“I train every day. Weights. Cardio. My dad got me into boxing as a kid and it helps me keep in shape.” I shrugged. “Helps me when I’m on stage too.”

“And you’ve never smoked?”

I shook my head. “I grew up with parents who were always active. You know, running or playing sports. They encouraged all of us kids to play sports and I knew smoking would get in the way of how I performed, so I never bothered trying.”

She scooped up a mouthful of pancake and berry sauce.

“I notice you don’t drink alcohol, either.” She said.

“I’ve done a lot dumb things on alcohol. I used to drink every time I got on stage - you know, to calm the nerves. But sometimes I did things I regretted. So I stopped.”

I wasn’t going to tell her about the time I’d gotten so rotten drunk I had slept with a good friend’s wife. When he found out it had destroyed our friendship, not to mention his marriage. It was the crux that made me decide to stop drinking and something I would go to my grave regretting. Alcohol made me do stupid shit, so I stayed away from it as much as possible.

She finished all her pancakes and I was impressed. But our breakfast date was drawing to a close and I felt the onset of disappointment in my stomach. Every time it came time to saying goodbye to her, I felt the same hollowness in my belly.

As we drained our cups of coffee, she picked up the spoon from her plate. Absentmindedly, she sucked the syrup from her spoon and I felt every slippery slide of her tongue on my skin.

“Jesus Christ!” I couldn’t help but moan, my eyes fixed on her lips. “You’d better stop doing that or we’re gonna have to wait a while before I can get up and leave.”

With a burst of mischievousness she put the entire spoon in her mouth, then slowly dragged it from between her lips. Her tongue slid along the cold silver metal and I went as hard as a missile.

With a wink she smiled and dropped the spoon to her plate. “Okay let’s go.”

My hand closed over hers. “We’re gonna have to wait a bit.”

Her eyes dropped to my crotch and the bulge beneath the denim. She rolled her eyes. Obviously she hadn’t expected that.

Trying to distract myself from my … situation … I brought up her afternoon plans with Dean. Because God knows, just the thought of her spending the afternoon with that weasel was enough to kill my hard on. But in the end I just managed to irritate her, which wasn’t my plan.

“Does Dean know today isn’t a date?”

Harlow gave me one of her are-you-kidding-me? looks. I couldn’t blame her. She had explained it to me enough times. She stood up and grabbed her handbag.

“What’s it going to take for me to get it through to you that I only see Dean as a friend?”

“Not go out with him,” I said lightly.

It was a joke but at the same time I meant it.

It made me sound like a bit of a possessive douche. But I would bet my life savings that the jerk was playing the friendship card to worm his way into her panties. I knew he could be very persuasive as I’d seen him in action a few times at the Pizza Palace and a couple of other venues we had played at.

Worse, he was more Harlow’s type than me. So my paranoia had me second guessing her ability to turn him down when faced with the full assault of his charms.

Harlow didn’t bother saying anymore. She just fixed me with those piercing green eyes that said it all, and headed towards the door.

I rode her home on my bike so she could get ready for work. Again I took my time through the early morning streets, not keen to end my time with her. Having her on the back of my bike with her arms wound tight around my waist seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re still coming tonight, right?”

“Sure. I’ll catch a cab from the gallery.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the ride home. I’ll see you tonight.”

* * * * *

I was in a bad mood. Why the fuck wasn’t she here? It was almost eleven o’clock. She said she was coming.

Moodily, I stared into the almost full glass of coke. If she wasn’t here, then she was still out with him. And what the fuck was so fucking great about the date that she’d still be out with him?

We were due to go back on stage for our last set, but I didn’t want to. For the first time in my fucking life, I didn’t want to go back on that stage. What I wanted was to find out where my girl was.

Whoa! What?

She’s not your girl, asshole.

I pushed my coke away and ran frustrated fingers down my face. God, this was doing my head in. I knew I should do her a favor and stay away from her. She was way too good for me and when she worked it out I’d be in too deep and it would hurt like a bitch.

But goddamn it, there was a part of me—a big part—that just couldn’t let her go. It was turning me into a psycho.

My cell vibrated in my pocket and I grabbed it.

Harlow: How you doing mr rock star? Having a good gig? I’m not going to make it but I will catch you tomorrow, ok? Lunch?

What. The. Fuck?

What did that mean? Why wasn’t she going to make it?

Before I had the sense to stop them, my fingers started texting.

Me: You said you would come.

Almost immediately my phone pinged with her response.

Harlow: In bed ;-)

Was that a winking smiley face?

Seriously, I think I saw red. Blood fucking red.

She was in bed? What, with that douche?

I wanted to punch something.

Okay, I had no proof that she was with him. But my imagination was making me her bitch with some pretty fucked up mental images.

See? A fucking psycho…!!

“Hey dude, what’s up?” Jesse slid onto the barstool next to me.

“Harlow can’t make it.”

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “So?”

“So asshole, she said she would.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Whoa, what’s with the name calling dude?”

When he picked up my glass and sniffed the contents, I wanted to yell at him. He was checking for alcohol because basically I was an asshole on alcohol.

No. I was just an asshole full stop and Harlow knew that, that was why she was with Dean and not with me.

“Sorry,” I said, frustrated. This morning I’d woken up with her in my arms and for the first time in my life I had felt an overwhelming contentment. Life was good, because she was in it.

How could everything turn around so quickly?

Jesse shrugged. “Why don’t you ring her?”

Although I wanted to, I was afraid of what I might find out if I did. I didn’t know how I’d cope if I heard him in the background.

Shaking my head I put my phone back in my back pocket. “Come on, we’re due to go back on.”

I climbed off the barstool. But when I turned, I walked straight into a douche bag from Fat Tony’s who had run into Harlow and Dean earlier.

And what he had to say to me was the final straw.

Chapter Eight HARLOW

My phone rang just after midnight. The screen told me it was Piper.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“No. The big dummy went and got himself into another fight.”

“Who? Jesse?” I asked, surprised.

“No. Heath. The big jerk.” She paused. “Listen, I know you might be, you know … busy. But can you come down to the hospital? I think seeing you might … it’s just …” She sighed. “I think he needs to see you.”

She gave me the address for the hospital and I took Bridget’s car. When I arrived twenty minutes later Piper and Jesse were out the front.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

“He’s alright,” Jesse replied sagely, his tone indicative of someone who’d been there many times before. He drew on his cigarette, his brows drawn in. “He’s getting stitched up now.”

“He needs stitches? What happened?”

Jesse and Piper looked at one another and Jesse shrugged in a you-tell-her gesture.

“He got in a scrap with Danny Woods at the show. He was pissed you didn’t turn up. Then Danny said he saw you with Dean—that you guys were looking pretty cozy together and it was no wonder you hadn’t shown. And that he was pretty sure where you two had ended up.” She bit her lip and looked down. “It was too much for Heath. He warned him to shut up.”