Free That Girl's the One I Love by Alana Lorens Page A

her waist. His eyes forward, that smile stayed on his face. “I hope you don’t mind that I ambushed you. I can’t stand women like that.”
    Heck no, she didn’t mind. She felt her own lips curved in a dizzying smile. “Funny thing. I was hoping to finally meet you today. Came out early on purpose to score that seat.”
    “That tree trunk? Awesome.” He leaned closer to study her bare shoulders. “At least it didn’t scratch you all up.”
    He’d noticed where she was sitting? That was a good sign. “I was careful.”
    “You came down just to meet me? Really?” He took a place in line, not taking his arm away. Under droopy bangs, his forehead had a sheen of sweat. Ninety-degree heat made all the people on the street “glow” just a little. His sweat activated his body spray, and whatever scent he had on made her want to rip his blue shirt right off.
    “I did.” She looked up at him, just a couple of inches’ difference between them. “You might have noticed I’ve been several places that you played. I love your music.”
    “You look familiar. Do I know your name?” His eye contact flickered, and he got a sheepish grin. “I mean, have you ever told me your name? ’Cause I think I’d remember it, if you had.”
    Maybe it was a line, but if it was, she was going for it. “I’m not one of those who write their names on bikinis and toss them on the stage, if that’s what you mean. My name’s Leyla, with an E. Leyla Brand.”
    “Nice to meet you, Leyla.” He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, his lips brushing like feathers against her skin. She was about to reply when it became their turn to order. He turned to the young man behind the makeshift counter and ordered a sleeve of fried zucchini, cauliflower, and mushrooms, paying for them with a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. Leyla noted that wallet was pretty thin, particularly in the bill-holding compartment.
    That’s all right. I’m not after him for his money. I like him just the way he is.
    He shook salt onto their golden-fried treasure before they walked away down the sidewalk looking at the craft and art displays in front of the shops, talking about the Clapton song that was an obvious reference even though her name wasn’t spelled right. Hungrier than she’d realized, Leyla ate her fair share of the tasty treat, then mumbled through the last of the crunchy crust, “Don’t you have to get back to the stage?”
    “Stage?” He looked blank a moment. “Oh! Yes, I do.” He laughed, his eyes sparkling with embarrassment. “You distracted me. And you have crumbs on your cheek.” He reached out and brushed them off with one finger.
    Leyla’s well filled with disappointment, ready to bubble over. She’d gotten her introduction; then she’d ruined everything by bringing them back to reality. “Sorry,” she said, and she truly was.
    “Come on.” He took her hand and they ran lightly through the crowd, him pulling her, weaving in and around people till she was out of breath and laughing. Just behind the stage, he drew her close, whispering in her ear.
    “I’ve got a day pass to the Biltmore Estate. Ever been?”
    “Sure. Well, I went on a field trip to the garden once. When I was a kid.”
    “Want to go with me this afternoon after the set? We can grab a bite at the Bistro, or the Stable.”
    A rush of adrenaline pumped through her. No problem calling off her shift at the Italian chain restaurant for such an opportunity. A giddy rush filled her head. What are you thinking? It’s not like you to jump into…well, whatever this could be. “I think I could make time for that.”
    “All right then.” He grinned, sunshine seeming to come right through him. His bandmates called to him, more than a hint of frustration in their voices as they demanded he get back to work. He ignored them and held her hand. “Don’t run off. I want to know you’re out there.”
    “You got it.”
    He slowly let her hand go, and climbed back up