Page 63 of A Tragic Melody

It’s four songs in when I finally get to glance over at Wyatt. He has been playing flawlessly. He lowered his speed, but it only made my voice stand out more.

He looks stunning under the stage lights. Sweat makes the few strands of hair that hang over the top of his head stick to his skin. His eyes are down, looking at his guitar, even though I know he can play it without looking at the strings.

“Wyatt, darling,” I say, playing up the charm.

He glances up at me. “Yes, Tues?”

“How you holding up?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” he replies.

“I think you are playing fantastically. What do you all think?” I ask, looking back at the crowd.

They cheer, and I glance back at him. His eyes have remained on me.

“Probably the best guitarist I’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing the stage with.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, I’m glad to be of service.”

“You should be.” I laugh. “Shall we try something different?”

“Different?” he asks. “What did you have in mind?”

“A song off the setlist. Don’t worry, you won’t need to change guitars or anything. It’s in the same key.”

“What song did you have in mind?”

“One of yours.” I smile. He presses his lips together. “Don’t worry. Your old band already gave me permission. Though I bet we play it better.”

“Which song did you feel like playing?”

“Golden Touch.” I smile.

It’s the sexiest song he has written. I mean, I can’t be one hundred percent sure he wrote the lyrics, but the music I know is all his, and it’s sexy as hell.

“You got it.”

“And Wyatt?”

“Yes, Tues?”

“You better play it better than you ever had.”

“For you? Gladly.”

We launch into the song. I had given the other guys a heads-up, but chose not to say anything to Wyatt nor add it to the set list so he would be caught off guard. I know I said there was no need to be mean anymore, and this surely comes across as mean, but to me it’s a kindness.

I want everyone to know he brought the talent to that stupid band. They want to act like part of why they suck is because Lenny is still learning, but once they hear Wyatt play his old stuff again, they will remember he was the star of that group.

He plays effortlessly. I glance over at him, and he keeps his eyes towards me. To everyone else, it looks like his eyes are resting off to the side, but I can feel his gaze on me. I look back to the stage, singing a song that is normally sung by a guy, but dancing around the stage like it is one of mine.

I make sure to dance around extra nice so he gets a good show. I wonder if it turns him on to hear me singing to one of his songs. Even if the lyrics aren’t his, it’s his tune. I bet it makes him feel nice and warm inside. I wonder if he will beg to touch me tonight. He may want to pretend like he will only touch me when I’m sober, but after tonight, he may not be able to stick to that rule.

When the song ends, I look back at him. Nodding, I let them go into the next song. He finally looks away from me, going back to watching his fingers move.