Page 7 of Intoxicating Pursuit

Up on the Roof

T he elevator at the Liberty Grand climbed quickly, flip-flopping my already nerve-filled belly. Would I ever get used to standing this close to him?

“It’s actually doubly good that you’ve come.” Gabe adjusted his crutch. “I do have a gift, but there’s something I’d like your opinion on, too. It’s up at the bar.”

“Sure thing.”

We made our way to the rooftop and stepped onto a modern, luxe patio surrounded by a half-wall of glass.

The openness granted an unobstructed view across the Delaware River, the Ben Franklin Bridge, and the sparkling lights of downtown Philadelphia.

Concrete pavers led to sleek, white-cushioned sofas surrounding enormous copper fire tables aglow with amber flames.

Toward the far wall, rows of dining tables awaited guests who might prefer a meal, and a scattering of potted evergreens brought life into the space.

I gathered two generously poured glasses of Gran Reserva Rioja from the bar, so Gabe could focus on walking with his crutch, and we found our way to the sofas.

Gabe set his crutch aside and sank into the furniture with a grunt of satisfaction. “Boy, I do love putting on a show, but I’m whipped. And my ankle hurts like hell.”

“No fun. But at least you’re human. I was beginning to think you were invincible.”

“Not quite.” He stretched his gimpy leg out, elevating the air cast on the side of the fire table, then leaned back deeply into the cushions, spreading his long arms across the back of the couch.

I handed him his wine and sat down just at the edge of his reach, eager to be near this enticing man but mindful of his space until he invited me in. I raised my glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers, indeed.” He clinked his glass to mine and took a hearty drink of the Spanish red wine. “ Mmm. . . That is dangerously good.” Gabe smacked his lips and took another long swill. “Wow. What is this again?”

“It’s a Gran Reserva Rioja. The bar is really well-stocked.” I took a long sip. The silky flavor of cherries, plums, and smoke filled my mouth, and I laid my head back on the sofa appreciatively. My hair brushed Gabe’s wrist, and he responded by lifting a strand with his finger, twirling it idly.

He looked my way, his gaze meandering over me. “You clean up beautifully, Sammy.”

“Thanks.” I blushed. “You look very handsome as well.”

And he really did. Denim jeans hugged his thick legs, and I tried hard not to stare at the muscles running the length of his arm, exposed by the short sleeves of his black t-shirt.

His wide, stubbled neck hinted at a powerful torso.

I tore my eyes away from his body, trying not to ogle him any worse than I already had, and took a few more long drinks of wine.

The Rioja rushed blood sugar into my system and spread warmth through my chest. Wonderful.

The ponytailed blonde who had sparred with Gabe backstage breezed past our table and handed him a gift bag.

“Oh! The present!” Gabe looked over his shoulder as she hurried away. “Thanks, Ellen!” he called.

She threw her hand in the air, too busy to even turn around, evidently.

He handed the small metallic gift bag to me, complete with glittered tissue paper peeking out. “Please, keep your expectations low.”

I tugged away the tissue paper, uncovering a few little treasures: a guidebook about local Philadelphia parks, a hot pink t-shirt that declared “Nursing is my Superpower,” and a pepper spray keychain with roses on it.

“I was sort of limited to the hospital gift shop, but I thought these were appropriate,” he said. “And the pepper spray is in case anyone actually does bother you. I hate that I scared you.”

I couldn’t help smiling at this extravagantly wealthy man and the charming irony of such simple, humorous, thoughtful gifts. “These are perfect. Thanks so much, Gabe. Should I try the shirt on?” I held it up to my torso and grinned.

“Hmm. . . I dunno.” He peeled it back down and grazed one of his long fingers across the length of exposed skin on my shoulder. “I think these collarbones are too pretty to be covered up, Miss Sammy.”

He was such a flirt. I tried to keep my body in check, but the barely-there touch felt like magic. Tingles and heat followed the line his finger had drawn and lingered.

If I didn’t cool off my body and mind, I was going to embarrass myself.

I took a swig of wine, which already had me feeling rosy, then set my glass down on the copper firepit.

I watched the flames and the lights on the bridge.

The dark water in the Delaware River churned toward the bay, just barely visible under the blanket of night, its endless ebb and flow ruled by the tides.

I tried to remember what I knew about Gabe. “You know, I think I read somewhere that you have a son. Does he come with you on tour?”

“Mmmh. Trevor? He was my buddy on summer tour for years. From first grade until a few years ago.” Gabe gazed into the dancing flames.

“We did everything together, traveled all over, but then he got a driver’s license, discovered girls.

I think he wants to hang with people his own age, not a bunch of middle-aged musicians.

Plus, he started college last year, so he rarely has time for it anymore.

” He looked over at me. “But I think that’s how it’s supposed to work.

He needs to pursue his own adventures, right? ”

My heart squeezed. “I guess. . . but boy, it’s so hard.

My daughter, Meghan, is seventeen, and I’m lucky if I get a few sentences out of her most days.

Some of the ones I get aren’t very nice, either, and that’s despite being really tight for the first fifteen years of her life. I’m not adjusting to it well.”

The firelight was golden on Gabe’s face. “I feel like every time I get a phase of life figured out, another one starts. Guess that keeps us on our toes.” His words were those of a kind soul, and my insides did another flip-flop.

The couch shook. Gabe’s wine splashed over the edge of his glass.

Giant hands gripped his shoulders, rattling him playfully.

“Hey, bro! You surviving?” One of his drummer clapped him hard on the back as he rounded the corner of the sofa.

“Can’t believe you’re awake. Thought you were headed straight to your room. ”

Gabe craned his neck up at the hovering man. “Hey, Dylan. I’m surviving. Got a second wind.”

“Good.” The man squeezed Gabe’s shoulder and seemed to take notice of me. “A second wind, huh?” He looked back and forth between us. “Or maybe what you got is a pretty woman to talk to. Hey, I’m Dylan.” He offered his hand to shake.

I reached for it. “Sammy. Nice to meet you. The concert was just incredible. I love your music.”

Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait!” He glanced Gabe’s way.

“ Sammy? The famous Sammy?” Dylan rocked back on his heels, a devil’s grin creeping across his face.

He looked me over. “The long legs and pretty red braid that lured Gabe to his doom today, huh? I heard about you.” Dylan chewed on his lower lip, all playful mischief.

“Dylan, knock it off.” Gabe looked annoyed. “She’s not legs and a braid. She’s a businesswoman and one hell of a designer.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that when you went tearing after her today, did you?”

It was quiet for a beat.

“Um, I think he was just trying to help me,” I offered. “I dropped something important.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gabe’s eyes squinted shut. He covered his face with his free hand and massaged his forehead. “Dylan, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really.” The man kept rocking on his heels, enjoying the needling. Finally, he clapped Gabe on the back again. “I’m just messing with you, man. Glad you’re feeling good enough to hang a while. But, hey, Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take any shit from him, okay?”

My jaw slacked, and Dylan sauntered away.

Gabe's eyes were still shut, and he nodded to no one in particular, an embarrassed, tight-lipped smile on his face.

I laughed. “A little brotherly love from your bandmate, huh? Appropriate for Philly.”

“Yeah. I’m really loving him at the moment.” Gabe snuck a peak at me out of one eye. “Sorry about that.”

“Gabe, I’m a forty-year-old woman. If you called me cute, I’d hardly be offended.” In fact, the stupid grin on my face was going to get me in trouble. “Look, why don’t I get us some more wine. Want another round?”

“Dear God, yes. Please.” He took the last long swig from his glass, and I carried our empties away.

A few minutes later, my smile was back under control, and I returned with our drinks. The bartender had poured two larger-than-life servings of the pricey rioja for us. Obviously, he wasn’t the one paying to restock the wine cellar.

Gabe took his glass gratefully, and we sat and watched the flames as we sipped. The wine had turned me warm, soft, and relaxed. The night took on an alluring, alcohol-induced glow.

“You know—” I leaned back against his arm, gently— “I don’t think I properly thanked you this morning for bringing me my EpiPen. I’m really sorry you got hurt trying to help me.”

“Not your fault. I’m just clumsy. What are you allergic to?”

“Oh. Bees. Isn’t that silly? Such tiny creatures.”

“No. Not silly at all. I’m glad you carry your meds. Trevor is allergic to peanuts. I’m always on him about that.”

A freight train of a man in a security shirt headed our way, his eyes fixed on Gabe.

He looked at least fifty, with fair skin, a bald head, and a grayish black beard.

His barrel chest was enormous, and he crossed his tree-trunk-thick arms when he arrived at Gabe’s side.

His voice was a deep smoker’s rumble. “Claudia Gravess is here.”

Gabe looked up at him, obviously not happy with this news. “She got past the guys in the lobby?”

“Yeah. We need to either convince them she’s a problem or find new help. Sit tight. We’ll take care of it.”