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“Feels like it.” His words come out with a sigh.
“I missed you,” I whisper in his ear, only for him to hear.
More than you can ever imagine.
But, he surprises me when I attempt to let go. He holds tighter, refusing to release me. I inhale a deep, embarrassing jagged breath. I certainly have no complaints with holding on to him longer. If I could, I’d crawl inside this man right now and make myself a little home.
I peek over his shoulder to see Frankie watching us, pleased with herself, as I mouth the words, “What. The. Fuck?” to her.
Shrugging, she giggles, bouncing with uncontained excitement. Beside her, Ethan rolls his eyes, uninterested.
With a sigh, Grayson’s lips press to the spot below my ear. I shiver at the heat of his mouth. “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers. Shivers tickle down my spine. He leansback, peering down at me. Licking his lips, his smirk peeks out as he shakes his head “You look amazing.”
God, I’ve missed that smile.
He drops his hands from around me and pulls out of the embrace, the loss of heat immediate. Awkwardly, I step back too. I’m about to ask what he’s doing here, but Paul shouts at me. “Evie, get your ass out here!”
Shit, shit, shit.I scowl at Paul. “I’m coming.”
He smiles, twirling a drum stick on the palm of his hand. “Now!”
“You’re such a jerk,” I mumble, and then back to Grayson, who is still watching me with rapt attention, I say, “I’m sorry. I promised them I would help them out tonight. I shouldn’t be too long.”
Stupid commitments.
He blows out a sharp breath. “Okay.” His brows draw together, but then his eyes drop to his feet for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Slowly his eyes meet mine again. Delicately, as though I’m a glass bubble, his hand moves from his pocket and he touches my cheek, his thumb dragging across my skin the way it did the night we had sex. He squints, as if he too is remembering the night. After swallowing, my breath comes out in a shaky exhale. His eyes rake over my body once, unabashedly. Removing the hand on my cheek, he brings it to his jaw where he rubs down the side, smiling, and then winks. “I’ll wait.”
He’ll wait? If only he’d stayed.
With a good amount of hesitation, I walk away, giving him a timid smile, hoping not to trip, and desperately trying to ignore my internal bantering. I don’t have to look back to know he’s still staring at me. I can feel his eyes still on me as I stumble up the stairs.
Paul motions for me to come closer. Leery, I scowl at him. “What do you want?”
“You.” He grins, trying totouch my ass.
I push his face away and knock his baseball cap off. “Gross. Stop it.”
Never, ever, would I consider Paul Jeffrey. He’s cute, if you like that skater boy style, but he takes nothing but music seriously. He didn’t even graduate. And he’s a shithead most of the time.
I start to walk away but he grabs my hand. I half-turn toward him. “What now?”
With a playful nod, he motions toward the side of the stage where Grayson stands. “I see your boy’s back in town,” he muses, taking a drink from the flask he has stashed on the side of the stage. His sticks drop to his feet in the process.
My boy? He hasn’t beenmy boyin years, but he was the one who wrapped my heart in barbwire from a young age and the only one willing to get bloody to untangle it.
Caught up in memories I can’t shake, I don’t say anything to Paul and move away from him. Does everyone in town think he’s mine?
Well, yeah, they do, actually. After Grayson left, everywhere I went, I got these sad sympathetic glances from everyone. Even the chick at the bank who used to cash my fifty dollar paychecks. She sadly handed me over my money and a mint every week. As if somehow that mint would make up for a broken heart. Or I had bad breath and that was her way of telling me. I don’t know. But what made it all more depressing was feeling like the one left behind.
That’s when I notice the playlist taped to the side of the speaker. Damn it. “Sweet Home Alabama” is next. I hate playing that song. It’s too hard. But they play it every weekend, second song in. It’s something their fans expect and chant following the opener.
Ethan’s band, Lost Revive, is a cross between Led Zeppelin and The Black Keys. They have their own style and for the south, drowning in country, everyone loves their signature alternative blues rock.
“Play the guitar on this one, Evie.” With his holey black T-shirt clinging to his sweaty chest, he hands me his guitar.
The guitar?
Fan fucking-tastic!