Chapter ONE

Abby Malone took a short step back, brows wrinkling as the familiar face in front of her offered up such a hurtful response. Abby didn't feel that she was overreacting to what she'd just been told; the words 'that was a childish thing to do' had stung terribly and something inside Abby had clicked... something in this relationship was wrong. Holding back the threat of tears, she let her straight, strawberry-blonde ponytail slip from her hold, allowing it to fall and half-hide the recent tattoo she'd been so eager to share with her girlfriend of eighteen months. It may have been "childish" of Abby to do such a thing, but she was only twenty-years-old and the tattoo hadn't been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Rachel just didn't understand her and try as she might, Abby feared she would never be the picture-perfect, sweet and innocent girl Rachel wanted her to be. She truly tried to become exactly the type of girl Rachel wanted... to the point where Abby had deluded herself into believing she could adjust her behavior when necessary in order to keep Rachel forever. It hurt, but it was starting to look like the only thing that was "forever" in Abby's life was the ink fresh in her back.

Her lip quivered as her mind raced, anger overpowered by hurt. She turned, squeezing her eyes shut as she approached the kitchen table to sweep up her purse-a deep blue metallic and lizard print bag that she'd always loved and fought Rachel tooth and nail over keeping.

Abby's college was out for the summer and she'd been volleying between bunking with her brother and staying with her girlfriend. "I... I'm going to stay with my brother," Abby announced with a nod of determination to herself.

Rachel Walker swept her auburn hair from her forehead in a well-masked gesture of exasperation. She was still dressed for work after arriving home to her apartment that evening: a simple black pencil skirt, a satin camisole and a light, three-quarter sleeved sweater for modesty. Her black pumps were set neatly side-by-side next to the front door and her purse was nestled in its usual spot on her favorite armchair.

"Are you really going to want that when you're fifty?" she posed to her younger girlfriend, hoping merely to express to her the permanence of her decision. When it was clear just how hurt Abby was by her reaction and how serious she was in her decision to stay with her older brother, Rachel began to cross the kitchen to approach her. "Abs, come on. Don't start this. Look, I don't even really care! Once the summer's over, you'll be wearing clothes that cover it up anyway..."

It was a good solution in Rachel's opinion. If it was covered up, it was as if it didn't exist.

"Just sit down, relax. I'll order us some Chinese food..."

Abby pulled away gently, features scrunching as she shook her head. "No, Rach," she argued, genuinely hurt. "I don't want to cover it up," she told her pathetically, searching her face with her own dark green eyes in the hope that there might be some spark of understanding there.

Moments later they were still standing in silence and Abby turned to leave. Her usual form-fitting jeans and Converse sneakers had been replaced with capri length slacks and gladiator sandals: a much more adult and fashionable look. A look that had slowly wormed its way into her closet and lifestyle not long after meeting Rachel. Abby enjoyed dressing up, but it always felt exactly like that- dressing up. It didn't feel 100% comfortable or her own style, but she knew it was the way Rachel liked her to look. She suddenly felt silly as she started down the steps to the city street, blending in perfectly in her champagne colored racer-back tank. The strips of sequins on the front and her perfect hairstyle... she truly did look like she'd stepped out of a magazine.

And it was a magazine that Abby, never in a million years, would own a copy of.

Perhaps Abby was in the midst of a deep daydream, but even as the piercing horn of a bright orange Yamaha motorcycle blared, she failed to notice and proceeded to step off the curb to cross the street. Had Brooke Carter not been the excellent driver she was, she might not have been able to widen her turn and circle around the oblivious girl-no doubt an uptown resident. The motor of her bike revved loud and sharp and her tires screeched as Brooke narrowly managed to dart between two double-parked taxi cabs on the busy street.

Wake up, sweetie, Brooke sighed and glanced back over her shoulder to catch a second glance at the seemingly privileged young woman as she sped away, her head entirely concealed beneath the jet-black helmet and deep-tinted visor she wore.

Abby gasped as she was nearly run over and shook her head to clear her mind as she watched the bike speed off. Don't cry, she coached herself, swallowing as she started to walk with more purpose. She would go back to her brother's eventually, but she'd only left his apartment less than an hour ago. To return would earn her a very unwanted "I told you so" and so Abby let her feet carry her into the first subway station she came upon and she swiped her metro card without a glance at the destination. She needed to do some serious soul searching.

A couple of stops later and one transfer left Abby resurfacing in the village. She walked slowly; her determination had dwindled and left her with simply a purpose. She needed to waste some time. Crossing her arms, Abby lightly touched her neck, smiling to herself at the tattoo that was on her back. It was so 'her' and if Rachel didn't see that, then maybe she didn't see the real Abby.

Slowly at the sound of a crowd, Abby glanced across the street and spotted an overflowing club. It was somewhere around nine-thirty or possibly ten with all the subway rides Abby had just aimlessly taken and as she listened to an appreciative crowd and spotted the enticing posters on the outside of the club, her interest officially piqued. Glancing up and down the street, Abby jogged over. She was all set to browse and listen from outside until she spotted the unmistakable shiny orange motorcycle parked in the narrow alleyway between the club and a closed-down store front. No way.

Curious, Abby tried to peer around the small clusters of people to see inside, but it was getting her nowhere. Licking her lips and casting one last glance at the poster of an attractive lead singer and band members around her, Abby decided to have a little fun. She had no girlfriend to get home to or need to explain why she had been at such a club. Biting her lip, twenty-year-old Abby stepped up to the bouncer and relied heavily on her looks as she pulled out the ten dollar cover charge requested.

The club was dimly lit. It was an old warehouse space, reinvented. The floor was simple, poured concrete with years of splattered paint, dents from machinery and tire marks from carelessly driven fork-lifts marring the otherwise smooth surface. Track lights were hung somewhat precariously from the ceiling vents and air ducts and red and purple bulbs were predominant in the fixtures. It was dark, gritty and clearly not a place anyone from uptown might have frequented.

On the metal beam-erected stage, a band was playing. A drummer, bassist, lead guitarist and at the front, their lead singer. Brooke Carter had been with Hurricane for nearly two years, almost to the day and the band had adopted quite the following for a group not trying to become terribly popular. They played regular shows but did so merely for the high it offered-the high of performing for a crowd. They were clearly rock, grungy and underground, with the perfect complement of Brooke's strong, yet somewhat raspy and melodic voice.

She grasped the microphone stand as she continued to empty her lungs and hear her voice filling the over-crowded club, tossing her loose, chocolate brown and side-swept bangs from her eyes.

Abby skirted around the crowd by the bar, eyes sweeping the club for any sign of the bike rider she had a close encounter with earlier. Unsure of what she was looking for since she hadn't gotten a good look at the driver and no one was walking around with a helmet, Abby sighed to herself and eyed the stamp on the back of her hand. She wore it proudly. Just like her tattoo. The band was great, not something she'd normally listen to, but something she'd turn up if it were on the radio. She stopped at the bar for a drink, wincing at the odd look she received when she asked for a vodka and cranberry with a splash of lime. She could only be thankful she hadn't opted for some of her other, more girly, favorites. Glass in hand, Abby began to weave through the crowd, skirting around those who were dancing loyally. T-shirts littered the crowd that matched the posters outside and Abby concluded safely that this was no newcomer to the stage.

Being alone, Abby was able to make her way all the way up to the stage and as she sipped her mixed drink through the small stirrer straw she'd been given, she looked up to see the lead singer much, much closer than anticipated. Though the band knew how to animate a crowd, Abby knew her heart was beating rapidly for other reasons. The poster outside barely did this young woman justice. The lead singer of Hurricane was hands-down the hottest girl Abby had ever laid eyes on.

Brooke ran her fingers back through her loose, straight, deep brown hair, exposing the few sections of red streaks dyed within it, her other hand running down along the microphone stand as she held her last long note. The music faded out before her voice and as the crowd began to show their enthusiastic praise, Brooke stood up straight and lifted an arm to return their appreciation. It was hot under the lights and the black leather pants and red leather top she wore weren't making things any more comfortable; thankfully, their current set was over.

Behind her, her band mates secured their instruments and Brooke merely hopped from the stage to begin slipping through their crowd of loyal fans towards the bar for a beer.

"Hey, Brooke!" her lead guitarist shouted after her, smirking as he watched her get swallowed up by their audience.

"Beer!" she shouted back simply.

Though Abby was disappointed to see she'd caught the end of the show, her feet started to carry her into the crowd after the girl, back towards the bar. She took a long drink as she weaved through the mass, hoping a little liquid courage would help her approach the brunette singer. There was no way she could simply leave when a mere glance had gotten her so worked up. She'd heard 'beer' - did that mean the attractive face of the band wanted a beer? Was she getting her bandmate a beer? Doing what she could only hope was the right way to get noticed, Abby quickly slipped to the side of the crowd and then around back to the bar, hurriedly catching the attention of one of the two bartenders. "I- I want to buy a round of drinks for the band," she quickly explained, taking out two twenty dollar bills. "Beer," she smiled, nodding. She spotted the singer and quickly pointed her out to the bartender.

The bartender began to laugh, but it wasn't out of ridicule. He knew who the band was. She hadn't needed to point Brooke out to him. "Sure thing," he nodded, taking the pair of twenties in a tattoo covered hand and lifting a hand to wave down his partner behind the bar before Brooke could catch his attention.

"Beers. For Brooke and the guys," he explained when his partner was close enough to hear over the music that now blared from the stereo's speakers.

"Good show tonight," the bartender Abby had paid complimented Brooke when he approached with a filled glass of cold beer. When she reached for her back pocket, he held up a hand to stop her before gesturing down to the other end of the bar. "The blonde. Down there. Tell the guys they've each got a beer here waiting for them."

Brooke wrapped her hand around the frosty glass and followed the bartender's gesture to the far end of the bar, her dark brows arching for two reasons. Coincidentally, it was the same young woman she'd nearly collided with on the street earlier that evening... and now, she could see far more than her mere outfit (which caused her to appear entirely out-of-place). She lifted the glass in thanks once she was certain she had the pretty young blonde's attention and acknowledged her tribute. "She give a name?" she asked the bartender calmly as she brought it to her lips to take a sip, deep blue eyes still fixed upon the band's new admirer.

"Nah. Just said she wanted to buy you guys a round of beer."

Abby swallowed as she was acknowledged, trying not to let an excited smile appear on her lips. This behavior was not like her at all. Or, at least, it wasn't like the 'Abby' she had let herself become over the past year or so. It thrilled her to be in such a place and doing something as random and exciting as buying beers for the band. Is this it? Was that my cue? Abby turned away for a moment to compose herself, sweeping her ponytail aside to reveal her tattoo and give herself a little boost of confidence.

Taking up her glass and having another sip, Abby began to head around the line of people at the bar to approach the lead singer. It had been a good idea, she believed, to buy them drinks. Maybe a little too nice of her to pay for the whole band, but it had earned her the attention of one sexy lead singer and Abby's stomach was starting to flip when she found herself suddenly standing in front of her.

Suddenly the casual 'hey' seemed not enough and so she went with flattery. "You were amazing up there," she said over the crowd, leaning a little closer to ensure her compliment was heard.

Brooke turned towards the young girl and leaned against the bar, the faintest trace of a grin on her lips behind the glass she sipped from. This was not the type of girl she typically gained attention from. She was dressed cleanly and fashionably and Brooke simply couldn't help but tease her as she leaned closer as well. "You lost?" After all, she had seen her walking around the western part of the city, quite a distance from where they were now standing together. Though attractive, the young blonde stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of darkly-clad fans that swarmed the club.

Embarrassed, Abby smiled as she lowered her eyes to her drink, stirring it for a moment as a blush colored her cheeks. Clearly she wasn't fitting in as well as she'd hoped. This ridiculously attractive woman was out of her league.

"They got a bathroom here?" Abby's heart went into overtime as she made eye contact knowingly. It was an invitation.

What are you doing? her mind screamed at her. Rachel! But she was angry with Rachel and felt that she had lost herself - this was where she wanted to be in life! Having fun, going out, meeting people... She had always been the relationship type. Maybe it was time for a change...

Brooke took a long, thoughtful sip of her beer, continuing to watch this young and surprisingly forward girl over the rim of the glass. When she lowered the glass from her lips, she allowed her dark eyes to travel the length of the blonde's body, not bothering to hide her observing gaze. One major consideration came to Brooke's mind: did this girl truly know what she was doing or was this all false confidence? Perhaps this young woman was questioning her sexuality. It was rather bold to assume Brooke's preference, for that matter.

However, Brooke wasn't tied down and the proposition that had suddenly presented itself to her was certainly something she wished to accept. No matter the reason for this young girl's brazen approach, Brooke was interested.