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“As I’ll ever be.”
Her fingers fly over the strings with more force, and after a second, I join in.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Mindy
When Luke opens his mouth and sings, the crowd releases a collective breath of relief. Or maybe it’s just me. The relief quickly turns into awe and wonder at the magic of Laila and Luke playing together, the inherent chemistry between them filling the entire venue.
I can’t take my eyes off him. Neither can the people around me.
A minute ago, that gorgeous mouth was pressed against mine, and heaven help me, despite my best intentions, all my mistakes and past history, and the fact that I know better, I still can’t wait to kiss him again.
Shutting my eyes doesn’t halt the impulse. His voice brushes down my spine like the sound itself has velvet palms, sweeping against my every nerve ending.
I spin around and walk toward the wall, circling the periphery of the crowd. This is work. Focus on work. I need to get a sense of the reactions from our curated guest list.
I amble up behind a group of twenty-somethings wearing designer clothes and clutching trendy handbags.
“He ishot. Like hot hot.”
“He’s so hot. Hotter than hot.”
I’m both elated and irritated, a confusing mix. I mean, who doesn’t love a charming man playing guitar? But he’smycharming man.
And now he won’t be. He’ll become famous.
That’s when everything will change. He’ll dump you for an actress, or another musical star, or twelve groupies.
I shove the thoughts away. Luke isn’t like that.
The duet comes to its gradual conclusion and the crowd goes absolutely wild, yelling and cheering.
Laila exits the stage, moving to the backroom to rest. The plan is to give them both a break after their set lists to recover before mingling with the crowd for a meet-and-greet.
I move around the edges of the space, eavesdropping as more peopleoohandahover Luke’s performance.
Over the past week, since Thanksgiving, I’ve had to suppress the urge to just rip off all my clothes and throw myself on top of him.
Now, after our first kiss . . .
That kiss.
Letting him walk away was almost unbearable. It’s like there’s some invisible rope tying us together, the strands becoming more and more taut with tension the farther away I moved, like it’s a rubber band and eventually I will either snap back or break completely. Even now, it’s pulling me toward him like a tractor beam.
The rest of his set is thirty minutes, and he moves through the set list like a champion, like he’s done this a thousand times before. He takes a minute between each song to thank Laila, to thank the crowd for being there, to tell the audience about his upcoming album and tour—and sure we rehearsed all of it, but if I was a simple spectator, I would never guess it. The audience eats it up.
Pride rushes through me. I’m so proud of him for overcoming his fears. He’s absolutely crushing it.
When he finishes and the final chord is ringing in the air, the responding roar of the crowd is deafening. It fills the room. His grin is blinding. He flushes a little, bows, and then attempts to exit toward the backroom, but his progress is halted by multiple people. Thankfully, we have some roadies and security that help him wade through the throng.
I should meet him and Laila in the back office, check in with them, but now that the hardest part is over, and it was fantastic, I’m spent. It’s like a balloon has been slowly filling my chest for the past six months, and it’s now popped, leaving me ripped to shreds.
I take a few minutes to greet some reporters and direct them to the open bar, and then I escape out the backdoor and into the night.
The bracing chill is sharp against my heated skin. The light is on over the door, a glaring white spotlight pointed at the dumpster. I take a deep breath, inhaling the stench of old food and stale beer.
Gross.
