Page 17

“Well, yeah.” He chuckled, amused. “That was the plan.”

“And um, will anyone else be there?” I feigned nonchalance.

“Next time, maybe.” He set his guitar back down in its case, sliding his hands into his pockets. “But I think it’ll be too much pressure to have everyone there tonight. So I’m hoping that one friend—that’s you,” he flashed his tilted smile at me, “will be enough pressure to force me up there. And once I know I’m not a complete chickenshit, I’ll invite the guys.

“…And I might also be putting off the fact that I work at pub, because then I’ll never hear the end of,Steal the booze!AndGet us free food, Greyce!”

I laughed at that. “Oh, for sure.” Totally made sense. Jaymes and the guys would hop on that train so quick. Sara, too. But wait… “So, you’ve never done this before? Singing in front of people?”

“Nah.” He said it like it didn’t mean anything, but this was a huge, HUGE fucking deal. “So you cool with coming?”

I smiled at him, biting down on my bottom lip, almost speechless.Almost.“Am I okay with it?” I asked, floored. “Hell yes, I’m okay with it! This is badass, Greyson!” I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer, becauseholy shit!I was going to hear Greyson sing.

And he wanted me to hear him sing.

In a room full of people.

For the first time. Ever.

Holy. Freaking.

Shit.

Sixteen Before

IT WAS Asmall place. Dark. Simple. Dirty wooden floors, and a long, sticky bar. But it was filled with people—drinking and laughing and having the time of their lives. At least that’s what the alcohol was clearly telling them.

Greyson and I were sitting at a small table in the back corner. We’d been there for at least thirty minutes at that point, and his knee was still bouncing relentlessly. I couldn’t help but smile. It was fascinating, this side of Greyson: Nervous, vulnerable.

He was tapping a beat against the table with his hands when I slid one of mine over one of his, stilling it. “You’re going to do great, you know.”

He chuckled, looking down at me. “You have no way of knowing that, but thank you.”

I went to pull my hand away, but he flipped his over, wrapping his fingers firmly around mine, holding my hand hostage in his. Except I was a willing participant, and his hand felt more like the warmth and comfort of a womb than a prison with the way it soothed me.

And maybe it comforted him too, because his knee wasn’t bouncing as much, and his chest seemed to be expanding and contracting a little easier than it had been before.

My eyes trailed up his chest, up his throat and over his mouth that he was biting down on, and landed on his eyes. He smirked, somehow knowing I’d been staring at him even though he was looking straight ahead at the woman on stage reciting a poem she’d written.

What was he thinking about right now? This very second? With his hand wrapped around mine?

Probably nothing like what was going through my mind: That I could go the rest of my life without ever letting go.

I looked back down at our hands just as his thumb made a quick pass over my knuckles. Quick enough to draw zero conclusions from, but that’s exactly what I was doing. Drawing conclusions.Why was he still holding my hand?Because hedidwant me. He’d probably turn towards me in about two seconds and pull my face into his hands and thenfinally. Freaking. Kissme, and then he’d most likely put all of his babies inside of me, right here in the middle of this bar.

I laughed at myself, and then proceeded to purposely bang my forehead down onto the table, effectively smacking some sense back in there while I was at it.

Greyson’s grip on my hand tightened, and I peeked up at him to see that he was laughing too, his eyes still on the stage. And then he pulled my hand closer to himself. Caging it against his chest.

I swallowed thickly, my pulse quickening. It was a little hard to breathe, there against the table. But I didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break whatever spell I’d managed to cast on Greyson, because this wasn’t like him. This wasn’t like anything,anythingI’d ever felt before.

Like I mattered. Like I was important to someone. Because for at least that small sliver of time, my presence calmed him like his calmed me. There was no question about it. I could feel it in my bones.

Another few minutes passed before he tore his gaze away from the stage and looked down at me. “Wish me luck,” he said, squeezing my hand once before standing up and grabbing his guitar.

“Good luck!” I shouted at his retreating back, shaking off the weight of the last few minutes. I threw in a few shouts of encouragement for good measure. I was definitely the loudest and most obnoxious person in the room, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t hold my excitement back; I didn’t want to.

He climbed on stage with a smile and an excited glint in his eyes, sat on the stool front and center, and pulled his guitar into his lap.