who tried to attract his attention—women who were out for one thing, just like he was. Nothing emotional, nothing real, just a business arrangement of sorts.
Maybe that was what drew him to Maggie in the first place. He knew she wasn’t that type. She did expect something real, something beyond meaningless sex.
He couldn’t give that. This was his world: dingy, dark, and desolate. He needed to just forget the strawberry blonde with huge gray-green eyes.
He focused on the feeling of the room. The energy vibrating in the air, radiating from every human in the bar. Their life force, their essence. His body absorbed it like a sponge, and none of them even noticed. Maybe they got a little drunker in his presence, maybe they woke the next day feeling a little more hungover than they thought they should. But none of them knew he had contributed to that. None of them knew he was standing up here, stealing their energy to keep himself alive.
Disgust filled him, making it hard to shout out the last note of the song. The audience applauded anyway, not noticing his strain. They applauded and cheered, oblivious to the fact that he was really there, not to entertain them, but to use them.
Yes, this was his life. He was a self-centered, disinterested leech, and the sooner he committed that to memory and stuck to his rules, the better off he’d be.
He took the microphone off the stand and leaned over the railing that surrounded the stage.
“How are you ladies tonight?” he asked the women with whom he’d just shared a smile. He held the mic out to them.
The busty redhead grabbed his hand. “I’m doin’ fine, baby. How are you?”
Her voice was loud and nasal over the speakers. Ren forced his wince into a smile.
“I’m doing great,” he said into the mic. Yeah, he was doing just fuckin’ great. Damn.
He straightened up, moving back to the microphone stand.
“Any requests?”
People started shouting out songs. “Freebird.” “Carry On Wayward Son.” “Brown-Eyed Girl.” The usual. As much the staples of his life as the nameless women and the theft of their energy.
Then below all the thundering voices was a softer, sweeter one: “I Want You To Want Me.”
Ren spun toward the voice and the energy that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t sensed sooner.
Maggie stood in the doorway to the right of the stage. She openly watched him, something she hadn’t ever done. Normally she’d look at him for a moment, then glance away, embarrassed or unsure. But not tonight. Tonight her eyes locked with his, her desire for him written all over her face.
Ren stared at her for a moment, then returned his gaze to the crowd on the dance floor, not really seeing them.
“Let’s go with ‘Brown-Eyed Girl,’” he said, also just reaching into his jumbled thoughts for any song. Any song but the one she requested. What was she doing here? He’d been so sure their good-bye last night had been final.
The music started and he missed his intro. Drake played a little solo to disguise the fact that Ren hadn’t started when he was supposed to, but not before he pulled a face at him, then gave a pointed look in Maggie’s direction.
Ren refused to let his eyes stray along that same path, even though he could feel her gaze on him. Her energy intensified, building around him like a rising storm, and he didn’t have to look to know she was moving closer.
This time he did hit his mark and started the song, managing to sound like he wasn’t thinking about anything other than some brown-eyed girl. Certainly not a girl with gray-green eyes.
Not an easy feat, when all he could think about was Maggie’s closeness. And the fact that he wanted to look at her, to talk to her. To kiss her.
He fumbled, losing the words for a moment. But then he got them back, singing each word with renewed fervor.
Then he spotted her in his peripheral vision, up against the stage. He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting toward her. She stood practically at his feet. Right there.
God, what was she doing? Didn’t she know that last night she’d done the right thing by turning him down? She wasn’t the one-night stand type. He’d known that. But in his desire for her, he’d let himself believe otherwise. He couldn’t forget again. He couldn’t risk her getting hurt. They weren’t talking about something as simple as a broken heart here.
He walked to the other side of the stage and, leaning down, sang the lyrics—the ones he could remember—directly to the redhead with the nasal voice. He’d make himself want nasal over sweet, bright red over warm strawberry blond.
Maggie didn’t move away from the stage, even as Ren blatantly ignored her, even as everything in her body told her to slink off. She had to keep believing what she’d seen in his eyes last night.
What she’d felt in his kiss. Ren did want her. She needed to believe that.
She wouldn’t behave like she had with Peter. If Ren didn’t want her anymore, he was going to tell her so face-to-face. And until then, she was going to believe in herself. Believe that he did want her.
Even if he did lean over the railing surrounding the stage to serenade a tall, willowy redhead in a skintight dress.
Jealousy snaked through Maggie, but she remained by the stage, dancing with the crowd. She wished Erika and Jo were there for moral support, but they’d gone to meet their sailor boys for a drink at Pat O’Brien’s, figuring tonight Maggie would want to handle her seduction on her own.
That was laughable now. Like she had any idea how to seduce anyone. Although she’d really thought Ren would still be amenable to the idea, which she was counting on to make her novice attempts somewhat easier. Apparently not. She was sure he’d seen her when she arrived, but since then, not even a single glance. He was far too busy with the redhead.
Apparently Maggie had missed her chance.
Maggie stared at the redhead, who beamed at Ren, flirting with him outrageously. Maggie couldn’t blame him; the redhead was stunning. If a little bit garish, Maggie amended, eyeing the leopard-print spandex of her dress. Which actually looked great, she had to admit, feeling deflated about her own attempt to look sexy. And it was easy to see that the redhead was not going to turn down any move Ren made.
No, dammit, she wasn’t going to think like that. That was exactly how she’d thought when Peter left her. She’d been polite. She calmly accepted what he’d done, behaving as if the whole fiasco was her fault. She wasn’t going to take the blame tonight.
She did look as good as the redhead. She had dibs on Ren, and she was taking him. He was hers. This was the new and improved Maggie. Gutsy and not afraid of taking what she wanted.
And if Ren really didn’t want her?
She pulled in a deep breath. She’d deal with that when she got there.
“Okay, y’all,” Ren announced. “The band is going to take a little break, but don’t leave. We will be right back.”
Maggie noticed that the redhead was moving toward the steps at the side of the stage. She couldn’t let her get there first. Maggie had to talk to Ren. To tell him she’d made a mistake.
Ren came down off the stage just as both she and the redhead reached him.
“Hi,” Maggie said to him before the redhead could speak. She noted the irritated look the other woman shot her.
Ren glanced at her. “Hey, Maggie.” Then he nodded to the other woman.
“Listen,” he said to both of them, “I’ve got to go talk to the sound guy. I’ll be back.”
The redhead simpered appropriately, asking him to return quickly. Maggie just nodded. Ren zigzagged through the crowd to the booth in the back, and disappeared inside.
Maggie released a deep breath. That hadn’t been the reception she’d hoped for, but it hadn’t been terrible either. It was Saturday night, and the bar was crowded and he was working. She glanced at the redhead and realized she was just making excuses. Ren was blowing her off.
She wandered to the bar. She needed to get away from Ren’s newest girl, who remained right near the entrance to the stage like an Amazon sentry.
As soon as Stacy of the antennae saw Maggie, she bounced down the bar toward her. She smiled broadly.
“How are you tonight?” she greeted. At least she seemed pleased to see Maggie again.
“Fine.” Maggie managed a smile of her own, although she had the feeling it wasn’t quite as genuine as Stacy’s.
“Could I get a diet soda?”
“No wine tonight?”
Maggie shook her head. “Not tonight.” Somehow alcohol seemed like a bad idea. God only knew what she might say. She glanced over to the redhead—even without liquor she could think of a few things she’d like to say to her. Not that she had any right to say anything, really.
The bartender grabbed a plastic cup, spun it in the air and then used the spigot to fill it to the brim.
“There you go.”
Maggie placed a five on the bar.
“I’ll just put it on Ren’s tab.”
“No,” Maggie pushed the money toward her. She wasn’t Ren’s girl. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Ren had returned as he promised, but not to her. He and the redhead stood close together, she with her mouth near his ear, talking animatedly. Ren’s back was to her, his long hair cascading down over his broad shoulders; she couldn’t see his expression, but she could picture his flirty, curling grin.
“Why don’t you let me get that?” a male voice said from close beside her. Maggie turned to see a guy she recognized vaguely from the dance floor. He’d been dancing next to her. She’d only noticed him because he’d bumped into her.
He was nice looking with thick black hair and brown eyes. And now that they weren’t jostling on the dance floor, she noticed that he was also quite young. Maybe twenty-two.
He waved to the bartender, who with her usual radar noticed and came right over.
“I want to pay for this lady’s beverage,” he said gallantly, and Maggie noticed that not only was he young, he was also a little drunk. With a grand flourish, he materialized a—dollar bill. Then he gave Maggie a goofy look and tried again, digging around in his pocket until he found more bills.
Finally he handed the bartender a twenty.
Maggie laughed. He was like a giant, good-natured teddy bear.
“Thank you,” Maggie said, picking up her own money and sticking it back in her purse.
“Sure. What’s your name?”
Maggie told him, and he said that his was Mark.
Behind her, she heard the band tuning up.
“Well thanks, Mark,” she said, raising her cup toward him. “Nice talking to you.”
Mark raised his bottle of beer in return.
Maggie wound back through the crowd, getting closer to the stage. She was determined to talk to Ren. Maybe she was just being a masochist—chances were that she was just being a masochist.
As before, Ren didn’t seem to notice her. He focused on the crowd as a whole, with the occasional break to flirt with the redhead, who practically preened under his attention.
She should just leave, Maggie told herself as Ren moved on from one song to another. It had become clear that he didn’t intend to pay her any attention. None. This was torture.
This was goddamned torture. Ren gritted his teeth as he tried desperately to ignore Maggie swaying down on the dance floor among the sea of others. Of course, she might as well have been out there alone. She was the only one he was aware of, try as he might not to be.
Coming down from that stage and only saying hello to her before disappearing into the sound booth under the pretext of some work-related mission, that had been pure hell. All he’d wanted to do was stop and talk to her so he could hear her soft voice. He’d wanted to pull her against him so he could feel her smooth skin and soft curves.
But he’d done the right thing and dismissed her. Then he’d spent the remainder of the break talking to the redhead. And that had been another test in torture.
Still, he’d done it, certain that Maggie would leave. He knew she could be easily hurt, he’d sensed that in her.
But now he wasn’t even sure Maggie had noticed his dismissal, because when he’d cast a quick look in her direction, she’d been talking to some guy who looked as if he’d just stumbled out of a frat house, and probably had.
Ren had noticed the guy earlier. He had been circling around Maggie all night, moving through the crowd like a shark sizing up its prey. Even now, he was standing right behind her, his eyes locked on her ass as she swayed to the music.
Ren’s jaw clenched. He wanted to jump down off the stage and blacken both of the bastard’s wandering eyes.
But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Maggie was not his woman to defend. And frankly, the college kid wasn’t doing anything wrong. And showing his jealousy was not the sign he was trying to give Maggie. Jealousy was not disinterest.
Maggie sighed. She was wasting her time, that was painfully obvious. Ren could not be more uninterested in her if he tried. It was time to admit she’d missed her chance. Ren was so over her.
And really, did she want a one-night stand with someone who could forget about her that easily?
She knew she couldn’t expect a grand romance, but she didn’t want to be just another notch on the bedpost either. She had believed she was special to him, even in that short a time. She’d seen it in the way he looked at her. Or least she thought she had.
Wasn’t she the strangest combination of ego and insecurity?
She sighed. She should just go. She couldn’t take watching him not watching her any longer.
She took the last sip of her soda, then turned to go toss the empty cup in the trash can near the bar, but instead she ran smack into a wall of chest.
“Oh,” she said, startled. “Sorry.” Then she realized it was Mark. He smiled down at her.
“Not a problem.”
His words were said easily, but something about the way his eyes roamed over her stirred a ripple of wariness. She started to walk around him, but he sidestepped, blocking her.