“It’s my job to watch her,” Jo protested.
“The band’s first event isn’t until ten. You can go to yoga and be back in plenty of time for me to get to the meet and greet.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Thanks, I think I will then.” She fingered the hem of her shorts and studied him, the tight muscles of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. “Is everything alright with the band?”
His nostrils flared infinitesimally. “For now.”
“Seems like there’s some history there, between you and Midnight Storm,” she prodded.
He huffed out a breath that could almost have been a laugh and dragged his hand over his jaw before returning to the loveseat across from her. The soft fabric of his dress pantsbrushed against her calf.
“I’ve been with them since the start. I’m the one who convinced the label to let them open for Brozone on that first tour.”
Jo leaned in. “No way. You organized the ‘Broz on the Go’ tour?”
“Guilty as charged. But I didn’t name it. Fucking awful name.”
Jo laughed. “Fucking amazing tour, though.”
“You saw it?”
“Twice. Once in Boston and once on Long Island. I got kicked out of the Long Island show for trying to sneak backstage.”
“You must have been a kid.”
“Sixth grade,” Jo confirmed. “But I looked older. Long legs.” She kicked one of her legs out as if to demonstrate. His gaze scraped across her skin as it moved from her ankle to her calf, over her knee and the length of her thigh before he looked away, cupping the back of his neck and blowing out a heavy breath.
“We had six good years. Well, five good years and one not-so-good. I owe my entire career to them. Without the success of Midnight Storm, I wouldn’t be part owner of the label today.”
“Youownthe label?”
“Partowner,” he corrected.
“Then what the hell are you doing here? Don’t you have minions who can make sure your artists get to the airport ontime?”
His lip quirked. “Minions?”
“You know what I mean.”
He nodded, pursing his lips like he’d tasted something sour. Jo reached across the space between them and captured his hand in hers, unsure what had caused the sudden melancholy in his face but wanting to soothe it all the same.
“Those guys are like my little brothers. If anyone is going to decide whether they go back out on tour or not, it’s going to be me. I’m not leaving that decision to… aminion.”
His teasing felt like a caress.
“Will you go on tour with them again?”
“I promised Chelsea this tour will be my last, but for now, if Storm’s on the road, so am I.”
The mention of his ex-wife pulled Jo back to the present, and she tugged her hand from his grasp on the pretense of a something—anything—urgently demanding her attention in the kitchen. She needed to put some space between them, to remind herself that this wasn’t the intimate moment it seemed, no matter how long his eyes lingered on her lips.
Safely on the other side of the kitchen island, she held up the wine bottle still on the counter. “More?”
He dragged his hand over his jaw, fingers tugging at his lower lip and indecision flashing in his eyes. His nod shouldn’t have sent a swirl of butterflies fluttering in her belly, but there was no denying the way her stomach flipped, the flush that crept over her skin as she refilled their glasses. Fancy wine-fridge wine must be more potent than the cheap stuff. It was the onlylogical explanation for the tingling sensation skipping across her nerve endings.