I tip my head forward in thanks but when I look back up, my heart skips a beat, and I feel my face flush with nerves. Standing right in front of me, with a look of awe on his face, clapping and whistling louder than everyone else, is Brady.
I stand there like an idiot, clutching the microphone tightly with one hand and my guitar with the other, while he shakes his head at me in surprise. I come here to sing when I’m home because I can be anonymous. Having Brady here watching me enjoy what I do without having to put on an act sets a swarm of butterflies loose in my stomach, and I have to let go of the microphone and press my hand against it to calm my nerves. It suddenly means more than anything to me that he likes what I just did. I realize I want to impress him. I want him to think of me as something other than a pop princess who sings shitty songs that a teenager can write in her sleep. I want him to see that I have talent, even if I rarely exhibit it.
As the crowd continues to shout and demand for more, my eyes don’t leave Brady’s as he walks the few feet needed to bring him right up to the platform I’m standing on. He’s so damn tall that it’s strange to be standing above him looking down. It makes me feel powerful all of a sudden, and all I can think about is being above him somewhere else, preferably a bed, where I can be in charge, taking him inside me, and riding us both to the edge.
He crooks his finger at me, and I lean forward until his lips are brushing up against my ear.
“You up on this stage singing your heart out with a voice dripping with sex is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Did you seriously just rock out a Nirvana song? And play a God damned guitar better than Jimi Hendrix?”
I pull away from him just enough so I can look at his face and give him the most seductive smile I can muster, running my tongue slowly across my top lip before biting down on the bottom one. He lets out a heavy breath as his eyes zero in on my lips. I don’t know what’s got into me tonight, but I feel a boldness flowing through me that isn’t usually there when I’m not pretending to be The Layla Carlysle. I want to jump down off of the stage, drag him to the back room, and rip his shirt off of his body. I want to push him against the wall, drop down on my knees, and take him in my mouth. I want to do everything to this man, and I don’t care about the consequences.
“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to haul you off of this stage and bury myself inside of you before we even get outside,” Brady groans softly, reading my mind as he finally tears his eyes away from my mouth.
Without answering him, I stand up and lean the guitar against my stool. I turn around and give Finn a nod of thanks for playing for me, for bringing my guitar, for knowing me better than anyone else, and for pushing me to finally take a stand. He smiles softly at me, and it makes me happy to know that no matter what happens between us, he will always have my back.
Turning back around, I jump down off of the stage, grab Brady’s hand, pull him through the bar and out the front door, and wave goodbye to June as I go.
I guide us across the parking lot to Brady’s dark blue Ford F150 extended cab and let go of his hand to walk around to the passenger side and climb inside.
Brady gets in behind the wheel and looks over at me with a confused raise of his eyebrows.
“Did I offend you in there or something? Because―”
Leaning across the seat and hooking my hand behind his head, I pull him towards me and crash my mouth against his, cutting off his words and letting my tongue say everything that needs to be said.
Without moving my mouth away from his, I deepen the kiss and slide one knee underneath me on the seat, pushing myself up, and swing my other leg over his lap until I’m straddling