"Well now, let's give a round of applause to Mark Wilkerson," the gentleman said into the microphone. I recognized him as a man named Seth. He motioned towards the man exiting the stage, clapping after him and encouraging the rest of the crowd to follow suit. "This next act is a good friend of mine. He co-owns a bar off of Broadway which I'm sure you may have heard of…Callahan's anybody?" he added for dramatic flair. The crowd did exactly as he had intended, erupting into cheers. "You may know his last name, but what you probably don't know, is that you've heard some of his songs on the radio. Yes, yes that brother of his obviously thinks those songs of yours are worth singing," Seth teased. Griff stepped onto the stage, knocking the breath right out of me. "Please give a warm welcome to the very talented, Mr. Griffin Callahan," Seth continued, clapping him on the back.

  "Thank you, Seth," Griff said bending down to speak into the microphone. He tugged at the strap of his guitar, taking a seat on the small wooden stool. "Always the welcome host, Seth," he said leaning forward. He ducked like he was trying to dodge the lights that hung above him, squinting his eyes at the crowd.

  As he settled more firmly into place, multiple catcalls erupted from the room. My eyes narrowed, attempting to throw laser beams of death at the women before I had good enough sense to put an end to the ignorant jealousy.

  Heat licked across my skin, the flames reaching areas that I wished they hadn't. His jeans hugged his crotch suggestively, reminding me of a time not too long ago that I'd been inches from it, staring - gaping, actually - at what lie on the other side of the fabric. He had his customary plaid button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows, those blasted forearms looking in my direction. The Nashville Predators cap tugged low on his head did little to hide those eyes of his - blue and shockingly happy - something I could rarely recall seeing. Especially as of late…Especially, I was sure, since me.

  He smiled, the corners of his mouth reaching towards his ears. The tips of his black hair curled out from under the cap, attempting escape. I hated having to fight off unwanted urges like I was now. My fingers curled into my palms, leaving crescent-shaped moons in the skin underneath.

  "Hey y'all," he said, plucking at a few strings. He readjusted his backside onto the stool again, my eyes making their way to the troublesome 'V' that my brain seemed so dead-set on staring down each and every opportunity that it got.

  I really didn't see what the big deal was. Sure, it had been quite some time since I'd gotten laid - and remembered it - but I wasn't incapable of long periods of abstinence. I calculated how long it had been since…Mick…frustrated to realize that it had been a rather long time. Not since the one-night stand that Kole had witnessed had I allowed myself any sort of pleasure. Oh boy. No wonder I was wound up tighter than a drum.

  "It's been a little while," he admitted, his voice soft, almost timid - only adding to his allure. "So, forgive me. I'm a little rusty."

  "I'll take you rusty anytime-"

  "Come on, handsome, you're killing me here-"

  The calls came from all directions, my newly acquired laser beam eyes making another appearance.

  He laughed, something small yet genuine, sending my body into a tailspin. "All right, all right," he said as an attempt to calm the women. I didn't like that his eyes seemed to confidently meet each one of theirs before settling back onto his guitar. "Normally, I'd play you something I wrote a while back, but I've been working on some new stuff over the past few weeks that I'd like to share. So, here goes."

  He wiggled on the stool again, something I silently reprimanded him for. He was unknowingly testing me from the back of the room and I was failing. As he began to strum the first chords of the song, I found myself wondering if they still made chastity belts.

  I was in deep shit.

  Colors of blonde that don't seem to be yours,

  Fall across your eyes.

  I'm wondering what's behind those burning embers,

  What you're trying to disguise.

  My heart stood still. In that moment, there was no one else in the room. As his voice curled around my heart, warming me in more ways than one, I could feel myself falling deeper. This was a train that I couldn't stop, wouldn't have known how if I'd tried.

  He had never struck me as someone who could play. But, then again, he hadn't seen me as someone who could either. Maybe there were equal amounts of mystery in both of us. A lot, I corrected because with this night as proof, there was so little that I knew about the man before me. What exactly had Seth meant by Mick singing his songs? I mean, I knew the literal meaning, but there was more to it than that. Mick hated Griff. Singing his songs seemed like more of a shot in the dark than 2-Pac and Elvis resurrecting from their graves to do a duet.

  There were way too many questions and emotions coming towards me all at once. I flattened my hands against the wall behind me for stability.

  You're a mystery,

  Something I can't forget.

  I keep my distance

  For fear of doing something I'll regret.

  My knees go weak,

  Not an easy admission for a man.

  But you're with him

  Something I can't come to understand.

  My heart thudded so loud in my ears I was fairly certain that they were on the verge of bursting. My hands cupped the wall nervously, reflexively keeping rhythm to the song. I could be reading into things - something that I was overtly prone to doing - but the lyrics sounded like they were aimed at me. So much so, my insides were twisting into tiny knots of pleasure, working its way from my stomach until finally settling between my thighs.

  The rest of the song was a blur, the sounds a jumbled up mess bouncing around between my ears. All I could process was Griff's mouth moving, his arms gripping the guitar, bands of muscle moving at his will…and his eyes. Good God, his blue eyes. As if the rest of him wasn't enough of a package, someone had seen fit to bless him with an asset like those.

  I made my way to the bathroom, certain that I was on the verge of hyperventilating. I needed a break from the emotional havoc that both he and the song were wreaking on me. I was not this woman. I wasn't a weak-in-the-knees type of girl. No, those reactions were saved for women of a lesser species, a smaller subset of feminine individuals who didn't know any better.

  I didn't melt for smiles. I didn't drool over the mundane, certainly not for something as simple as forearms or the mere idea of a penis on the other side of denim. And, I had never, not in my almost two and a half decade existence, gotten jealous of other women's considerations towards someone who I found slightly attractive.

  I frowned at my own reflection, finding myself positioned in front of the bathroom mirror. I tried blaming my incessant thoughts of lust on my sexual drought, but I knew that that was a lie too, which only caused my frown to deepen. I was deprecating my attraction for him, belittling it because it confused me. Because it scared me.

  There was something about him specifically that I couldn't shake, something that drew me to him despite my better judgment. Jesus, I couldn't figure it out but I wanted to try, knew I wouldn't let myself stop until I did.

  "Hey aren't you that girl?"

  The unexpected sound of something other than urine hitting water and toilets flushing stirred me from my thoughts. I glanced around the bathroom, realizing that the intended recipient of the question was me. Well, shit.

  Her mouth hung agape, a hot pink manicured finger pointed in my direction. As I glanced down, I noticed the trivial fact that her toes were painted the very same color. They too pointed at me while peeking out of her open toed heels.

  Play it cool.

  What had I been thinking? Bringing myself here when I was still under the radar? In the name of breathing some fresh air? I should've just opened a window. That would've been easier. Certainly much safer and I could've saved myself the cab fare. Had I so easily forgotten that I was the newly minted mystery lady of Mick Callahan who couldn't stop lusting over his very muscled, very sexy, talented musician older brother?

  "If you're asking if I'm a girl, then yes," I said smoothly, trying to find my mental footing.

  "No, no, I mean that girl," Miss Matching Nails began, snapping her fingers as she worked through the equation. "Mick Callahan's girlfriend!"

  Equation solved. Double shit.

  "I think you've got the wrong girl," I lied.

  "No, I'm certain," she confirmed, her voice growing louder the closer she drew to the truth and her certainty of it. "You've been all over the news. I wouldn't miss that bad dye job to save my life." I flinched, only marginally offended. Her dye job wasn't much more professional than mine. "OhmyGod, OhmyGod," she enthused, tugging at a random passerby who had just exited her bathroom stall. "It's her!"

  "Listen lady," I said, holding defensive hands out in front of me. "You've made a mistake and are making quite a scene." I began slowly backing my way towards the door.

  "Lemme get my phone," she squealed, reaching for her pocketbook. Her poorly decorated fingers rummaged through a studded purse, fishing for their intended item. I didn't stick around for the photo op, turning instead and bolting out of the door in a full out sprint.

  My urgency to escape became my sole focus as I tore through the crowd, pushing people and objects out of the way during my efforts to flee. I had almost made it to the door, Jimmy and the exit in my line of sight, before someone stepped into my path, my face coming into contact with hard muscle. My body jolted, shock settling in from the crash. I was fairly certain I'd broken my jaw. I had to open and close it a few times just to be sure. Satisfied that surgery wasn't in my near future, I set about figuring out who had caused the collision.

  Before I could get a good enough view, I was tucked under an arm, my head forced into a chest and instructed into a forty-five degree angle towards the floor by fingers that cupped the side of my face for the purpose of…shielding me?

  Everything was happening too fast for me to make sense of it. I found my feet marching forward, following in the direction that my body was being pulled. As we exited the door, I caught a glimpse of plaid. Griff.

  We made it onto the sidewalk outside of The Bluebird and away from the impending crowd. Jimmy had stuffed his large frame into the doorway attempting to hold off my pursuers and the others who were just plain interested to see what the commotion was all about.

  "We don't have much time. They recognized me," I said, feeling myself being stuffed back into Griff's chest.

  "Yeah, no shit," he grumbled, urging me towards his intended direction.

  The trusty old Ford came into view, fabricated metal making me happier than it should. I would've hugged the damned thing if I had had time. Instead, I was being forcefully shoved into the passenger's side. Griff rounded the front end, sliding into the driver's side of the vehicle and expertly bringing the Ford to life.

  I was surprised at the get-up and go that the truck had when tested, the engine seeming to whine less than ever as we cruised downtown. A lingering, nervous excitement caught up with me, almost certainly from the rush I'd acquired from my escape. I opened my mouth to speak, a nervous chuckle escaping instead. Then another. I hadn't felt this kind of rush since being on stage. Before I knew it, I was choking out laughter like I was high, tears streaking down my cheeks.

  "You're absolutely fucking crazy," Griff noted, shifting gears with an aggressive jerk.

  "I know. You're right," I agreed, rolling down the window and allowing the night air to swoop inside. My hand made a waving motion over and under the wind as I attempted to gain control over the maniacal laugh that didn't seem to want to quit.

  "What were you thinking? Coming out into town?" he seethed, shooting daggers out of his peripheral.

  "I wasn't," I confessed, not appreciating the bad mood that was currently doing a number on my good one. He huffed out a sound of disapproval. I shrugged. "Look, I've been cooped up for weeks, splitting my time between the condo and Callahan's. What do you expect for me to do? I'm a performer. I'm used to being out in front of people…performing…doing," I pointed out. I hated that I felt he deserved an explanation when, really, I didn't owe him a single thing.

  "I expected you to stay the hell put, that’s what," he argued. His eyes had iced over again, reverting back to that place of anger he liked to stay.

  "I don't do that very well."

  "Clearly," he said, banging the steering wheel out of frustration.

  I flinched, unprepared for his reaction. I had reacted carelessly again, a vice of mine that I was trying to put in my rearview. Jesus. I had to stop making these snap decisions. I realized the magnitude of my mistakes, the position that I'd put him and possibly the rest of the Callahan's in, and it didn't sit well with me.

  We rode the rest of the way to the condo in silence, the slamming of his truck door the only thing lifting me from my thoughts. I crawled begrudgingly towards his side, careful not to make the same mistake with the shifter and followed tightly behind him into the building.

  Ascending the steps, my legs worked in tandem with the beating music coming through the walls. Callahan's was up and running, people enjoying themselves as I had planned to do. There was a time, not too long ago, when I could've joined the crowd freely, blended in. Not now. No, now I was being forced around by a man who was angry at the world for God only knew what. Being held captive was more like it.

  He started in on me the moment we crossed the threshold, not even waiting for the door to click closed behind us.

  "You careless, reckless…" He stopped short of completing the insult, the damage already done.

  "Say it," I said, spinning on my heel, surprised to find him in my personal space. "Just say it. You know you want to! It's what you think," I shouted. "It's what everybody thinks," I added.

  "You don't have a fucking clue what I think," he yelled, taking a predatory step towards me.

  I now knew how Mick felt to be the recipient of Griff's lethal anger.

  "For someone who doesn't care for cuss words-"

  "You drive me crazy!" he said, stopping me mid-sentence. He grabbed my arms forcefully, pulling me forward as he closed the small gap between us. I felt his erection and it left me hot and unable to do anything other than stare at him, doe-eyed. "Can't you see that?" he questioned, licking his lips before shoving me away with the same amount of force. "You and Mick, what a pair," he noted, switching subjects.

  He released a condescending chuckle, strolling past me into the kitchen. He grabbed a small glass from the cabinet, pulling a bottle of something brown from a cabinet below. After he fished out a few cubes of ice from the freezer, he doused them with what I could now see was Southern Comfort.

  Nothing about this situation was comfortable, so I found the liquor choice a little ironic.

  "We're not together," I said softly, reeling in my frustrations. My voice was shaky, my hands trembled. "So please, stop saying it," I pleaded, shutting my eyes to inhale the much needed oxygen provided by my next breath.

  "Tell me something," he said, his tone of voice prying my eyes back open. He took two healthy gulps of the liquor before setting it onto the countertop. "Was it your plan from the beginning to screw Mick and then come after me? Or was I just an added bonus?"

  "Why are you doing this?" I whispered, my voice hoarse, raspy from the tears that I was trying to fight off. "I never meant for things to happen with him. I'm not even certain that anything did happen," I pointed out.

  "Fucking someone's pretty cut-and-dry," he said, releasing an angry chuckle as he grabbed for and downed the rest of the glass.

  "Is it?" I countered, unwilling to just lie down and take it - no pun intended. "Is it, Griff?" I repeated. "Cut-and-dry like the way that you kissed me on the hood of your truck?"

  "Yes, precisely."

  He grabbed the bottle from the counter, pouring another round into the glass. I don't know what possessed me, but I closed the distance between us, my fingers closing over top of his, appreciating the cold from the glass considering the rest of my body was on fire.

  "Don't," he mumbled, trying to pull his hand away from mine. "Don't touch me, not with the same hands that touched him."

  "I'm going to say this one final time and I'll be damned if I repeat it again afterwards. Griff, I don't have feelings for Mick." I'm not sure if I dreamed it, but I thought I felt his hand tremble beneath mine. "Whatever distorted ideas he may possibly have about me…or us…are just that, ideas," I said, placing extra emphasis on the word. "Christ, I don't even know that he has any feelings for me," I pointed out.

  "Sure doesn't seem like it to me and let me assure you, he does."

  "Whether he does or not, doesn't matter." I managed to pry the glass out of his hand, setting it onto the counter beside me. "And I'm sorry that you feel that way, but you're wrong." I don't know where I was finding the strength to be the calm one, definitely not something that was considered my strong suit.

  "How in the hell do you know that?"

  "Because a woman knows when she doesn't feel something for a man," I informed him, my voice turning raspy again because I knew what I was about to admit. "And a woman knows when she does."

  "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he questioned. His hands had found his hips again and I couldn't stop my eyes from following.

  "Dammit, Griff, it means that every time I try to remember what happened that night, my mind conjures up events that simply didn't happen-"

  "How do you know it's not just you remembering?" he interjected.

  He reached across me for the glass, our faces coming dangerously close as I stopped his hand with my own.

  "Because unless it was you with me that night, it's my mind making things up," I mumbled, surprised that I had allowed him that much ammunition. Because that's exactly what I'd just done - confessed my attraction towards him, confessed my desire for him, without knowing if he felt even an inkling of the same thing for me. In fact, I had more evidence that pointed to the contrary.

  His back stiffened, his face turning to look at me directly. "Don't you dare say things like that to me unless you mean it."