Risky Replay (Country Stars Forever #1)

Chapter 1

One

DEREK

What is she doing here?

Unable to look away, I rest my forearms on the wood railing of the balcony overlooking the dance floor. Bodies, inches apart, move in unison, stomping their boots on the hardwood, snapping their fingers and heel kicking along with the catchy beat of the latest number one on country radio. Below, Emily’s brown hair swings with a quarter turn, and the guy next to her, matching her moves, returns her smile.

Even from up here, she’s still stunning. Her beauty never failed to attract others.

I could invite a pretty distraction to join me tonight. Here I stand in the roped-off VIP area, surrounded by well-dressed executives, our road crew turned family, and the women they’ve invited who hope for a taste of fame. My summer schedule consists of two things. Launching Saddles, the honky-tonk in the heart of San Diego’s Gaslamp District, and opening Santos, an upscale Mexican restaurant next door. Tonight, I can cross the first one off my bucket list.

The song ends. Emily walks off the floor with her friend and out of my view.

That’s that. Seven years, and she shows up at my place. There’s no chance of me running into her. She’s not on the VIP guest list.

“You built it. She came,” says the bassist for the Muddy Boots, and my lifelong best friend, Charlie. He copies my stance and scans the undulating crowd on the floor below already moving to the next bass-pumping hit. “You think she was hoping you’d be here?”

“Why?” I shrug my shoulder to portray an indifference that doesn’t quite ring true.

Charlie shakes his head. Over his shoulder, he glances behind us at a group of women a few feet away. If he only takes one home tonight, it’ll be a slow night for Charlie. “They can help you forget.”

I pursued a career in country music to be the best singer, songwriter, and entertainer in the industry. Charlie, who is a songwriting genius, went into the business for the lifestyle. He’s a professional in not giving a fuck about anything except enjoying women like they are candy.

I tried for a bit. Ninety percent of the time, those women only want a piece of Derek James, the Muddy Boots singer, not the real me.

“Forget what?” I try for humor but Charlie pierces me with his rare get-serious stare. I tilt the glass of Jameson back, letting the smooth caramel liquid coat my throat.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks, his eyes never leaving my face.

I shift, lean my ass on the railing with my back to the crowd, and hold out my arms wide. “Not on opening night, and not before a show. I have to focus.”

“Maybe you need another?” Charlie gestures to the empty glass in my hand.

Before I can answer, Amanda, the head chef for Santos, approaches us. “They’re here.”

She invited a friend tonight, a local bartender, with the reputation of – in her words – “creating sophisticated, one of a kind, toe-curling drinks,” to apply for the mixologist role at Santos .

“They? Singular or plural they?” I ask.

Amanda smiles. “Didn’t know rock stars knew the difference.”

Charlie barks out a laugh and heads for the group of women.

“It’s country, not rock,” I tease. “Bring them up here.”

“Two people. He brought a friend,” she clarifies.

While Amanda disappears down the stairs, I return to the railing, scanning for any sign of the unexpected guest.

I don’t find Emily. Did she come, hoping to talk to me? And why after all these years?

Tyler, the Muddy Boots drummer and my brother – technically my adopted brother – stands next to me, carrying an icy glass with clear liquid which I’d guess is water since he’s not much of a drinker. He clasps my shoulder. “Is this how it feels to be on top of the world, golden boy?”

I survey the growing crowd below. A sense of disbelief they’re here for us temporarily seizes me. “Close enough.”

“Derek, D-man, help Alfonso and I settle something.” Tyler’s grip tightens as he nods toward our friend sitting on the couch.

Does Tyler know who I’m looking for?

The worry lines on his forehead are enough for me to step back and shift my attention to the guests in the VIP section. Friends who have been with us for years showed up to celebrate Saddles, and I am their host. I can’t have any distractions, especially a ghost from my past.

Once I sit down, he and Alfonso try drawing me into their debate of which super power is better, mind-reading or flying.

I half listen to their banter. Instead, my mind replays Emily dancing downstairs. Her lean, tan arms bent with her hands on her hips before raising them to clap with the crowd. Her legs encased in tight jeans, bending with the tempo. Her smile radiating from the fun she’s having dancing with her partner.

My hands ball into fists. What the fuck am I doing? I’m here to enjoy the friends who flew from Nashville to party. I’m here to meet the bartender who, along with Amanda, will launch the best restaurant in this city.

Determination.

Hard work.

Focus.

All these traits lead to success unless the attention strays to the wrong goal. It’s the motto I’ve built my success on.

A breathy, “Hi Derek,” brings me back to the VIP section.

The guys move their debate to another group, and three blondes fill the now empty couch on each side of me. They introduce themselves and praise the feel of Saddles, saying things like: ‘it’s a real honky-tonk,’ and ‘I’ve never seen anything like it in San Diego,’ and I can’t help but preen. They ask about our upcoming tour and when to expect new music. I answer their questions and pose for selfies.

Muddy Boots fans are our lifeline. I’d still be chasing the dream without them.

Charlie smirks at me from the other end of the VIP section like he can read my mind and assumes it’s as dirty as his.

Maybe. After all, I’m not a saint, so I extend my arms out on the back of the couch, and they dip into me with ease.

After a while, Amanda appears in front of me. “Hey, I want you to meet—” She looks behind her, but there’s no one I don’t already know. She looks around. “Hang on.”

“Is she your girlfriend?” One of the women asks.

“No time for a girlfriend,” I answer with my go-to line, and she pouts.

“You must be so busy,” another says, and I turn my head as she rubs her palm over my extended biceps. “Maybe you haven't met the right one.”

I have.

I smile and pretend I’ve never heard the rationale before. “Possibly.”

Someone coughs in front of me, and my limbs freeze.

Emily .

I blink as if to make sure she’s real. Yup, very real. This close, it’s like time fine-tuned her classic beauty. Her brown hair is lighter than I remember. Dark eyelashes rim her gray-blue eyes over those high cheekbones, her tan skin stretched like canvas over them – a heady combination and nature’s gift from her Mexican heritage. Her huggable curves, in a shiny red top and dark jeans, have me humming the chorus to “Body Like a Backroad”.

“This is Mark,” Amanda says, pointing at the man I hadn’t noticed standing close to Emily and killing the beat in my head. The same man dancing with her earlier. “And this is his friend.” Amanda turns to Emily. “I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”

“Emiliana Armada,” I say, earning wide eyes from all three.

Emily straightens her shoulders and raises her chin, and her eyes, darkened and steely, lock onto mine. The surrounding chatter dulls, and the sound of my breathing takes over. In a half-hearted attempt to gather myself, I press my hands in, squeezing the women into me, and they squeak with approval.

Emily huffs and turns her gaze to Mark. He mouths something to her, and she shakes her head.

Who the hell is this guy?

“We should lose the extras and get some work done,” Amanda says, reminding me of my goal.

I ask the ladies to excuse us, and they leave with pleas for me to save them a dance and finger waves over their shoulders. I remember my manners as I stand, extending my hand to Mark. His shake is firm. Not a man easily spooked. Luckily, I have a few inches on him and probably more pounds of muscle.

And why am I considering taking him on in a fight? Focus. He’s my potential employee.

“It’s been a long time,” I say to Emily.

Her shoulders ease, and her soft smile smacks me between the pecs. “A lifetime.”

A lifetime indeed. The one word carries a reminder of how much has changed since she was a part of our lives.

“Please,” I gesture at the vacated couch .

Mark offers Emily the seat first. She stealthily occupies the farthest spot from me, leaving Amanda and Mark to fill the space between us. I perch on the couch’s arm aiming for an unobstructed view of her. As Amanda explains what we are looking for in the cocktails for Santos , Emily stares out at the buzzing crowd like she’s taking inventory of who I keep company with. As much as I silently dare her to look my way, she doesn’t, and I’m left without a clue to figure out what the hell Emily Armada, the heartbreaker, is doing in my honky tonk. And she’s not alone.

Are they together? Does she live here? Did she leave the Army? Will she be here late at night, waiting for his shift to end? Come September, the restaurant will be open, and I’ll be back in Nashville. No chance of running into Emily then.

I shake off the marathon of pointless questions. I’m a damn professional. I can keep everything about business.

“Excuse me,” Emily says, standing and waving her phone at Mark like he understands the importance of the gesture.

He stands and says something I don’t catch.

“Running again?” I blurt. Fuck. Heat rushes up my neck.

Way to keep it professional, asshole.

Emily’s eyes narrow at me. Without another glance my way, she retreats down the stairs leaving me without a chance to apologize for my outburst.

“Where is she going?” I ask and instantly regret letting my curiosity win.

Mark grins. “So, you two…” He points between me and the top of the stairs.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” I assure him. And if he and Emily are together, and he proves he’s the best person for this job, I’ll shove away my history with Emily and do what it takes to make Santos the best restaurant in the city.

I’ve overcome obstacles. I’ve reached my goals. No need to change now. Emily will be a non-issue.

Amanda clears her throat ridiculously loud over the inebriated laughter and raucous chatter nearby. She and Mark exchange a look. They resume their conversation, and she shares her concept for the menu. When she finishes, she pivots her body toward me. “Did I miss anything?”

I share the timeline and milestones we set prior to opening, and my vision for the atmosphere and the expectation of a high-quality experience for customers.

“Every guest should feel their every desire can only be fulfilled at Santos. I want repeat customers.” I tilt my neck to the side , ridding myself of the tension of the last half hour. But I can’t shake the images of Emily with Mark spending time at my restaurant. “Let’s get the elephant out of the room. Emily and I were more than acquaintances.”

A slow smile spreads over Mark’s face. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Years.”

Mark’s smile widens. “She’s single.”

My heart thumps against my ribs, tempting me to place my hand over my chest before it bursts out. “None of my business.”

“Mine either, but I don’t want to get caught up in the eventual explosion from all the misplaced chemistry you two carry,” Amanda says, an unwarranted smirk on her face.

There is no chemistry left. No explosion. Amanda is confused. How do I feel about Emily being here? I say, live and let live. That’s all.

A damn good sobering thought. Let live.

I open my mouth to reassure Mark I can be a professional. “You two seem close.” Fuck. I have to control my mouth.

Mark grins at me like I’m an idiot. “We are.”

Can’t shake the sense I’m missing something. I can’t get a read on what Mark is trying to say.

“Let’s move on to the next steps if we’ve cleared the air.” Amanda arches a brow at me.

Why did he tell me Emily was single? Why isn’t he interested? She’s gorgeous. The Emily I knew was adventurous. And the best friend a guy could ask for .

“Is she coming back?” I ask, losing what’s left of any composure.

“Okay, we’re back to Emily. Have it out so we can talk business.” Amanda buries herself into the back of the couch.

“How long did you say you were together?” Mark leans forward like he needs to hear me better.

I cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t.”

I stand, hoping for a better view of the top of the stairs. Too many bodies. For a brief moment, a path clears. No Emily. I turn to Mark. “Whatever you and Emily have won’t bother me. Business is business.”

Mark smiles at me again like he’s convinced I’m an idiot. “Won’t bother me if you don’t keep it business with Emily. Besides, although you’re not my type, you have all the right body parts, big guy.” He adds a wink which doesn’t come across as flirting, more like he’s enlightening me.

I scratch the back of my head. “I guess I earned that one.”

“You were too busy entertaining the green monster to notice. It should tell you something,” Amanda says with barely constrained laughter.

Mark and I exchange a nod in understanding. I appreciate his honesty. He reads something on his phone and turns to me. “They won’t let her upstairs. Something only the owner could handle?”