Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Fuck you.”
He takes a sip of his beer. “See. That explains the mood.”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
He studies me. “Tonight, you’re not gonna think about her or anything. You’re gonna drink some beer and have fun. You feel me?”
The band takes a quick break, and Dillon gets up to go talk to them. They look at me a few times until I finally raise my beer and toast them.
Dillon waves for me to join, and I finish up the beer and head that way—anything to move around and get her out of my line of sight.
“You wanna sing tonight?” Dillon asks. “The band is asking.”
“Nope, not feeling it.” I have a few times over the years, mostly when I’ve had too much to drink and someone prods me until I give in and do it.
Mary has joined us. “Oh, please, Blaze! Dillon is always talking about how great you are.”
I shrug. “I’m not that good. I just know how to carry a tune.”
Dillon shakes his head. “Liar.”
The band guy speaks. “You know any eighties songs?”
My eyes go over to Charisma. “A few.”
“What instrument do you prefer? I’ve got a little bit of everything. Piano, guitar, drums…” he asks.
She’s not watching me, instead looking at her date, their heads bent low. I watch him touch her hand—
“I can play them all, but I’d rather just sing. What song you want? I know the words to a shit ton.” Thanks, ADHD.
We run through some options, talking over Skid Row, Guns N’ Roses, and Poison, but nothing strikes me.
Then it hits me, and I suggest a song that’s been burning inside me for three damn days. Images of her play out in my head, that short skirt, her heels.
“Can you sing it like he can?” Carson, the lead singer, asks with excitement. He’s a tall, skinny guy wearing a Metallica shirt.
I bark out a laugh. “I’m rusty, and it might sound shitty, but…”
He grins. “Doesn’t matter. It’s the whole package they’ll see.”
Whatever. I just want to sing those words to her, get them off my chest.
Dillon rolls his eyes. “Dude, your voice is butter. You’ll nail it.”
I look back at Charisma, and part of me—okay, all of me—wants her to be watching me, wants her to want me so bad she can’t stop looking.
Mary hands me another beer, and I take a long sip.
Fuck it.
I don’t need her.
All I need is this…the crowd going nuts when I take that stage. They care. They don’t need space.
“All right. Let’s do this.”
Dillon dances a little jig, and Mary claps her hands then throws her arms around my neck for a hug.
The band wraps up their break and takes the stage. I follow them.
22
“Your not-ex is on stage.”
I start at his statement, having been deep in thought, and turn to watch as Blaze walks across the wooden floor then hangs a little ways back from the lead singer. Cheers and applause go up, and several people call out his name from the football table near the front.
One of the guys from the band grabs the mic. “All right, guys, we’ve got a special treat for you tonight. He needs no introduction, but please welcome Blaze Townsend, one of the football players who just brought us home a national championship!”
More whoops and applause.
“Sing it, Blaze,” comes from the girl he’s with.
I swallow down another sip of wine. I’m not sure I can sit through this. I’ve heard him sing; it made me cry.
He stalks up to the mic, raises his hand, and waves Miss America style. The crowd goes nuts.
“Ah, thanks y’all. That was a fine welcome. You’re a good group.”
“We love you!” shouts a girl at a table up front.
Mike arches a brow at me. “Last chance to get out of here.”
But I don’t respond, my body linked to the man on stage. I study his face, taking in how easy he is on stage. Somewhere, he’s going to be big, and I wish he could see what I see when I look at him: beautiful man, talented in so many ways…and a coward when it comes to us.
Blaze looks out over the crowd. “This song’s a classic, and I hope I do it justice. I’d like to dedicate this song to…” He clears his throat, then continues. “Doesn’t matter. If I suck, just focus on the guys in the back, especially bass and drums, because they’re great.”
“You won’t suck!” declares his date.
He tosses a look back at the guys and the one on bass guitar kicks in, the sound and tune immediately recognizable. The drummer keeps the intense beat.
I shiver when Blaze sings the first line to “With or Without You”. His gruff voice fits and grabs me, not letting go. It’s low and yearning, giving me goose bumps. He closes his eyes and cups the mic when the guitar sneaks in a quick solo. His head beats with the tune and then he comes back, his voice tearing up my heart, ripping it apart.