at me. “Great seat. Enjoy the show.”
Enjoy the show. That was yet to be determined, but one thing that would help was a big dose of liquid courage. I made a beeline to the nearest bar. No sissy drinks for me. This girl needed bourbon.
Booze acquired, I walked down the aisle, all the way to the second row, center stage, of course. I was frugal by nature, but not when it came to music. After thirty minutes and some shuffling behind the stage, it went dark, and the venue became electric. Hoots and hollers and screams filled the air. The lighting snapped back on and lit the band on the stage: Davey on the drums, Ethan on electric guitar, and Drew on bass.
Trent was front and center. He looked good. Really good. A few strands of his long hair were just over his left eye. The rest of his dirty-blond hair was tied at the nape of his neck. On entering, I’d noticed more women than men. Needing more booze, I threw back my bourbon, neat and straight. The brown liquid blazed a fiery path down my throat, and I welcomed the pain and the distraction. The lights went out again, and smoke billowed up.
Discordant chords shrieked from the sound system. Davey slapped his sticks against the snares, counting the rest of the band into the song. They were damn good and I swayed my hips to the tune. Like a dog on a metal chain, Trent’s voice yanked at my attention and kept me hostage. Pain and pleasure filled me up to the brim as I listened to song after song.
The show was nearly over and the lights flipped on. The music was now subdued, and Trent gave the crowd a sexy grin. My heart slammed a series of tri-pl-et beats against my chest. I knew the plan. They still had the same old shtick: Invite a hot girl on stage, make her panties melt as they sang a rocking ballad to her, and then later, for Trent and maybe Ethan if Trent was feeling charitable, screw her brains out.
“I’m looking for . . . someone. A special someone to come onstage.”
The crowd went wild. Well, the women. Scratch that, some of the men, too.
Trent’s eyes scanned the crowd, and I wondered what he was thinking. Would he see me in the second row? A busty redhead sat a few feet to my left, and I knew for sure that she would catch his eye. She was attractive, wearing a tattered Tortured Souls tee slashed in all the right places and a miniskirt showing off legs for days. Yep, just his type.
I was never his type. I was tall, curvy, with big lips and a bigger butt. I remembered how he would always say there was something about me. Something that made a man want to be my man and I would always stand out to him, like a beacon of light. I snorted now, just as I’d done then. He’d always been a shit poet.
His eyes lit up when he spotted the redhead. Called it. His lips curved into a smile and he lifted his hand from the guitar string, ready to pick his latest victim. I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my tee. His eyes moved on from the redhead and his blues clashed with my browns.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered. But it wasn’t a whisper because he was mic’d.
“Nikki fucking Hardt.” He said a little louder. But I was Nikki Grayson now.
The slow and steady rhythm from the drums and cymbals slipped a beat. Guess I’d surprised Davey as well.
“I’ll be damned,” he said again. This time he waved. “Get your ass up here.”
I shook my head and looked away, as if averting my eyes would make him go away. What in the hell was I thinking—strutting my ass to the second row of seats, center stage of all places? I‘d tempted fate, testing his old promise to always notice me in a crowded room.
“Aww, my girl’s acting shy. Let’s give her a round of applause to encourage her.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head again.
“I’ll stand here all night and beg if I have to.” He lowered his voice and moved the mic closer to his lips. “You know that I will.” His tone held a promise, just like the one he’d used in the bedroom. Just listening to him made me feel like I was cheating on James.
I spotted