Ready, I sign to Pete.
He follows us into the hallway and I catch him looking at Kit’s ass. Knock it off, I sign to him.
He grins and shrugs. I can’t help it.
I can, I warn. I mock punching my fist into my open palm.
He looks away somewhat sheepishly. I motion for him to look at me. Help me take care of Kit tonight? In case I get busy with something.
Pete nods. He understands exactly what I mean.
Emily
The name of the club is Bounce. Logan leads me by my fingertips through the back door, but on the way from the street, I see a huge line out front, and a few men about Logan’s size watching the door. This place is nothing like I expected. It’s a lot bigger.
A big, burly guy in an apron stops us as we walk inside the rear entrance and puts a hand in the middle of Logan’s chest. He looks at me and lifts his brow.
Logan starts to sign something and Pete translates. “She’s with me.” Pete sheepishly looks over at me and points a thumb toward Logan. “Well, with him,” Pete admits. “She’s 19,” Pete interprets. The guy motions over a man with a stamp pad and he stamps the word “no” on the back of my hand. I roll my eyes. Seriously?
“It’s a bar sweetheart. I’ll get in all sorts of trouble if someone serves you when they shouldn’t.” He has him stamp Pete’s hand too.
I nod. I understand.
“Is she deaf, too?” he asks.
Logan shakes his head.
I think he says something like “flavor of the night” as he walks away, rolling his eyes. Pete goes with him.
Logan leads me to the end of the bar and shoves a really big guy off his stool. The man teeters, complains, and turns to find Logan standing behind him. The man holds up both hands like he’s surrendering to the cops, turns and walks away. “Why did you that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You needed a seat.”
He says it like I needed a soda. “But you just shoved him off the chair.”
Logan follows him with his yes. “He didn’t care.”
“He didn’t care because he thought you would kick his butt if he said anything.”
He nods. Like he would kick his butt. Seriously?
“What?” he asks. He pats the stool. I slide onto it slowly and look at him.
“You want me to stay here?” I point to the stool. The bar. The general area.
He nods. He tips my face up so that I look at him. “Don’t drink anything unless the bartender gets it for you. Do you understand?”
Not really, but I nod.
“I’m serious,” he says.
“Where are you going?”
“To work.” He presses his lips to my forehead, holding there for a moment. Then he bends his head and says close to my ear. “Just so you know -- I can still taste you on my lips.” He looks down toward my lap. Heat floods my face. I’m probably as red as a tomato, but I force myself to look into his eyes.
“Wish I could say the same.”
He groans, pushes back from me, winks, and walks away.
I look down at the bar counter, and see the perky blonde who’s making drinks. She shoots me the stink eye and says, “What can I get for you?”
“Root beer?” I ask. She raises a brow, nods, and pours one from the tap on the bar.
“How do you know Logan?” she asks as she slides my drink over to me.
The words “he’s my boyfriend” come unbidden to my lips. But I bite them back. “I’m staying with the boys for a bit.”
Her brows shoot up toward her hairline. “Really?”
I nod, taking a sip of my root beer. “Thanks,” I say absently, pointing toward the drink.
She drops two cherries with stems into it and smiles. “I’m Abby.” She holds out her hand and I take it. She has a firm grip. I like that.
“Kit,” I say. “So, are you one of the thousands of women Logan has slept with?” I ask. I try to make a flippant sound, but if the look on her face is indication, I fail. I don’t really want the answer. But then again, I do.
She laughs. “Honey, I have more respect for myself than that.” She looks at me for a moment as she pours someone else a beer with a perfect head. “You?”
I feel much better about her knowing she hasn’t slept with him. “No. But girl, do I want to.” I force a chuckle that I don’t really feel past my lips.
“He has that effect on all the girls.” She laughs. “Hang in there.”
I don’t want to be like all the girls.
Someone taps the bar in front of her rudely, and she looks up scowling. “Don’t ever bang on my f**king bar again, asshole,” she says, but there’s a smile under her words, I can tell.
“Oh, come on, Abby,” he says. “You know you love it when I bang you.”
Snickers erupt around the bar. He leans over the bar and she stands up on her tiptoes, putting all her weight on her arms, so she can touch her lips to his. She points to me. “Ford, this is Kit.”
Ford looks over at me and smiles.
“Kit came in with Logan,” Abby explains. She shoots him an odd look and he narrows his eyes at her, and then looks over at me.
“Say it ain’t so,” he says with a laugh.
I press my lips together, not sure what he’s insinuating.
“It’s about time somebody caught that bastard.” He laughs, rubbing his hands together with excitement. “Payback’s a bitch,” he says. Then he saunters off into the crowd.
“Ford works with Logan in the front,” she explains in between pouring drinks. She takes a twenty from a guy and presses it down her top. I can see the tip of it sticking up from her cleavage. And so can her customer. He licks his lips. “Oh, did you want change?” she asks sweetly. He shakes his head, laughs and walks away.
“Have you worked here long?” I shout. The band is just getting started on the stage, tuning their instruments and playing some snippets of music. I turn around to look toward them. The lead singer is already shirtless. But the crowd seems to love it.
“About a year,” she says. She’s working quickly to fill drinks, and the club is getting busier and busier. I almost wish I could go and help her. I feel pretty useless sitting on the sidelines like this with nothing to do.
“Who’s the band?” I ask, jerking a thumb over my shoulder.
She shrugs. “They’re new.”
I hear the beginnings of Free Bird start to play and my fingers itch. I swipe the tip of my finger across the calluses on my thumb and wish it was me on that stage. But it can’t be. They’re just doing cover songs, anyway. But they’re songs that make my fingers twitch and make my heart start to beat faster.
I turn around to watch them.
They’re really very good. But there’s one problem. Their lead guitarist is stinking drunk. They barely got through their warm up, and he’s already stumbling over the cords. Their bassist turns to glare at him, and he grins and keeps on playing. But he can barely stay on his feet. He motions to a waitress and she brings him a shot. He tips it back and keeps on playing.
The bass guitarist is pissed. I can tell. I would be too. You don’t mess with the music. Ever. I’m itchy on the stool, and I want to go and take the guitar from him and take over. I force myself to sit still.
Logan stalks close to me from across the room and stops half way. “You ok?” he mouths. I nod at him and shoo him away with my hands. He grins at me, and stays where he can look my way. I hope he’s not planning to hover all night.
I twitch for a completely different reason when I see a girl walk up to Logan. She’s wearing a short skirt and a skimpy top, and her boobs are sitting up like they’re stacked on a shelf for people to look at. Logan’s eyes skim across her chest, and she lays her hand on his arm, leaning close to him. I scoot to the edge of the chair, watching to see how he reacts. He watches her lips for a moment, and then puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back. She scowls. He takes a step back from her, and my heart thrills.
“Damn,” Abby says. “Never thought I’d see that happen.”
I look over at her. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never seen him push one away.”
Logan looks over at me and winks.
The girl glares at me, and turns to say something sharp to him. He looks at her kindly, but there’s no heat in his gaze. At least not the kind she was looking for. She huffs off.
Suddenly, the band’s amp screeches loudly and their lead guitarist stumbles, falling to his knees. His buddies stop playing and try to stand him up, but he just lays there laughing.
The crowd starts to shout, pushing toward the stage. They are not happy. And I can’t say I blame them.
I motion to Logan, and he rolls his eyes as he walks toward the stage. The crew staggers the lead guitarist to his feet and lifts the guitar strap over his head, but he’s too wobbly to stand. Logan bends, shoves his shoulder into the man’s middle, and hoists him over his back. Logan winks at me as he walks toward the back of the bar and disappears behind a curtain. The band members are huddled in a circle, trying to figure out if they can continue or not without their lead guitarist.
My fingers twitch and I wiggle my feet, trying to keep away. But it’s impossible. I slide from the stool, my legs wobbly as I walk over, and very nonchalantly step onto the stage. My heart is pounding in my ears and I couldn’t utter a sound if I wanted to, my throat is so tight. But I pick up the abandoned guitar, slide the strap over my head, and look at the band members. I pull my pic out of my pocket and hover over the steel strings. One of them reaches to take the guitar from me. But I start to play before he can.
Sweet Child of Mine rolls off my fingertips, the sound of it filling the space, and the men step back, aghast at the little girl who’s playing the big boys’ guitar. Truth be told, it’s too big for me, but I don’t let that stop me. “We going to play or what, boys?” I yell. But I don’t stop playing, no matter what. The crowd is hooting, and I do a quick show for them.
The boys of the band all rearrange themselves, and the lead singer comes to me and asks, “What can you play?”
“I can play anything you can sing,” I say with a laugh. My blood is surging in my veins, and the rhythm of the music is taking me away with it.
“Can you be more specific?” he asks. But he’s smiling and watching my fingers as they fly around on the guitar. He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
He goes back to the mic and says, “We have a surprise for you, folks!” He motions toward me. “She’s a whole lot prettier than our usual lead guitarist, don’t you think?”
The crowd yells and claps. I keep playing, until I wind down Sweet Child of Mine. I stop and look up the lead, grinning. “What’s next?” I ask.
He raises a brow. “Hotel California?” he asks.
I nod. I was playing that when I was eight. But I wait for the drummer to pick up the beat, and then I fall in with it. Their bass guitar duels with me for a minute and then we find a rhythm.
I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Not since I left my band back home. I forgot how much I missed this.
We finish up the song and the lead singer mouths at me, “Welcome to the Jungle?”
I nod, laughing. I look out over the crowd and see Logan leaning against a post in the middle of the room. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his mouth is open slightly. I blow him a kiss and he shakes his head, smiling. Goodness, that boy is pretty. He gives me a thumbs up and walks away.
I wish I could share this with him, because this is the best feeling ever. The fans, the sound, the way I feel complete when I do this… there’s nothing that compares. I’m not scared. Not in the least bit. I love this. I love music. I love the guitar. And I’m afraid I’m a little bit in love with Logan.
Logan
I turn around to watch Kit as she plays. Her cheeks are all rosy, and she’s smiling. Every now and then, they give her a quick solo, and she strums the guitar, dancing around, her knees bending as she works it. By the way the crowd’s going crazy, I’d guess she’s really good at this.
I can feel the thump of the music in the floor and on the walls, and I stop and rest my hand on one of the speakers.
Kit’s hair is all wet, and her face is shining. She’s never looked more beautiful to me. This is obviously what she was born to do. And I can’t help but wonder why she’s busking in a subway for pennies rather than doing this full time. This is where her future lies. This is her passion.
I’m happy just watching her. And I have to keep reminding myself to keep an eye on the crowd, rather than both my eyes on her.
Someone chucks my shoulder and I look over to find Pete standing beside me grinning. “Damn, she’s good,” he says. He plays some air guitar, and I can’t help but laugh at him. He waves at me and says, “Hell, I’ll leave it to the pro.” He points a finger toward Kit. “Did you know she could do that?”
I shrug. I knew she could play. But they apparently think she’s really good. I motion to the crowd.
I watch as the lead singer walks toward Kit and says something in her ear. He’s shirtless and sweaty, and she brushes him away like he’s a pesky fly. He goes, but he’s laughing when he does it, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I stand up taller.
“He’s not worth it,” Pete says.
I know. But I still don’t like it.
“You got it bad for this one, don’t you?” he asks. He’s smiling, but his question is serious.
I nod. I don’t need to say more than that. I do have it bad for this girl.