Free Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) by Lena Black Page A

the one I went with to Los Angeles to interview. I told you this.”
    “No, you said you were going to interview some band, not Anarchy fucking Reigns! Gunnar Haze is an absolute wet dream.”
    She’s completely right. Gunnar Haze, rock god, is a guitar-toting, knee-weakening wet dream come true.
    I start to feel uncomfortable with her fawning over him, practically frothing at the mouth. She’s a second away from grabbing the nearest pillow and letting out a lovesick sigh like some teenage girl.
    “Yeah, he’s hot.” I shrug my shoulders and shake my head.
    “When I told you to get under some guy, I didn’t know you would pick such a wild man.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, Lacey, I mean, he has quite the reputation in the bedroom. Honey, that boy has seen more pussy than a gyno.”
    “He’s a manwhore?”
    “Minus a pimp, but yeah.”
    “And you’re excited I may or may not have slept with him?”
    “I’m sure he’s clean. Just ask for a test before you hit the sheets…if you have or have not already, and use a rubber. But, honey, a man with that kind of experience can rock your world.”
    I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It makes me anxious. I don’t have experience with many men. Two in fact, and quite honestly, the sex was less than satisfying.
    “I think I’m going to head to bed. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?”
    I rise from the couch and give her a look of exhaustion.
    “Sure. I think I’m going to crash, too. See you in the a.m.”
    I shuffle into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, falling onto my bed when I’m close enough.
     

     
    Every other minute, I glimpse down at the clock on my cell praying that the next time, by some divine power, hours have passed.
    Gunnar never said when I’d see him again, but I have to assume it wouldn’t be long if we have only a finite amount of time. I do my best to shake the thought, burying myself in work for the rest of the day.
    By five, when I haven’t heard from him, I chalk it up to a no go and head home feeling disappointed. When I walk through the front door, I find Gwen sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer, fingering through a fashion magazine.
    “How was your day?” she asks, looking up at me from her reading material.
    “I survived,” I joke with a shrug.
    “Anything new to report on?” She takes a sip of her beer, avoiding eye contact with me. She wants to know about Gunnar.
    “He hasn’t called.” I take out a can of soup, wanting something simple and easy to clean up for dinner.
    “Yet. He hasn’t called, yet.”
    I sigh and roll my eyes, pouring the condensed soup into a pot when suddenly there’s a knock on the front door. Gwen jumps up, skipping over to answer it. When she opens it up, she pauses, staring out into the hall, dumbfounded. From the kitchen, the door blocks my view.
    “Who is it?” I ask, stirring the simmering broth in the pot.
    When she doesn’t answer, I glance up and find Gunn standing at the edge of the small kitchen.
    “Hey, baby,” he murmurs seductively.
    “Hey,” I whimper out, taken back by how good he looks standing in my kitchen. He’s wearing a stressed leather jacket, ripped jeans, and his scuffed boots. His beard has been trimmed and his hair is freshly cut. All his tats, except on his neck, hands, and the odd one poking out from a tear in his jeans, are covered.
    He frowns down at the soup on the stove and shakes his head. “That’s what you’re having for dinner?”
    “What the hell is wrong with soup?”
    His lip curls. “Nothing if you want to be hungry an hour later.” He goes back out to the hall and brings in two brown paper bags. Whatever’s inside smells gut-grumbling good. “I thought you’d prefer this more. And there’s enough for everyone.” He glances over at Gwen still by the door, gawking at him with her mouth agape.
    He dumps the bags on the counter and Gwen raids them, pulling out foil containers with cardboard lids.
    “That was