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Her brows fly to her hairline, then a slow smile spreads across her face as she waits to see what I’ll say next.
Yeah, she knows I’m talking about her.
I may not know her well, but I do know she keeps me on my toes. I’m dying to see if I can get her to let her hair down and relax a bit. Don’t get me wrong, Sloane’s hot as fuck in those pencil skirts and fancy shirts with her hair and makeup making her look like she’s stepped off a runway, but I’m more interested in getting to know the side of her she doesn’t let others see too often. It slipped out while we were having breakfast—especially when she talks about her family. My gut tells me there’s so much more to her than she’s let me see. It may take some time, but she’ll soon find I’m patient enough to wait her out.
When I launch into the chorus, she’s still got that camera up and rolling, so I ignore it and continue singing this song to her, keeping the remaining lyrics as they were intended. I don’t know Sloane in the way this song describes, but if she’ll give me the chance, I’d like to.
As if I can’t help myself, when this song ends, I launch into Dave Matthews’ “Crash Into Me.” The crowd immediately recognizes it and cheers enthusiastically. This wasn’t what was on my set list, but I found myself strumming the chords before I could stop myself.
Sloane’s eyes never leave mine as I leave everything on the stage in this performance.
Holy shit—this song is so sexual.
I’ve never played it looking into someone’s eyes like this. My nerves are on fire as I make it to the bridge.
Sloane’s on her feet, swaying to the music, and I swear it might as well be only the two of us out here—she’s all I see. Fuck, she even brushes her fingers along her lips when I sing about giving me a hint of how she’s feeling. The moment I get to the point in the song where I’m apologizing for being so lost in her, I don’t even feel guilty—though I probably should. She’s fucking beautiful and completely mesmerizing. What I’d give to hold her close and get completely lost in her.
Holy fucking shit, when I sing about hiking up her skirt, that little brat arches a brow as she slyly plays with the hem of her own.
Oh, Jesus. Help me. I am so fucking screwed with this girl.
I nearly lose track of the next lines, but I recover before anyone notices.
I sure as fuck didn’t peg her for flirting back. But I’m here for it.
I wonder what else she’s hiding behind that “All business exterior” she holds on to so well.
Oh, Sloane. If you keep that up, I just might have to show you what it’s like to crash into me. I barely know her, but if I’m feeling the sexual tension between us in a crowded room, I’m not sure I’ll survive when I finally get her alone.
Needing to change things up and relieve myself from the sexual tension building between Sloane and myself and finish this set without showing the world what she does to me, I launch into singing “Sweet Home Alabama.”Then I throw in a few of the ones I’ve written to balance things out. It feels great to try out the songs I’ve kept hidden for so long, making me wonder—why have I waited so long to do this?
Time flies and before I know it, my time on stage is over. Thankfully, by the time I sing my last note, my nerves are long gone. I’m certain I owe it all to Sloane.
I’m surprised when the owner of the bar meets me as I get off stage. I’d spoken to him briefly before and didn’t expect for him to stick around. He’d mentioned something about getting home early tonight.
As I step closer, he takes my hand firmly in his and gives it a good shake. “That was fantastic. You were brilliant tonight. I’d love for you to do this again.”
“Thanks for having me. It’s a great crowd.”
Nodding, he grins. “Yeah…” he draws out as he looks around. “But they were sure into you. Sloane mentioned you work at Stella’s. Any chance we can work a deal, and you’d become my regular entertainment for Monday and Thursday nights?”
Holy shit. Is he for real?What do I even say?
Before I can answer, he throws in, “It’ll be three hundred per week, through the end of summer.”
Dumbfounded, I blurt out, “For sets like this?” Hell, I only played a little over two hours. With an offer like that, how can I refuse? I’m certain I can work this out with my manager. After all, he could switch me to days on the nights I play here. I won’t leave him stranded.
Nodding once, he says, “Yeah. Would that work for you?”
“I head back to school in September. I’ll have to talk with my manager at Stella’s, but I think I can make this work.”
With a big grin, he pats me on the shoulder. “You tell Nathan… he owes me. I helped him find that manager of his. He can share some of his talent.”
That’s living in a small town for you.
With a chuckle, I say, “Okay, Mr. Redlin. I’ll let them both know.”
Swatting his hand in the air, Mr. Redlin guffaws, “None of that, Mr. Redlin nonsense. Call me Joe. Mr. Redlin’s my dad, and he’s still alive and kicking at nearly ninety.”
