Page 13 of A Tragic Melody

I’ve yet to meet a man who seems worthy of my actual interest. Wyatt included. He may know his way around a guitar and make the most amazing music, but just like all the other men I’ve met, he is an asshole.

Not watching my set was a message. There was no reason for him to skip out on watching me, he chose to. He sent me a recording of his guitar skills, so at one point he was interested in playing for me. I know that he knows I have real talent.

Judging by how quickly he looks away whenever he catches me staring and every comment he has made the few times we interacted, I can’t help but think he is playing a game. I assume he is playing hard to get. Probably knows he is hot shit and wants me to chase him. I’m not above chasing. I can play adoring fan better than most. I don’t like doing it, especially on my own headlining tour, but to stir the pot, I’ll do what I have to.

When we get to the next show in Tennessee, I don’t put on any makeup before entering the venue. It’s still early, so I just slip on a pair of sweatpants, a tank top, and throw on a hoodie. I make my way around the backstage area, waiting for my delivery. He will pass it to one of the security guards who will in turn hand it off to me. That means I’m stuck hanging around in the venue, in order for me to be easily available when it comes time for the hand-off.

The smile that stretches across my face when I find Wyatt sitting on the stage strumming his guitar is only half fake. The sound of the guitar makes my head throb, but it makes my ears happy. It’s a pleasant sound, overall.

I can only see the side of his face from where I stand. The profile shows that his lips are curved up, though. He nods his head along to the notes, tapping his foot against the stage. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head, like he is trying to find the cure for cancer in the melodies.

“Hello,” I greet him, walking up behind him.

He flinches, but his fingers continue to move over the strings as he says nothing.

“That’s a very pretty tune you’re playing. If I knew you had such beautiful ideas, I might not have minded you having an input in my music.” I sit down beside him. “Maybe we could still work something out. You are so much better than that band you picked over me.” I plaster on a sweet grin. My eyes track his face, hoping for a sign that my words have any effect on him.

He keeps playing, keeping his eyes on the empty venue floor in front of him.

“Perhaps I like being a diamond in the rough,” he replies.

“Yeah?” I nudge his shoulders. “And we both know compared to me, no one cares about diamonds.”

“Awfully full of yourself, aren’t we?” His voice is blunt as he still refuses to look at me.

“I deserve to be. Which you would know if you stayed around to watch my set. What could’ve been more important than seeing that? Or who?” I add a laugh to try and lighten the mood.

“Sleep. Sobriety,” he adds, finally looking my way. “You should try it sometime.”

“I sleep just fine, thank you very much.” I grin. He can be an asshole, but I’m going to continue to play nice. His eyes snap forward again. “And being sober is highly overrated. You should know that.”

“Ha.” He chuckles. “Yeah.” There is no amusement in his voice.

“Is that why you didn’t stay to watch? Worried I’d tempt you out of your thin veil of self-control?”

“No. As tempting as you think you are, Tuesday, I’m not as weak as the rest of them. Beauty only holds so much weight with me.”

“Oh, so you do think I’m beautiful.”

“I’m not blind,” he counters. “But I enjoy secrets more than a pretty face. Secrets and vulnerability. And we both know, while you have plenty of secrets, it’s vulnerability you lack.”

I roll my eyes. The horse he sits on must be giant, acting like he is so much better than me.

“Wyatt, if you want someone to be vulnerable with, call a therapist,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “And dig a grave, because you don’t get to the top alive by being vulnerable.”

“Trust me. I’m aware.” He looks back at me. “Just as you are.”

I smile at him before turning and walking away.

If he wants to play hardball, fine. I tried to be nice, but I can be a bitch, too. He had a chance to go down easily, but all that’s about to change. I’m going to knock him down to a peg far below sea level.

He thinks he is so much better than me, but he isn’t. I can’t wait to look down on him for a change.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tuesday isn’t wrong. Being vulnerable won’t get me far. Especially if I do it with the wrong person—and she is definitely the wrong person. Still, she took the bait.

It wasn’t my plan. I was going to go for the charming act, but something changed when she sat down beside me.