“Why’d you tense up?” he asked.

“Because this is f**king weird.”

“For me too,” he murmured. “But it doesn’t have to be. Let’s get to know each other.” He playfully stroked his bare toes across hers, which sent an electric zip of awareness up her legs. “I’ll go first. Who were those two guys who dropped you off in Denver?”

“Zeke and Spike.”

“How do you know them?”

“They’re bodybuilders who weight-train with us at GSC. I’ve struck up a”—fuck-buddies relationship—“special friendship with them outside of work.”

“Both of them?”

“Why not? They’re hot, they don’t talk much and they like to share. Double the pleasure, double the fun.” She silently dared him to say something snarky about her sex life.

He studied her for a beat. “Any problems tellin’ them apart?”

“Does it matter in the dark?”

Devin laughed. “Nope. Now you ask me something.”

Liberty thought about it for a moment. “When did you learn to play guitar? And not the slicked-up official bio version.”

That question seemed to surprise him. “A guy I went to school with had one. He never played it, but every time I was at his house, I picked it up and dinked around. My folks were in such a state of grief after Michelle died that they would’ve said yes to anything, so bein’ a typical selfish teen, I asked them to pay for lessons. The guy I initially learned from was an old bar cowboy. After him, I studied with a high school music teacher. He taught me how to write music. After I moved to Nashville, I hung around with studio musicians and realized I’d never be lead guitar material.”

“So do you have to practice?”

“Nope. But I do play every day, especially if I’m working on songs.” He swigged his beer. “Do you play anything?”

Liberty shook her head. “We moved around. There wasn’t money for instruments or lessons. Singing along with the radio is the extent of my musical skill.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

She smirked. “Will you yell at me if I admit I’m not a big fan of country music?”

“That’s it. You’re fired.” Devin sighed. “What do you listen to? Opera? Jazz fusion?”

“Hilarious. No. I listen to metal and pop. But I downloaded two of your songs.”

The beer stopped short of his lips. “You don’t like country but you bought my music? Why?”

“I liked the songs.”

“Which ones?”

“‘Chains and Trains’ and ‘Better Days.’”

“Really? Those aren’t my most pop-sounding songs.”

“They’re the only ones I recognized during your sets. But I’m sure I’ll know the words to everything by the time this tour is over.” Way to sound like a simpering fan girl. “Which is your favorite song to perform?”

“I get asked all the time which songs I’ve written are my favorites. I can’t admit publicly that some of my bestselling songs are my least favorite ones to perform.”

“Why?”

“Not because I’m sick of playin’ them, but because I wasn’t in a good place when I wrote them.” Devin started to pick at the paper label on the beer bottle. “That doesn’t seem to stop me from writing the darker stuff.”

“What are you working on now?”

“Something light, pop-based and fluffy that I can sell for a shit ton of money. Dixon Davis has asked for some demos.”

“Have you written for him before?”

“Nope. Every one of his songs has gone number one in the last five years. It’d be major if he recorded one of my songs.”

Liberty held her bottle to his for a toast. “Here’s hoping the muse works overtime for you.”

Devin touched his bottle to hers. “Amen.”

With the warmth of his body close to hers and the ease of them being together, she realized how easy it’d be to get sucked into his raw magnetism. Because the really disconcerting thing? He gave off pure male charisma without even trying.

Her stomach gave a little flip, imagining him aiming his I-wanna-fuck-you smoldering stare at her on purpose. She tried to tell herself she wouldn’t become weak-kneed and slack-jawed like all the other women in his orbit, but she knew it was a lie.

Especially when she looked over at him and witnessed that breath-stealing smile dancing on his lips.

Her head screamed retreat.

She dropped her feet to the floor and forced a yawn. “Wow. Look at the time. Am I tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Liberty didn’t run to her bunk—but it was damn close.

Devin counted to ten. Then twenty. He drained his beer, which didn’t curb his desire to chase her down.

Problem was, he didn’t know what he’d do with her once he caught her.

He traced the mouth of his empty beer bottle. Ever since the moment she’d stepped out of that baby blue Mustang, he’d known he was in deep trouble. Maybe it made him a dick, but her transformation had floored him. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to look like that. The woman he’d met in the GSC offices was commanding, but very much a plain G.I. Jane. And, yeah, he’d issued the challenge because he figured she’d blow him off. That she’d show up wearing a lipstick smirk as the extent of his demand that she blend in with his crew. In fact, that was the woman he’d wanted, because it would’ve been a f**k ton easier to keep her at arm’s length. To keep their relationship professional.