up on my tiptoes, striving to give him what he wants, needing to pour all my gratitude and lust into this kiss. Because he’s given me a second chance at the career I’ve longed for since I knew more than just to parrot the jobs I saw around me as a child—teacher, librarian, salesman. He might’ve said this show was about me, but I couldn’t have pulled any of this off on my own. I might’ve written the bulk of the songs, but he helped me polish and perfect them. And even if I had three albums’ worth of songs to sing, I didn’t have the contacts to secure a venue, especially not on such short notice.
Without Colt, I’d still be sitting at home waiting for Delores to tell me what to do. Now I have more agency, more choices, more opportunities.
As he sets me back on my feet again, his grip loosening just enough so that I can breathe without his cock digging into my belly—not that I mind—and I become aware that the crowd is still screaming their heads off.
“Should we give them an encore?” I mouth to him.
He leans his face next to my ear and tugs my monitor out, the wall of sound it muffled hitting me like a ton of bricks. But his low voice blocks all of that out. “Only if I can get an encore of that kiss later.”
My breath catches, and I stare into his hooded eyes as I tuck the monitor back in place. He’s intent, not backing down, asking for what he wants. What he’s wanted all along, really. Daring me to give in to what we both want.
Should I? It’s one thing to play the part in front of a demanding crowd, to get carried away and caught up in the moment and let my feelings run away with me. It’s another thing entirely to make a conscious plan to tear down the wall I’ve erected. A wall meant to keep us both safe.
But it’s Colt. Colt who cooks for me, who makes sure I stick to my diet even if he doesn’t like that I’m on one, who smiles whenever I enter a room even if I’ve only been gone for a minute to use the bathroom, who makes me laugh, who cares about me far more than my career or what I’m doing for him. And that’s when it hits me. This is already more than a business exchange. Denying our chemistry won’t make it go away, and what if ignoring what’s between us, the real feelings that have already developed on both sides, is what really causes the heartache I’m desperate to avoid? If we’re both miserable now, how is that better than avoiding a different kind of misery later?
On an exhale, I give a shallow nod. His eyes darken, and a wicked smile pulls on his lips. Looking past me, he signals one of the techs, and she brings out our guitars. Another tech jogs out and takes away the stool. We’ll perform the encore standing and sharing a mic.
Giddiness bubbles inside me as I slip my guitar over my head. The thrill of debuting another song mixes with the anticipation of what I just agreed to when we get home. That heady rush of adrenaline that sharpens all the senses makes me extra aware of Colt standing next to me, his body throwing off as much heat as the stage lights. Tonight is the best night I’ve had in a long time. And I have a feeling it’s only going to get better.
The crowd quiets down as we double check our tuning and get ourselves situated in front of the microphone. The mic is set at my height, which means Colt will have to bend a bit to sing into it with me when it’s his turn. But it’s easier than me going up on my toes, and given what the song is about, it’s a cute effect for us to share instead of having separate mics. In the future, we should insist on the wireless lavalier mics that can be worn in your hair or around your ear. It would make this easier, and we could still stage it in a cute way where we play and sing to each other without the hassle of sharing a mic. Since we didn’t have choreography or any way to get it for this show, we went with the more old-fashioned mics on stands to go