Waiting for a Girl Like You Read online

  “Okay then, walking real fucking fast.” He slid out the door behind her and stopped while she waited for Frankie to lock up. “Is there something about me you don’t like?”

  Alex started to draw a breath and stopped. Yeah, there was something. It really was time to find the source of denial, and the source was Roger. Roger had pursued her. All the way through British Writers, Early and Modern. Two semesters he had courted her before she allowed herself to be captured. Before she finally bought the stories about how his wife didn’t understand him and how he was leaving her and so on and so forth.

  She wasn’t running, or more accurately, hurrying away from Marc, but she was trying to get away from Roger, to prove that he could survive the summer, the rest of his life even, without her. Which was why she was in Potterville waiting tables and not working at the university library this summer. However, past experience did not always predict future results, and she knew for sure that this guy had an ex-wife, meaning he didn’t have a current wife. Most likely.

  If this thing with Marc went somewhere, she might fall in love with him and he might hurt her.

  But he might not. It would be nice not to be alone. Nice to be able go out in public with the man she was dating. Nice to have him pay for dinner. Nice to try a little peach eating of her own for once instead of just reading about it. Supposing, of course, that he wasn’t married. Because that was going to be a deal breaker. “You’re not married, are you?”

  “Hell, no. I just earned my six year chip for abstaining from that institution.”

  Alex finished the deep breath she’d been trying to draw earlier. He could be lying, but she’d asked. If he didn’t tell the truth, she couldn’t be blamed for his actions, or so she had been told. Hopefully. At least her profiling research this morning and last night wouldn’t go to waste. And the town wanted it. “I was headed for some ice cream. You interested?”

  “I am.” He grinned.

  Chapter 2

  Interested? Shit, he’d traded interested for burning desire when he’d caught sight of her mopping the floor. This woman made cleaning sexy. That long lean body and cap of black hair. Eyes like diamond drill bits. A mouth that went from lush to sarcastic in twenty seconds flat.

  And so smart. So smart. She had a comeback for everything. He’d gotten so used to phoning it in with everybody around him except Sandy and Suzi, that finding somebody who could do a little verbal smack down was almost better than finding a hot chick hiding in Potterville. Cassie was never, ever going to let him live this down. If she found out.

  “So, ice cream?” he asked.

  “Perfect weather for it.”

  “You don’t live in Potterville, do you? I’ve never seen you here before.” Marc fell into step beside her.

  Alex frowned at him. They all seemed to think she was perfect for him, but she acted like he was barely worthy of consideration. “No, my cousin Angela said I could make a lot of money waiting tables over the summer, and I had driving reasons to get away from the university for a few months. Didn’t we have this conversation already?”

  Shit, yes they had. No wonder she was looking at him like he was losing IQ points with every step. “Yeah, I was just trying to refresh on the details. So you’re in college.”

  “Hence the need for money.”

  “For school.” Interesting. Most of the college students he’d run into had been groupies buying time, letting Mommy and Daddy pay for school until they had to get a job. If her folks were paying for school, she wouldn’t need to be waiting tables to earn money. The expression on her face reminded him that his last comment was a shade on the stupid side. “I was just trying to figure out how old you are. So you’re in college. What are you…” Damn, what was that question college kids always asked? He hadn’t been to a uni party in decades. Too busy building a career. “What are you majoring in?”

  “I’m working on a master’s in Brit Lit. What about you? Are you in school?”

  “No, I—” What was he supposed to say? No, I’m a professional rock star, and I’m nearly twice your age. Besides, I always thought college was a waste of time and money reserved for snotty rich kids who didn’t need to work for a living. That would get her in bed. “I didn’t go to college.” Dear God, had he just admitted the truth?

  “You didn’t?”

  And now she was looking at him like a stranger from a strange land. “I went to work straight out of high school.” Bands through high school. Local guitar god by nineteen. Touchstone at twenty. Touring the world before his twenty-second birthday. Now at thirty-eight, he was a member of one of the top ten selling bands in history. It wasn’t like he was a total loser.

  “What do you do?”

  Damn it. Now he had to tell her, and she was going to go all gaga and that would be the end of any hope of…of anything real. Might as well get it over with. “I’m a musician. I play guitar for Touchstone.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh? Oh? She must live in a box in a cave under a bridge. “You sound like you don’t know who Touchstone is.”

  “I know who Touchstone is in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and I know there’s a popular band by that name, but beyond that no. I don’t follow modern music at all.”

  Huh. Marc had thought there were only two or three people left in the world who didn’t know Touchstone, and one of them had married his drummer, so she knew now. Ida and Paul’s matchmaking was much better than he’d assumed. They hadn’t chucked the first attractive female who might suit; they had lined up a good candidate who didn’t have any predisposed ideas. Since Dez, every woman he’d gone out with had been in it for the fame and money and not him. Alex gave him a chance to find out what she thought of him without her basing any preconceptions on his branding. Awesome. “What kind of ice cream do you want?”

  “Strawberry. I like the classics.” She grinned and it was bewitching. The curve of her mouth, the sparkle in her eyes. If the classics looked like her, he had been missing out in pursuit of the next big thing.

  * * * *

  Marc handed her the ice cream cone. The shop on the town square was swarming with people. Because of the late hour, it was mostly young couples, and several of them had stopped Marc for autographs and selfies on his way to and from the service window. He must be more famous than she’d thought.

  “How is it?” Marc asked.

  “Good. They make their own. Ida swears they pick all the fruit locally.”

  “I know. Cassie said this is their second year open. Since Jason built that house on the mountain, tourism has picked up, and the town was doing pretty steady business before then. The city council was approached by Coldstone and Baskin Robbins franchises, but they turned them down in favor of this family owned place. It’s a better fit for the town brand.”

  Sales numbers, units, and business plans. Was that coffee ice cream or butter pecan he had? According to the all-knowing Internet, people who liked coffee ice cream were passionate and over-committed. Butter pecan meant he was sensitive, but wouldn’t reveal himself to others. Was he fun and flirtatious or cautious and traditional? How was she supposed to know what to say if she didn’t know what kind of person he was? “The whole town seems to be very invested in their image. My cousin calls it Mayberry-ness.”

  “Yeah, so does Cassie.” Marc scanned the square. He must be bored. Or he was looking for a good place to sit. Did he like to people watch as much as she did?

  It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. Marc was extremely good looking. He just couldn’t quote Keats or smile at her like she was the most clever, exciting woman in the world. Or maybe he could if she gave him a chance. “So tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s not much that hasn’t been in the press.” He turned toward a bench beside the now empty bandstand. It was dim there, but not dark. The perfect balance of being well lit without being in a spotlight. So he didn’t want to attract attention right now. Was that because he wanted to focus on her, or
because he was tired of being mobbed by his many fans? Or did he not want to be seen with her? That wouldn’t be a first. He settled onto the bench and turned toward her. “Tell you about myself.”

  What man didn’t want to talk about himself? His Wiki page had not been forthcoming on his pet cause or even what kind of movies he liked. Liking sports just proved he was a regular man. It didn’t supply her with any material. Alex sat down trying to mirror his pose, but when he crossed his ankle over his knee she gave up. There was no way to make that look good in this short of a skirt. “Just searching for a topic of conversation.”

  “Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “Where do you stand on global warming or the deficit or Arab Spring?”

  “Ah, well, I recycle, pay my taxes, and Arab Spring is making it difficult to get to Egypt, but I’m not certain what they’re fighting about. What about you?”

  Good question. “The same, I guess. Except I wasn’t planning on going to Egypt any time soon.” If he had an interest in Egypt, that was something she could study up on.

  “Where were you planning to go?”

  “Italy.”

  “What’s in Italy?”

  What’s in Italy? He couldn’t be that dumb, unless he was asking what she wanted to see. A test then.

  “I mean, for you.”

  The Keats-Shelley Museum. Keats’s grave. Trevi Fountain. The Sistine Chapel. Florence. Venice. The food. “The food. I love Italian food.”

  He nodded like that wasn’t an odd, dopey thing to say. “Italy is nice. I’ve been there a couple of times on tour.”

  “What have you seen?”

  “In Italy? The Vatican, a couple of the museums. The usual stuff, I guess.” He shrugged. “I was focused on work at the time. It might be nice to go and just be on vacation.” He stared into her eyes like he’d just asked a very important question.

  Her breath caught in her throat, but was it excitement or panic? If he was implying that he wanted to go to Italy with her, it could be either. She’d been pleased when he wanted to sit in the square eating ice cream like a publicly acceptable couple on a regular date. Alex arched a little more to enhance her assets and quell her nervous stomach.

  “Listen, I know that Paul and Ida are up to something and if you’re not interested, it’s cool,” Marc said.

  “Paul and Ida are up to something?” Alex clenched her free hand into a fist. She hadn’t assumed a fix-up was in progress until after work last night when Angela was so excited. He must have figured it out before she did, and he was okay with it. It would be awfully nice to come clean.

  Nice and terrifying.

  “Matchmaking. Didn’t you know?”

  Nope, not ready to be honest yet. Not the absolute truth. “No, but it fits. My cousin was very interested that we met.”

  Marc draped his arm across the back of the bench so that his fingertips just brushed her sleeve. “I’m not surprised if Angela is in on it, too. Regardless, I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

  Other than the tension in her chest that kept her from breathing properly, no pressure. “Not really. Nervous as hell, but not pressured.”

  He cocked his head. “Why nervous?”

  “Because my taste in men is suspect.” Gah, hadn’t she just told herself she wasn’t ready for the truth? It was too soon.

  “Fair enough. My taste in women is suspect enough that my friends felt the need to fix me up with you.” He shifted and the tips of his fingers brushed against her skin. Since she wasn’t electrocuted on the spot, she decided she liked the sensation.

  She shifted closer. Half an inch, but enough to get decent contact. He kept his gaze fixed on hers without moving. His fingers were calloused at the tips. The sensation of the calluses scraping across her skin ever so slightly with his pulse made it even harder to breath. No wonder he was famous. She was about to hyperventilate and pass out just from the tips of three of his fingers brushing her shoulder.

  “Still nervous?”

  “Little bit. You?” She started to see spots as her anoxia set in.

  His lips curled. “Terrified.”

  * * * *

  Marc glanced at the living room clock. Twelve o’clock. He could go get Alex. They had sat in the town square talking until midnight. She was great. Just amazing. Fun to talk to. The best part was that all they did was talk. When the town hall clock started chiming midnight, she swore and said she had to be up early to open at the diner. He had walked her back to her cousin’s Craftsman style bungalow where she went up onto the porch, gave him a little wave, and let herself in. No skipping the introductions to suck face like most of the other women he’d met. No implying that he should take her home as soon as possible and give her the lifestyle she had always wanted to become accustomed to. What was important to her was her job and the commitments she’d made. She hadn’t talked much about school, but that had to be important, too. She was getting a master’s degree. People didn’t do that without good reason. She’d left him wanting more, and since midnight, that want had been building.

  He put aside his e-reader. Suzi’s latest book had appeared in his e-mail this morning right before a message from Brian crowing that the new book was out. It was certainly putting him in the right mindset to see more of Alex. As he tied his shoes, his phone rang. He had to limp over to the table one shoe on and one shoe off, which reminded him of Alex’s bare feet last night.

  “Yeah?”

  “You get my e-mail?” Jason demanded.

  “E-mail? I haven’t been online since first thing this morning.”

  “First thing? What time did you get up? It’s only nine.”

  Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with Jason. The man owned houses on both coasts and never took time zones into account. “No, what is it about?”

  “I came up with a new riff last night. Woke up with it running around my head.”

  Super.

  “I recorded it on the computer and sent it to you, but I’ve been thinking about it since I sent it, and I’ve got more. You want me to send you that, too?”

  Marc checked at the clock. He was supposed to be driving down the mountain to see Alex, not listening to Jason be brilliant. But in the twenty-five years he’d known Jason, the other man hadn’t matured more than a few minutes, so brushing him off wasn’t going to work. “Hold on and let me pull up what you’ve already got.” Marc glanced at the clock again. Alex awaited.

  But Jason would not be put off.

  “What do you think of the house?” Jason asked as Marc fiddled open his laptop and got it started.

  “It’s great.”

  “I told you you’d like it.”

  “You didn’t tell me half the town would be intent on fixing me up with a waitress at Ida’s.”

  “Jeez, you should have known. It’s Potterville.”

  “Okay, shut up a minute.” Marc clicked play.

  The riff was simple and perfect, unbelievable that no one had ever done it before, but it didn’t sound like anything he’d ever heard.

  “What do you think?” Jason demanded as the last note faded away.

  Shithead. Woke up in the middle of the night with a brilliant riff and by morning had dreamed up a completely brilliant melody. “Absolutely, man. What do you have for lyrics?”

  “Eh, scrambled eggs.”

  Marc forced a laugh. Funny he should reference the original lyrics to The Beatles’ “Yesterday” when he might have just come up with another song of that caliber. In his sleep. Bastard.

  “I sent the riff to Ty, but I think he’s sleeping off last night, and Brian’s reading a book.”

  The way Jason said Brian was reading a book made it sound like Brian had taken up taxidermy and was building a squirrel army in his basement. Of course, as crazy as Brian was about Suzi’s books, he wouldn’t surface again until he’d read it twice and had a long girly chat with Suzi
. He wasn’t going to be writing lyrics for a while, and if somebody didn’t shepherd Jason through the rest of this song right now, it was going to be gone.

  Alex would have to wait. Business had to come first. She’d understand.

  “Let me grab a guitar so I can noodle along.”

  Goddamn it.

  * * * *

  Alex checked the time again. Last night, on the sidewalk in front of Angela and Finn’s house, he had said he would meet her here today so they could go do something after her shift. She’d worn flats to work and stuffed the heels in her purse. She’d brought makeup to put on. If she could have stuffed a shower and a change of clothes in her bag, she would have. For him. And he didn’t show.

  Probably for the best. It was too soon after Roger for her to get into any kind of relationship.

  Even a perfect relationship with a gorgeous man who seemed to like her. At least she hadn’t told anyone he was coming today. See, it was subconscious. She’d known it wasn’t going to happen, so she’d kept it quiet to keep from being embarrassed when he dumped her. Not dumped, but lost interest after one date.

  Alex delivered meals to tables, took orders, placed them with the kitchen, refilled drinks, watched the door, checked the clock.

  God, why didn’t he come? He had seemed so interested last night.

  She hadn’t kissed him goodnight. She should have at least given him a peck on the cheek.

  Alex’s stomach knotted and she licked her lips. A good-night kiss was de rigueur, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t been wondering what his lips would taste like.

  It was for the best. She needed to get her head on straight after Roger. He was still going to be her academic advisor next year, and she needed to be able to work with him while not falling into old patterns. She’d come too far to not get her thesis approved.

  Marc might have a reason for not coming. Something could have happened to his family or one of his friends. He might have sent a text letting her know that he was running behind or that he was going to meet her someplace later. All her tables were fine for the moment so she darted to the back and grabbed her purse before ducking into a bathroom stall.