Page 8 of Tattoos and Heartbreak
“What?” I asked, frustrated when my voice came out as nothing more than a breath.
He shook his head like he’d just realized what he was doing and gave me a crooked grin. “Nothing. Just wondering if you’re suddenly going to regret coming out with me and run back to Anna.”
I scoffed, thankful for his light tone and the way it had dissipated the tension of a moment earlier. “Are you kidding? That would mean letting her win, and I almost never do that.”
His grin got bigger. “Okay, sunshine girl. I have half a bottle of whiskey left. Do you drink whiskey?”
I leaned in and gave him my most sarcastic look. “Rivers, I grew up in Nashville. What the hell do you think?”
He didn’t answer. He just laughed loudly and turned, towing me toward his room like my answer was the only thing he’d needed to hear.
And God help me, I followed him, my heart racing and an ache starting low in my belly at the thought that I was about to find myself in the room of the tall, dark, heavily tattooed rock star that I’d had a crush on since I was about fourteen.
* * *
Rivers heldhis glass up in a toast and I clinked mine softly against his, confused.
“What are we toasting?”
“We’re not toasting,” he said. “We’re starting a drinking game.”
“Oh, obviously. Why didn’t I think of that? What’s the game?”
“The game is, tell me something you’ve never told anyone else. And then take a drink.”
I frowned and cocked my head a bit. “That doesn’t sound like a drinking game. That sounds like us telling each other secrets while drinking together.”
He just shrugged. “Could be. Does that mean you don’t want to play?”
Oh, this was going to be fun. I wasn’t sure whether he was being serious every time he pretended to think I might turn back, but if he actually thought that…
Well, the possibilities were really endless, weren’t they? Because I might look like the goodiest good girl ever born, and I might have spent my life surrounded by people who tried their best to take care of me. I might like to see the sunny side of life.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t know how to play on the riskier side.
I threw the whiskey back in one swallow and lifted one eyebrow in his general direction. “You’re on, cowboy. Who starts?”
The shock on his face was worth the entire price of entry. He’d either expected me to take some small, lady-like sip or refuse to drink at all. And I was guessing he didn’t think I had any secrets to tell.
Okay, so he was sort of right about that last thing. But that didn’t mean I was going to chicken out.
“Um, looks like you’ve already started,” he stuttered.
“Okay, I drank. You tell me a secret.”
“Wait, that’s not how it works,” he protested.
“I’m changing the rules. Does that mean you don’t want to play?”
He laughed again, and it was richer and truer than it had been earlier. Like this might be closer to a real laugh. I wanted to hear more of that. I wanted to make him laugh all night. Put my finger to that wrinkle between his eyebrows and smooth it away.
Damn my tendency to try to save broken things.
“A secret,” I prompted. “Spill.”
At that, the smile dropped away and he grew more serious. Like he was either trying to think of a secret… or trying to figure out which one to spend this early in our game. A minute passed and then two, and I was just starting to think he really was going to chicken out when he suddenly opened his mouth.
“I’ve been touring since I was fourteen, and I’ve been playing guitar since I was ten.”
