Page 39 of Resonance
“It’s not funny.” I glowered at him, and his grin faded as he reached for the case in my hand and set it gently to the floor. His gaze bored into me, the melted-hazelnut warmth of it more of a steely ochre now. “I wasn’t embarrassed for you. And I wasn’t pitying you. Don’t mistake empathy for pity.” He paused for a moment, some emotion flitting over his features I couldn’t place, but it had a brief effect, like a warm breeze stirring around me. “I’m pretty sure I threw up before and after shows for a solid month when I started. Can’t even look at a Tums now without it turning my stomach reminding me of all that. Your song was good. Your stage presence needs work. You were nervous and it bled out all over the stage. People pick up on that. It makes them nervous and uncomfortable, too. Smaller venues like a bar can actually be more intimidating than larger venues, because you’re more aware of the audience. If it’s a stadium, there’s so many damn people that they kinda form this anonymous mass. But you need to be able to handle the small to take on the large.” He paused a beat. “That’s the no-bullshit-zone stuff there. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Not really, but yes. Yes and no? Yesno?”
This time Dan’s smile was less sympathy and more understanding, and he squeezed my shoulder, the warm pressure of his fingers lingering and something in his gaze that made me want to reach up and hold them there. I tried not to think about how nice that felt because I’d done a really good job so far of not letting on how badly I wanted more of him, how much that random little intrusion on status quo back in Arkansas had gotten under my skin and given me something more dangerous than just a really fucking good orgasm. It’d given me hope. It was a nonspecific kind of hope that maybe sometime we could hook up again, but I’d take it.
“You did something that probably most of the people sitting out there don’t have the guts to do and never will. There’s not a goddamn thing embarrassing about that. So get your ass out there and let us buy you a drink, yeah?”
His eyes blazed with sincerity, and it was impossible for me to withstand that kind of intensity from him. I gave in with a shrug. “You’re kinda ruining my extravagant plans to go curl up in a ball in my bed and wallow.”
“Good.” He slung an arm around my shoulders as I picked up my guitar, then guided us toward the main room. “You’d just be giving those springs unnecessary exercise with all the wiggling around you do.”
“I—” Nah, I shouldn’t go there.Status quo, I reminded myself.Boss, I tacked on for good measure.
Ru wrapped me in a big-ass bear hug as soon as I got to the table, just as I’d known he would, and I tried to push him off but ended up laughing as he kept squeezing tighter. “Listen, you didn’t shit your pants, okay? You get a beer for that.” And that was all he said about the whole thing, much to my relief.
Howie dragged a chair over and harassed Ru for a while. Ru’d been playing covers here almost every Saturday night and most Wednesdays for as long as I’d known him. I’d only come to watch a couple of times, and Howie intimidated the shit out of me. He was older than Dan with a deep frown line between his brows and had eyes sharp and bright as new pennies. When Ru finally introduced me, he raked me top to toe with his gaze before giving me an odd sort of smile and nodding. “If it makes you feel any better, had a guy up there once who just puked right on the stage.”
Which didn’t in fact make me feel any better because now I was lumped in with the stage puker. Okay, maybe it did make me feel slightly better than if I’d lost control of my bowels.
“I remember that.” Ru chortled. “Everyone was making guesses about what he’d eaten for dinner because it was bright fucking orange. Scarily bright.”
Dan groaned and put up a hand.
“Cheetos?” I ventured.
Ru snorted. “That was my guess, too.”
Howie wandered back to his post behind the bar, and I was very slowly making my way through a second beer when I leaned back in my chair and knocked hard against someone else’s. When I turned around to apologize, I realized it was the guy who’d shouted at me earlier.
He seemed to recognize me at the same moment and grinned. “Hey!” He angled his chair toward me. “Your song was great. Good on you for coming back out.” His gaze flicked toward Dan’s scowl and back to me, and he lowered his voice. “I hope you know I didn’t mean anything by shouting. I feel like shit for rattling you, and I’m really glad you came back and finished. And… yeah… it was great!” Oh, be still my heart, he had an accent to go with his rambling. He clamped his mouth shut. Boy, did I know that well. My initial alarm faded when the crooked grin that followed seemed genuine.
“Thanks.” I cut a look aside at Ru, glaring at him as he waggled his brows suggestively, then glanced back at the guy who was… all right, he was cute. College guy preppy cute. I liked preppy cute a pretty good deal.
But Ru wasn’t the only one looking, and god help me there was no way I could flirt in front of Dan. Dan was like a walking cockblock mostly because my cock automatically wanted to point in his direction when he was around.
He wasn’t overtly watching. Like, he wasn’t staring at me or anything, but I couldfeelhis attention while the reformed heckler introduced himself as Joey and I gave him my name.
Seconds later, Dan thunked his empty beer bottle to the table and stood, arching his back in a stretch before digging his wallet from his back pocket and tossing some bills onto the table. “Got a date with a pillow.” He winked at Ru.
“Better be careful about making it a regular thing. Wouldn’t want to give it any long-term expectations,” I quipped before I could stop myself.
“I’ve had the same pillow for years. Think I’m long past misleading.” A hint of a smile played at the corners of Dan’s mouth.
“Well, that’s just gross, then. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to change out pillows every year.”
“Actually—” Ru waved the mouth of his beer bottle in the air. “—it’s every six months for regular polyester. Longer if it’s memory foam. I’m not sure about feather, though.”
“I’d think feather pillows would be in the six-month to a year range. I mean if you think about it, because feathers…” I shuddered. “How do you even know that?”
“Had a spell of insomnia a while back and got hooked on those late-night infomercial programs.”
“Believe it,” Dan said. “I had to hear him talking about some latex pillow he bought for weeks.”
“Three of them, actually,” Ru corrected, gaze sliding briefly to Joey, who seemed confused by the whole exchange. “All still awesome and worth the three installments of only $39.99.”
“Betcha Dan’s might actually be a contender forAntiques Road Show. Maybe Betsy Ross made it between sewing the flag.”
Ru cackled and Dan looked between us and made a show of taking a deep breath. Then he shoved his wallet back in his pocket and leaned closer to me, gaze jumping briefly aside to Joey before settling on mine. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”