I tear my eyes away just as the girl leans in and kisses his lips. I grip my bottle a little too tight and narrow my eyes. Then it hits me on why I feel so angry, and I can’t believe it. I’m actually a little jealous.

I chug down the rest of my beer and try to drown out the thought. What Noel and I had was in the past, and I have no right to feel that way when he’s with someone in front of me now.

A man who resembles a younger version of Steven Tyler takes the seat next to me and orders a beer before turning his attention to me. A blush creeps up my neck when I turn to find him watching me intently. His lips turn up into a smile, and I retrain my eyes back on the bottle in front of me.

The man shoves a strand of his long, black hair behind his ear. “You need another?”

His accent is delicious. There’s something about a British accent that’s incredibly sexy.

I nod. “Sure.”

Mr. Accent gestures for another beer, and I study his features. His black hair hangs nearly to his broad shoulders, and his tattooed hands poke out from the long sleeved shirt he’s wearing. Both of his ears are pierced along with one eyebrow, and his eyes are deep chocolate. He’s obviously in a band, most guys in here are, but I can’t put my finger on which one.

He turns toward me and holds out his hand. “I’m Striker.”

Ah. That’s where I’ve seen him. He’s the front man of Embrace the Darkness.

I slide my hand in his. “Lanie Vance.”

The bartender returns with the drink and winks at the rocker as she sets it down in front of him.

“Here you go, love,” he says and slides the bottle in my direction. “So, what’s a beautiful lady like you doing in here with this lot?”

I blush again and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m working.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Blimey! You’re a…”

My eyes widen as I realize his mistake. “No!” I nudge his hand. “No. I’m not a…you know. I’m a rep for Center Stage Marketing.”

“Right, I’ve heard of them—out of New York. My record label suggested we look into using them.” He nods and smiles. “Here to pick up new clients then?”

I lean closer to his ear so my voice doesn’t compete with the blaring music. “I’m actually working for Black Falcon on their children’s literacy campaign.”

“They make you travel to this shithole town in Ohio for that? Seems like rubbish to me,” he says in my ear.

I shrug. “Noel and I are old friends. He kind of got me this job.”

He touches my hand this time when he speaks. “Well, an old friend of Noel’s, can I get your name and maybe give you a ring sometime?”

I take a sip of my drink. There’s nothing wrong with giving him my number, right? It’s not like I’m dating anyone or anything. Besides this guy seems cute and genuinely interested in getting to know me. “I’d like that.”

The rocker picks up his beer and clinks it with mine after he stuffs my cell number in his front, jean pocket. “To new friends.”

“There something you need, Striker?” Noel says behind me.

I turn on the stool. Noel stands there with his arms across his chest as he stares at the back of Striker’s head.

My eyes flick to Striker, and he lets out a slow breath as he turns around and stands. He chugs the last of his beer and sits the bottle on the counter, like he’s in no hurry. “No, mate. I’ve got all I need right here.” He pats the front pocket he slid my number into and promptly turns his attention to me. “Lanie, love, it’s been charming. We’ll be in touch.”

Striker shoulders past Noel without another look in his direction and blends into the crowd of people in the club.

“What the hell are you drinking?” Noel grabs the beer out of my hands and chucks it in a nearby trash can. “I told you not to take drinks from anyone but me.”

“You’re infuriating. You know that.” I jump off the stool and head towards the exit in desperate need for space, but he grabs my arm. “Let me go.”

He shakes his head. “You want to leave? Then we’ll go together.”

I yank away. “Fine. Let’s go, then.”

Mike holds the crowd off so we can hop into the SUV. Noel slams the door shut and the vehicle quivers a little. His mouth pulls into a tight line and he runs his fingers through his hair. He seems frustrated.

I know the feeling.

Neither of us speak the entire ride back to Big Bertha. The minute we step on to the bus, Noel flops down in the sitting area near the door and picks up his guitar. He strums out random chords and does his best not to make eye contact with me.

After watching him for about twenty seconds, I finally get that he’s not going to talk about what happened at the club and why he feels like he has the right to dictate who I talk to. A harsh breath escapes me, and I storm into the bedroom. Once inside, I take off my top then grab an oversized t-shirt from the drawer I stuffed all my clothes in earlier today and yank it over my head.

Where does he get off being such an asshole to me? If he doesn’t want me here, he shouldn’t have made it mandatory for me to come.

I burst through the door and then go directly into the bathroom, without a glance in Noel’s direction, to scrub the make-up from my face and get ready for bed. I tug a brush through my unruly, dark waves and pull it up into a high bun on the top of my head.

When I return to the back room, I freeze in the doorway. Noel lies on the bed with his arms tucked behind his head, while from the waist down he’s under the covers. The tattoos on his naked chest and arms are beautiful. They make him look so anti-authority and bad-boyish. I wish it wasn’t so ridiculously sexy.