Free Brooklyn Rockstar (Kendall Family #1) by Jennifer Ann Page A

the late lunch and a few more cocktails, we head back to our loft to get ready for the night. Once again, Sharlo styles my hair, this time twisting the sides back with bobby pins. She stands by, giving pointers as I attempt to apply makeup the expert way she had the week before. By the time we’ve each put on an armful of bangles and sprayed ourselves down with our favorite scents, we’re both eager for the walk to the bar and in good spirits.
    Just like the night Charlie Walker performed, Leona’s is packed, making me grateful Nolan insisted on giving me another week before assigning me a shift when there’s a band playing. At least this time there’s a healthy mix of women and men. When I spy the same stool on stage where Charlie sat, a warm buzz sparks between my legs.
    “I’ll get drinks,” Sharlo yells above the loud rumble of voices and music playing over the speakers. “You spend enough time standing on your feet in this joint. Try to find us a place to sit!”
    “I’m on it!” I confirm, nodding. I push my way through the crowd, scanning for any available seats. When I see a few at a small table near the bathrooms, I’m quick to claim a seat before texting a message to Sharlo, letting her know where she can find me.
    The band seems to have drawn in a crowd closer to our age, many of them too beautiful to compete with. I catch the eye of a cute guy and we exchange shy smiles, but apparently he’s too invested in his buddies to break away.
    “Tosser,” I mutter, laughing to myself when it occurs to me that I’ve take on one of my roommate’s terms.
    “Something funny?” a deep voice asks beside me.
    I turn to find a large man standing empty-handed beside me, dressed in a tight pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with Led Zeppelin’s first album cover. It’s tight enough that I can see he has a chiseled body and massive arms, one of which has a tattoo running down to his wrist. The bill of his baseball hat is so low that his eyes are hidden, so the first thing I notice is a mouth-watering pair of lips set above a freshly shaved, defined jaw. With hair too short to be seen beneath his cap, I wonder if he’s in the military. Who else would have that smoking hot of a body? He’s by far one of the sexiest men I’ve ever laid eyes on.
    “I—um—it’s a long story,” I stutter.
    He tilts his head at the open chair. “Can I join you?”
    “My friend is coming with drinks,” I say before chewing on my lip. Shit, I’m making myself sound aloof. “I guess—ah—she probably won’t mind if you join us.”
    “I’ll stand when she gets here, so long as you haven’t chased me outta here by then.” His rumbling voice has the familiar Brooklyn accent I’ve grown accustomed to in the past week. When he takes the chair at my side, I’m hit with a tantalizing blend of men’s cologne and his natural musk that makes me a little lightheaded.
    “You live around here?” he asks.
    “Just…moved into the neighborhood,” I say hesitantly, all at once feeling paranoid. How much info should I be sharing with a complete stranger hanging out in a bar without a drink in hand? Sharlo has been on me about being too trusting and probably wouldn’t approve if I gave out too many details. “What about you?”
    “Born and raised just down the block. Where you from originally?”
    “Minnesota,” I answer, feeling a blush creep into my face. “And before you ask, yes I was raised on a farm and drove tractors for my dad, so everything about living in Brooklyn is pretty new to me.”
    “No shit? You’re a farmer’s daughter?” His lips bend with a dazzling smile. “Sounds like you walked your way right out of a country song.”
    Once I’ve snapped out of the spell his smile put me under, I hold a hand up and giggle. “Swear to God. But it doesn’t make me a country bumpkin, so don’t even start. I’ve never owned a cowboy hat and can’t stomach the sound of country music.”
    “Damn, I never