Hard Rock Heat Page 7

  "Aw, Jess, if I told you, where would be the fun?" he drawled.

  "I guess I'll just call you knucklehead for the time being." Jessie shook her head at me with sympathy. "How'd you get roped into working with this one?" She jabbed her thumb at Damon.

  I immediately took a liking to this girl.

  "My boss insisted," I said. "How do you know the twins?"

  "The band likes to get tanked at the dive bar I work at part time." She leaned in to fake-whisper. "The twins are cheapskates when it comes to tips."

  The two of us shared a laugh as Damon gave her a sullen look. Now I really liked this girl.

  "If you two don't mind waiting here, I can get you a list of other community groups who would probably like to be invited to the event," she said. "I'll speak with the Executive Director for a few minutes and be right back."

  After she left, I gave Damon a firm look.

  "Did you forget about our agreement?" I asked.

  "What agreement?" he said breezily.

  "Either you ask me out or you keep your hands to yourself."

  He tried to hide a grimace, but I caught it in the slight twist of his lips. "I don't recall agreeing to that."

  "Will my fist in your face jog your memory?"

  "Threatening to beat me again?" he said slyly. "Didn't you say you weren't into that?"

  I clenched my jaw. "Since you won't ask me on a date, I'll guess you'll never find out."

  "What about all that hot sexting?" he asked. "Doesn't that count as a date?"

  "Such low standards you have."

  "So you're the wine-and-dine kind of girl, hm?" He smirked. "Candles, mood music, the whole works?"

  "I certainly expect more than a shag in the backseat of a limo."

  "So high maintenance." He looked around the youth center foyer as I suppressed an annoyed growl. "You think this place can help us get what we need?"

  I took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. I smoothed down my skirt. "Yes. Jessie seems to know what she's doing. Thank you for putting me in contact with her," I said politely.

  "She's a cool girl, even when she harps on me," he said.

  A screeching kid came running down the hallway at high speed. The both of us winced.

  "Jessie!" the boy shrieked. He barreled toward us, nearly running into Damon's legs as he turned the corner.

  Damon swooped down and grabbed the kid before he smacked face-first into his kneecaps.

  "Hey there, sport." Damon hefted the kid into his arms. The boy seemed to be around six or seven. "What are you screaming about?"

  "Kaylee's hogging the drum kit," he whined. "She won't let me play. Jessie said she had to share."

  "You liked the drums?" Damon asked. The kid nodded vigorously. "What about guitar?" he asked. "You like that too?"

  "Nooo," the kid practically shouted. "I like to hit with the sticks."

  Damon laughed, his eyes sparkling. Something in my chest twinged at the sight. I'd never seen Damon interact with a kid before.

  "How about this." Damon set the boy down on the floor. He looked around and grabbed four pencils from the front desk. He kept two and gave the kid two. "See these?" Damon held up the pencils. "You can do a lot with these things. Watch."

  Damon hit the sticks together in a one-two-three beat, then began tapping them against everything in sight. The floor, the desk, the plastic chairs — anything in the front foyer was a impromptu drum set.

  The kid's eyes lit up as he began to follow Damon's pattern. He held the pencils tight in his balled fists and couldn't keep a rhythm to save his life, but the kid seemed to be having the time of his life smacking them against every available surface, giggling and cheering the whole time.

  "See, sport?" Damon said with a laugh. "You don't need a drum kit. Everything's an instrument when you're creative enough."

  "I'm gonna go show Kaylee!" the kid cheered. "She's gonna be sooo jealous. I can drum on everything!"

  The kid ran back down the hallway, shrieking the entire way.

  Damon gazed after him with a fond expression.

  I'd never particularly liked kids. I didn't dislike them, I'd just never been around them much. I'd never really thought about kids except in an abstract, "maybe one day" sort of way.

  But seeing Damon play with that young boy, seeing the soft look on his face, I swear my ovaries jumped into overdrive.

  I cleared my throat and looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, starry-eyed.

  "You're good with kids," was all I said.

  "Must be because I'm so immature myself," he said.

  I glanced at him to see a smile on his face. My heart thumped in my chest.

  "I can't argue with that," I told him, trying to force down the flush on my cheeks. "You act like a horny teenaged boy half the time."

  "Only half?" he grinned.

  Jessie came back to find us smiling at each other. She gave the two of us an odd look. I quickly looked away from Damon and gave her my full attention.

  Jessie handed me a folder full of papers. "I've put together a list of contact info and some background research on a bunch of organizations you might to speak with. The Executive Director loves your idea. He said he'll help out in any way he can."

  "Thank you so much, Jessie," I told her.

  "Anything to help the kids." She threw Damon a cheeky grin. "Besides, this way you owe me one and I can hold it over your head forever."

  "You've already got half the patrons at Walt's bar by the balls," Damon said. "Don't see why you need to add mine to your collection."

  "I thought your balls were already claimed by someone else?" she asked archly.

  "No, that's—" Damon cut himself off, chagrinned at having given himself away.

  "Ah-ha!" Jessie pointed a finger at him. "I knew you were Damon. Ian could never hold that smug look for longer than a few seconds." Jessie turned to me. "Better keep an eye on this one. His band is full of cocky pains-in-the-ass, and he's the worst of them all."

  "Come on," Damon protested.

  "Don't even pretend you're not." She gave Damon the stink-eye. "You and those rock star friends of yours are a bunch of no-good lunatics."

  "Oh really?" Damon said. "Didn't I hear something about you dating a certain no-good lunatic from one of those indie bands?"

  Jessie flushed bright red. "I've got to get back to work," she told me, ignoring Damon. "But if you need anything just give me a shout."

  "Will do," I said.

  Jessie scurried off quickly.

  Damon plucked the folder from my hands, ignoring my protest. "Pretty thorough," he said, flipping through the papers.

  "Give it." I tried to snatch it back but he held it out of reach. I growled. "You're such a…"

  Damon smirked and sidled up next to me. "Yes? What am I?"

  I pressed my lips together and looked away, not answering.

  He pressed closer, crowding me. "You're so cute when you're flustered."

  I met his eyes, trying to exude fury, but my pink cheeks betrayed me. "I'm not—"

  Damon pressed a finger to my lips. I inhaled sharply, a tingle shooting straight from my mouth to my core.

  "Let's go get lunch," he said.

  I blinked. "What?" My words were muffled by his finger. He removed it.

  "We should talk over the details of our event," he said.

  "That's what meetings are for," I said, voice tight and thready.

  "Boring," he declared. "I'm in the mood for one of those disgusting greasy burgers with a thousand calories. You in? I'm buying."

  Damon, offering to buy me lunch.

  Could that be considered a date?

  My heart raced.

  Even if this was a date, that wouldn't mean we were dating. One lunch meant nothing.

  Besides, one more afternoon spent in this man's company reminded me of all the million ways he got under my skin. He was annoying and persistent and exasperating.

  But with the kind way he'd acted around that yo
ung boy, he'd also succeeded in chipping away the smallest piece of my hardened heart. As much as I wanted to smack him, Damon wasn't all bad.

  "Unless you think those greasy burger joints are beneath you," he teased. "I suppose we can always go to one of those overpriced hipster cafes with ten dollar sandwiches stuffed with kale and tofu."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why does every word that come out of your mouth sound insulting?"

  "Maybe you're just too sensitive."

  "I hate you."

  "No you don't."

  He put his arm around my shoulder, leading me to the front door.

  Despite all the warning bells going off in my head, this time I didn't push him away.

  Chapter Eleven

  The burger place was exactly the kind of hole in the wall I would have expected from Damon. He didn't seem like the white tablecloth and silverware type of guy.

  True to form, when we got to the counter, he ordered the biggest burger on the menu, along with extra large fries.

  "Is this how you normally eat?" I asked. "How are you still so—" I stopped, not wanting to spout off about Damon's many positive physical attributes.

  "You mean, how am I still so built and hot?" he finished. "I don't eat like this all the time. Plus I work out a lot. Not as much as Cam, but then again, I don't drink more than half my calories in beer every week."

  "So this is like a special treat?" I asked. "What's the occasion?"

  "Your lovely company, of course." He winked playfully. I looked away before he could catch the flush of my cheeks.

  When I placed my order I thought Damon would call me out on it — a grilled chicken sandwich with a side house salad — but he didn't say a word. Although he was craving a thousand calories, I wasn't much one for greasy foods. Except when it came to Asian take-out, of course.

  That thought only brought to mind my dad, making me wonder how he was doing. I'd have to visit him again soon. He hadn't looked so good last time. My heart sank a little.

  It was terrible that I dreaded visiting my own father, but I never knew what to expect. Would he be up and about, with a clean house and freshly laundered clothes? Or would he be sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, unshaven and greasy-haired? Some weeks, some months, were better than others. We'd been in a string of bad months recently. I'd learned not to get my hopes up.

  When our orders were ready, Damon and I took our food to a small booth with uncomfortable plastic seating. I placed the folder Jessie had given me to the side.

  "Don't touch it with your greasy fingers," I warned.

  "Wouldn't dream of it." He picked up a fry and held it out to me. "That salad looks disappointing."

  I had to admit, the wilted lettuce and unripe tomato chunks didn't seem all the appealing. I took the fry Damon had thoughtfully offered. "We should start contacting those community groups right away. Maybe split them between us."

  "Getting right down to business, are we?" Damon asked. He munched on a fry, giving me a considering look. "Have you always been a workaholic?"

  "Runs in the family," I said without meaning to.

  He examined me closely. "Your dad?" he guessed.

  The quiet words woke something in my chest. Damon wasn't teasing or playing. I scrutinized him, wondering how much he knew. No doubt Hope had confided in Ian. Perhaps Ian had told Damon a bit about it.

  "My brother mentioned your mom passed away when you were younger," he said, confirming my suspicions. "He didn't say much else. I'm sorry."

  "It's okay," I said. "It was a long time ago."

  "You never really get over childhood trauma, no matter how long it's been," he said.

  I wondered if he knew that from experience.

  "You said Ian was your only family. Did your parents also…?" I trailed off, trying to be delicate.

  A brief cloud shaded his expression. He shook his head. "They're still alive."

  "Kat mentioned—" I hesitated.

  Damon nodded, understanding what I was getting at without words. "Me and Ian left home. We mostly couch-surfed with friends, sometimes stayed at shelters, once in a while cheap motels if we earned enough money busking. It wasn't like we were living in a box under a bridge the whole time." He gave me a sad sort of smile. "Still. There were some rough nights."

  "I'm so sorry," I said.

  He shrugged. "It was better than staying at home."

  "I get that," I said quietly. "Me and Hope moved out on our own when we turned eighteen."

  The both of us went silent, neither one wanting to ask the difficult questions. Nether of us wanting to be the first to ask exactly what was so bad about our home lives that we'd had to leave. I had a feeling Damon's story was worse than mine.

  We each took a few more bites in silence. Finally Damon spoke up.

  "So you've got a workaholic dad who also taught you about cars?"

  I was surprised he remembered. Then again, I had made kind of a big deal about his ride.

  "That was before," I said.

  "Before your mom passed away?"

  "She died in a car accident. After that…"

  Damon nodded in understanding. "So he threw himself into his work. Like father, like daughter."

  "I suppose." I hated to think I was turning into my dad. He'd used work to ignore his feelings. He worked so hard he made himself sick. But that's exactly what I'd been doing since Damon first walked into my office. "Maybe we're all destined to turn into our parents."

  Damon's eyes went dark. "Fucking hope not," he muttered.

  I paused, eyeing him. Damon didn't want to turn into his father anymore than I wanted to turn into mine.

  "Is your dad the reason you left home?" I asked slowly.

  Damon flicked his gaze up to meet mine. He nodded once. "Yeah. My father… is not a good man." The tightness around his mouth, the tired lines around his eyes, made my heart clench.

  For all my father's faults, he was a good man. He'd simply fallen too deep into a hole of despair, unable or unwilling to reach out for help. I hadn't left home because of him. I'd left home for him. My sister and I had moved out in the hopes that he'd get better.

  "I'm sorry," I said honestly.

  "I'm not," Damon said. "All the shit that happened, it lead us to Darkest Days. I wouldn't trade that for anything. I just wish, for Ian's sake—" Damon exhaled sharply, looking away.

  Something hard and unyielding in my chest softened. Based on what Hope had told me about her boyfriend, I had to assume some of the personal problems Ian had been dealing with stemmed from his childhood.

  "Is Ian the younger twin?" I asked. "Hope's younger than me by a minute. You've got that protectiveness thing all older siblings have."

  Damon smiled softly. "I try not to bring it up. He hates to be reminded of that."

  "Every younger twin does, I think." I tried to keep my rapidly beating heart from pumping too much blood to my cheeks.

  "So you're protecting Hope from something, too?" he asked.

  It didn't escape me that he used the present tense.

  I'd never confided in anyone. But maybe Damon would get it. He'd understand the need to protect his loved ones.

  "My dad's not a bad man," I finally said, saying my thoughts out loud. "He just…"

  Couldn't stand to be around us.

  Couldn't bring himself to look at his daughter's faces.

  Couldn't be the father we wanted him to be. The father we needed him to be.

  "He changed after your mom died," Damon guessed. "He wasn't the same person."

  "He never really recovered," I said. "Even now, he's still…"

  "He still what?" Damon asked gently.

  "He worked himself too hard," I admitted. "He got put on medical leave. With nothing to do all day he just…" I cleared it and sat up straighter in my chair. "Hope doesn't need to deal with that," I said firmly. "It was bad enough when we still lived at home. Being ignored, being neglected, no kid should have to grow up that way."

  "Sometimes
being ignored is better than the alternative," Damon said.

  I tilted my head at him, questioning.

  "Sorry," he said with a shake of his head. "I don't want to get into the whose-childhood-was-shitter game."

  From the way he spoke, I was guessing he would win. Even knowing as little as I did about Ian and his struggles, I had to assume whatever it was had affected Damon just as much, and perhaps worse. As an older twin, I knew what it was like to take on the world to protect your younger sibling. I understood the burden, the heartache.

  "I think it's really great you decided to throw this kind of event," I said instead.

  Some of the darkness left Damon's eyes. "It helps to give back, you know?"

  "So you're doing this for selfish reasons?" I teased, lightening the mood.

  He laughed. "You did call me a narcissist once."

  "Only once?" I replied. "I'll have to make sure to include it in my daily repertoire."

  "You're using fancy words again," he noted. "You're going to get me all hot and bothered."

  "Behave," I scolded. "We're in public."

  "So in private is okay, then?" He wriggled his eyebrows in a comically come-hither way.

  I laughed and snorted at the same time. "And here I thought we could get through one afternoon without your sexual innuendo."

  "What's the fun in that?" he said.

  "Is it always just about fun and playing around to you?" I asked.

  "Why shouldn't it be?" He relaxed back into his chair, stretching his legs until his toe nudged mine. "Live life to the fullest, seize the day, dance like no one's watching, and so on. I've got a dozen more clichés like that in my back pocket."

  "I get the point."

  "Do you?" he asked. He stared me in the eyes, oddly serious. "I asked you before when was the last time you did anything spontaneously and you couldn't answer."

  "I remember," I replied. "You also made me sit on a seven thousand dollar piece of technology and told me to take my panties off."

  Damon narrowed his eyes, a smirk crossing his face.

  "I got you to do one of them," he said in a low voice. "Want to take me up on the other?"

  "We're in a greasy burger joint."

  "That's not a no."

  Damon's legs bumped against mine under the table. I shifted them back. He leaned back and stretched, knees brushing mine. I couldn't back up any further in the booth. One knee slowly edged its way between my thighs, parting them slightly. My breath caught in my throat.