She swallowed hard as she took her guitar out of its case. Her reaction to him had been nothing short of shocking. She was no wallflower, and she wasn’t afraid to let a guy know when she was interested. But the way she’d gone after him, making the first move, and the unbridled passion that had consumed her once he’d kissed her back, making her feel like a tigress unleashed? That was all new, and she hadn’t wanted to fight it. She’d been with enough guys to know when chemistry was real, and since the first time their eyes had connected, all Tobias had to do was look at her, and she got fired up inside. Before she’d gone in for a kiss, she’d felt the searing heat between them, which had blazed hotter by the second, and she’d seen the look in his eyes. Like he’d been ready to combust, too. She’d thought he was just overthinking what she’d said about her brothers. That was why she’d gone in for the kiss. To bridge that gap and let him know without a shadow of a doubt that she was her own woman and made her own decisions.

In hindsight, she should have walked away when he hadn’t immediately kissed her back, because now that she knew the dark, delicious taste of him, now that she’d felt his desire for her, Mr. Mysterious had become Mr. Unforgettable.

“Just about ready, Mads?” Bayani, the thirtysomething manager of the Rusty Anchor, was a raven-haired beauty from the Philippines. She wore her glossy hair just past her shoulders, the ends dyed white-blond, and she was model thin and looked like a strong wind could blow her over. But it was an illusion. The woman had a will of steel. Madigan had seen her go head-to-head with drunk and ornery customers, and she always came out on top.

Madigan imagined tucking her thoughts into her guitar case as she closed it, just as she’d done hundreds of other times before performances. She was determined not to sing too fast or get sidetracked by the sting of rejection by some broody, motorcycle-driving behemoth. She’d dressed in her favorite outfit, a flirty black miniskirt with a daisy pattern, a black strappy tank that bared her stomach, three gold necklaces, because she always felt flirtier with a little bling, and the black chunky leather boots she wore no matter what the weather. The outfit reeked of youthful confidence, the kind she and Ashley had sworn they’d wear into their thirties. She was playing a forty-five-minute set, and she’d stacked her playlist with fun stories that she enjoyed playing, even if a few included the sharp edges of betrayal, and she was raring to go.

“I sure am,” she said cheerily.

Bayani gave a quick nod and stepped onto the stage to introduce her.