be in pain after what we went through this week? I think back on the two martial arts classes we attended and how incredibly awkward and uncoordinated I was. Crew, on the other hand, seems to be picking it up like a bad habit.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Once the music starts, you’ll forget all about that.”
He’s right. When we’re out here singing, everything else seems so inconsequential.
I peek at the audience before we take our places. “Looks like standing room only, and they’re already crowding the stage.”
Liam takes a look. “Hell yeah! We’re going to outgrow places like this in no time.”
Why does tonight feel different than last week? It almost seems like they are here for us and not the liquor. I look around the corner and see some girls edging each other out to get closer to the stage.
“Go,” Jeremy says, giving us our cue.
We run onstage with lots of energy, and the crowd cheers. They are louder than normal. It’s not like we don’t get applause, but it usually comes after we start singing, not before.
Crew goes up to the mic. “Hey, Bridgeport, we’re Reckless Alibi.”
“Thanks for having us,” I say into mine.
“You’re hot!” a man screams.
Crew stiffens, then gives me a crooked smile and says, “Thanks, dude,” eliciting laughter from the crowd.
I think about how far he’s come this week. He visited Abby’s grave and sang the song he wrote for her. Most of it anyway. He couldn’t get through the whole thing. Afterward he ripped the page out and tucked it in the dirt by her grave marker. He left two roses, one for each of them, and looked sad but also relieved. We parted ways then; he said he had to go home and finish another song he’d started. Part of me wonders if the one song wasn’t enough to say goodbye. Maybe a hundred songs won’t be.
I sing and soon forget about goodbye songs, tiny graves, and uncertain futures. Crew always looks happiest when he sings. It’s obvious he’s in his element. He was born to be onstage, but tonight there is something different about him. During one of our raunchier songs, he does a jumping front kick, a move we learned in martial arts class, and I have to look away to avoid laughing.
When we sing ‘On That Stage,’ before the break, it’s almost like we’re back in my apartment the day we wrote the lyrics. The day I knew I had deep feelings for him. The day he ran away but then came back. There is so much emotion between us, it’s palpable.
“Stick around,” Crew says to the crowd. “We’ll be back in fifteen.”
The crowd cheers as we leave the stage. “Jesus,” Garrett says. “We’re really lighting this place up.”
We all revel in the applause and then I do what I normally do on break, head to the bathroom. I still get nervous up there, and it makes me have to pee. Before I can get to the restroom, hands are on me, forcing me through a different door. I’m about to karate-chop the person when I catch a glimpse of my captor.
Crew pushes me against the wall and kisses me. His lips are intoxicating, his touch electric. I get lost in his kiss, the way his mouth feels on mine—oh, how I’ve missed it. Sensation and emotion wrap me in a thick blanket, his masculine groan warming me through and through. I’ve been kissed by at least a dozen men and could still recognize his kiss out of all of them. My head spins, my stomach dances, my heart flutters.
Which is why it’s so hard to push him away.
His eyes burn with desire. “I want you so badly.”
I lean my forehead against his chest. “I know. Me, too, but not like this. Singing is foreplay, Chris, but it’s not our real feelings.”
He thrusts his erection against me. “This sure as shit is a real feeling.”
I don’t answer, but I don’t pull away either. God, I’ve missed his touch.
He strokes my arm. “You mean to tell me when we sing, you don’t have real feelings? Come on, Bria. Those songs are about us. They’re filled with our feelings.”
I work up the willpower to step back and break contact, but it’s like a part of me is missing. “You’re right. Those are real feelings, but it’s too soon. You’re just beginning to get your life back after seven years. Don’t you want to figure out who Chris Rewey is before you let