Strung Tight (The Road To Rocktoberfest #1) - Ann Lister Page 0,21

I did my best to concentrate on something other than the fluid sway of his hips and the quirk of his lips. I couldn't be sure what the hell he was even talking about, but it didn't much matter; he was entertaining just to observe. At one point, he grabbed hold of my shoulder when he threw his head back in laughter, and I did my best not to flinch from his touch. I envied him for being so comfortable with himself. He didn't seem bothered by anything—work-related or otherwise. He just went with the flow of each day without a care of what might happen. I needed some of his lightness in my own soul, a tiny bit of the calm he seemed to exude so effortlessly.

“Wanna hang out for a bit, or do you have to take off?”

“I can't get wasted, not the night before our first real show.”

“It's cool. We don't have to get baked,” Dallas replied. “We can just sit and talk if you want.”

I held his gaze, which was a dangerous thing to do. The warmth of his eyes had a way of pulling me closer as if he knew what I wanted but was afraid to let happen, and he was helping me push through the invisible barriers that kept me at a distance. I felt my head bob like I was nodding at his offer. I should just go home and call it an early night, even though the rest of the guys in my band had already left to shoot some pool again at a bar nearby for a few hours. Why was I acting so stupid?

“Where do you want to go?” I asked. “It’s too noisy out back with the guys loading the truck.”

“How about the beach?” Dallas suggested.

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

We drove together in Dallas's truck, or maybe it was his father's, I don't even know. I was in a daze as we worked our way through city traffic and parked in a nearly empty lot above the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. I'd never been to this beach before and wasn't entirely sure where we were since I hadn't been paying much attention to the roads we traveled on our way to get here.

“You feel like walking the beach?” Dallas asked. “If not, we can sit in the truck. That's good too.”

I dropped my head back on the cushion behind me and sighed loudly. “I don't want to make any more decisions right now,” I mumbled. “My brain is on overload.”

Dallas spun a little in his seat until his legs hit the console between us. “You've played for an audience before, so what is it about this particular show that has you rattled?”

“The crowd at the Apex will be so much bigger than what we're used to, and it’ll be the first time a lot of people hear our music,” I explained to Dallas. “It’s also prep for the festival.”

“I've worked the festival before, and it is huge—a real beast, but so much fun,” Dallas said, and his whole face lit up with excitement.

“We can't suck at either of these shows,” I said quietly as my eyes tracked two people walking the beach in front of the truck.

“No way are you going to be anything less than stellar,” Dallas said. “I've heard your band, man, and you're really good. Better than most of the shit that's currently playing on the radio.”

I focused on the curls of water rolling onto the shore. The sun had almost set, and the colors that danced across the sky and reflected off the water were blooming in shades of pinks, purples, and blues like a Monet painting or candy. It was crazy how my brain worked, and I found myself smiling because the scene was like a balm to quiet my nerves. I glanced at Dallas, and my smile grew.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” I said. “I'm not usually this … manic. I mean, I'm not typically so tense.”

“Dude, you really need to get stoned,” Dallas said. “That'd calm you the fuck down.”

“Yeah, it probably would help,” I said and rubbed at my eyes. “But not Spumoni's weed. That shit is like from another galaxy.”

“We’ll save his stuff for special occasions,” Dallas said and chuckled.

The sound of his laughter swirled around inside the truck cab and slid over my skin like a cool satin fabric. I looked over at him and he was already sparking up a bowl for us. He took