Memphis’s eyebrows shoot up. Then he smiles and sticks out his hand. “Hey, I’m Memphis. Guitarist.” The fucker is blatantly checking her out. “Uncuff me,” I bark before her hand makes contact with his. “Now.” If looks could kill, I’d be cremated. “Kiss my ass.” With those parting words, she walks out. And I’m reminded of what a nice ass it is. Big, round, and shapely. It’s all I can do not to bite my knuckle and chase after her. And I’m not the only one because Storm and Memphis are practically breaking their necks to get a better look. “Goddamn,” Memphis says under his breath. “You’re
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