AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The audience booed, reciting their disappointment in waves.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re disrespecting like that?” He stopped dead in the center of the stage and laughed, high on life. “Well, if you’re gonna be rude, maybe we’ll call it a night early.”
The booing faded out, silence cresting.
You could hear a pin drop.
Remington smiled over having the crowd, again, exactly where he wanted them—in the palm of his hands. Hands that wrapped around a mic as a new song began, with the gentle pounding of drums, the pitch of a bass guitar, and the raspy hum of a beloved musician.
My favorite song.
My hands clutched around the rail between us, and it held me up as he headed this way. Mr. I Heart Remington was fanning himself again, convinced he was beelining for him, but he wasn’t, and as he got closer and closer, it became obvious I was in his line of path, and that made it a challenge for me to breathe. My back found it harder to straighten, willingly bowing to him. He laughed, stopping in front of me. His dark, floppy hair, wet with perspiration, fell into his eyes, which were clearly aimed at my lips.
“Pretty redhead in the sexy dress, do you know this song?”
I nodded, unable to talk or breathe, when all the words I wanted to say to him clogged in my throat.
“Do you wanna sing it with me?” He playfully bit his lip, and my eyes dropped to his mouth.
My head bobbed again, and long curls tickled my exposed back.
The itch subsided when Rhylie rubbed between my shoulders. Her round eyes landed on me, slightly squinted with concern because I still hadn’t breathed.
“Breathe...” he encouraged, laughing when it still didn’t happen. He shared a look with Rhylie, his mild concern meeting her intense worry. “Do it now, pretty redhead. Breathe now, for fuck’s sake.” He laughed. “I know nothing about CPR. But I’ll attempt mouth-to-mouth if you do pass out.”
“Ahhhh!” Mr. I Heart Remington gasped loud enough to be heard above the bass and drums, getting louder each second, as the band grew impatient to start the song.
The air out of his lungs and the heavy force it traveled with pushed fresh air into mine just as I was about to turn smurf blue.
I breathed.
“Good fucking girl,” Remington quoted one of his song titles, and I smiled.
“I’m gonna need a mic.” I rubbed at my chest, drawing his attention lower. Rhylie’s hand was still on my back, her palm moving in pacifying circles. Her face spoke her truth, of worry and fear, but she still squealed on my behalf, knowing what this meant to me.
“All yours.” He handed me the mic and adjusted his golden headset that matched the stare burning into me. “You ready?”
I nodded, becoming the envy of the room and taking the microphone from him.
“You might wanna take another breath first.”
I nodded.
“Over or under?” he regarded the rail between us, but it took me a minute to catch up with what he meant as he moved towards the center of the stage. He waited, facing me, as I dumped my camera in Rhylie’s waiting hands, stole her drink, downed it, and slunk under the rail, hurrying in my battered sneakers—because our budget didn’t stretch as far as new shoes—across the stage.
His eyes took me in, and my mismatched outfit and embarrassment swirled. But that also turned to lust when a hot smile landed on me.
“Sensible shoes. I like it.”
The beat picked up.
“Turn out the lights, lock the door.
All inhibitions left on the floor.
She’s in the next room, and it’s getting loud.
Just one hit to block it all out…”
