Free Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) by Virna Depaul Page A

school for what I’d figured would be a hot club.
    “So, this place is the shit?”
    Nikki chuckled and licked her lips, making them seem even redder under the lamplight. “It’s a place for expats. The name’s sort of the joke. It’s not authentically French or authentically anything for that matter. If you want to party, hear good jams, and drink then this is the place. I’ve been coming since I was fourteen and it’s epic!”
    I tossed the keys to the attendant and whistled a bit as Nikki slipped him a huge wad of bills. I knew very little about French currency, but I could tell that a lot of bills were in that wad, and that the bike was definitely going to be cared for well. Slipping her arm through mine, Nikki led me to the front of the line and grinned back at the massive mountain of a man serving as the bouncer.
    “Joe, how are you?” she asked.
    The man spoke with what sounded like some deep Southern accent. Alabama or Louisiana maybe? “Hey there, kitten. You have a new guy? Oh hey! Aren’t you the drummer from Point Break?”
    I grinned, always happy when a guy, and one in his twenties at that, appreciated our music. We’d started out with an edgier sound. In the beginning, Liam wouldn’t have known one string instrument from another, so fuck writing songs for them, but our sound had definitely evolved. Hence the reason we’d hired Abby in the first place.
    “Yeah, I am,” I said, reaching over and shaking his hand.
    “Then even if you weren’t with Nik here, we’d let you in, man. Have a blast. The band on tonight isn’t that good but the one we had bailed last minute for a gig.”
    My smile stiffened a little. “Isn’t it a bitch when rockers change their plans last minute?” Like when he cancels a fucking world tour to spend time with his little Asian Persuasion? “If they let me give a few licks on the drums, I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Definitely, man, save us from mediocrity,” he finished, lifting the velvet rope. “Have a good time.”
    “Always plan on it,” I said.
    Nikki winked back at him and laid her palm flat on my chest. “How can anyone have a bad time with me, Joe?”
    “Scratch that then. Don’t do anything a sane person wouldn’t do, Tucker.”
    “Well no one ever got that out of me before but thanks for the good advice,” I added, stepping into the club and wincing.
    He hadn’t been wrong. The band on the stage was okay. Mostly a wannabe punk band that tended to hit a wrong note or have too much reverb about every third line. People were dancing a little on the tiny floor space provided, but most were lounging on the car seats scattered throughout the club. No, not those ones for little kids either, not like booster seats. Leather benches out of old classic cars, huge monsters like from classic Chevys. There were street signs and even hazard lights. The interior of the club looked like a mix of a classic car lover’s wet dream and like an explosion had rocked a city street. Fast and furious with an apocalyptic vibe.
    “Whoa,” I said, my tone appreciative.
    Nikki smirked back at me and made a bee line for the bar. “I told you this place was awesome. Most of the patrons totally speak English, not that most places can’t in a city like Paris, but this place encourages it. No attitude needed. Like I said, expats . They’re the nicest people on freaking Earth,” Nikki continued. I followed after her, admiring the view of her ass and appreciating the massively high stilettos she was in. They were normal black heels so I assumed she was wearing something she hadn’t designed. She grinned at the woman with the electric blue hair behind the bar. “Tilly, it’s been forever!”
    “It’s been six months, girl,” the bartender answered back. “We missed you. What will you have?”
    “A bottle of your finest tequila and two shot glasses.”
    If the woman recognized me from Point Break, she didn’t say. That made sense. Paris was like LA or New York. A