“Say fucking again, Petal, and I fear I’ll need to at least steal a kiss. It turns me to steel within a second.” He leaned over the table, his eyes trained on my nude glossed lips. “Every. Fucking. Time.”
Wildfire shot through my limbs. My head spun as I grabbed his chin, bringing his mouth close to mine. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Careful,” he said, sounding dangerously close to the edge. “I might bite.”
“I bet you bite.” Quickly, I pecked his lips, then released him and sat back before he could take it any further.
“What was that?” he asked, hands spread wide. “Such a tease.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to put up with it.”
He sighed. “So true.”
We both ditched the menus, opting to order what we always did. He asked for the steak, medium rare, with salad and fries, and I ordered the wedges with sour cream.
“What’s happening with your dad’s birthday, then?”
Aiden drank some water before answering. “I told him I’ll head home for Easter. I have a game tomorrow night, and even if I left right afterward, I’d get there too late.” His dad lived four hours north, where he grew up. “That’s why the present is so important. He’s probably going to be pissed.”
“He loves you.” I licked some cream from my lip, smirking when Aiden’s eyes narrowed, and he mouthed the word, “Evil.”
Watching me for an echoing beat, he said, “While that may be so, he can be an asshole about it.”
I chose not to comment and kept eating. My phone rang in my purse, and feeling full, I pushed my bowl away and checked it while Aiden finished his steak.
Hendrix.
It was the third time he’d tried to call this week, but I was finally in a good place. Happy.
So even though guilt pressed heavy hands on my chest, I continued to ignore him to keep that feeling from disappearing.
He was probably calling to ask for money anyway. Last time I’d spoken with Mom, she said things were getting tight for them, and they’d had to stop some places for a while and work some cash jobs before they could get back on the road. They didn’t make it home for Christmas for that reason, being that they were stuck in some Midwest town for six weeks trying to earn enough cash to fuel the next leg of their tour.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked, tucking my phone away.
Aiden was frowning at my purse. “She’s dead.”
I held in a shocked gasp. Just. “Aiden…”
“It’s okay,” he said, waving a hand. “Well, no, not really. Suicide. But it’s been years.”
I took his hand, squeezing it with mine. He offered a soft smile, then plucked his hand back and swiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Wanna go?”
I nodded, finishing my water to wash away the taste of sour cream and sadness.
He paid the bill, and we drifted out onto the lamplit sidewalk, heading to his car. “So no movie night tonight?”
“I guess…” My voice faded. People were streaming out of the bar down on the corner, herds of them littering the street. Thumping traveled to my ears, and then the unmistakable sound of Hendrix and one of his infamous guitar riffs. “Oh, my God.”
“Stevie?” Aiden sounded worried. “The color is falling off your face onto the fucking concrete. Does your stomach hurt?” His hand landed on my cheek, trying to turn me. “Maybe food poisoning. Though I don’t think it usually sets in so—”
I was walking away before he could finish his sentence, gliding toward the crooning voice that was calling. The one that always had me crawling back every time I heard it.
Just like now.
I pushed and shoved my way inside, dodging the bouncer who was too preoccupied with the mountain of people at the door to pay me any mind, and then I froze.
By the bar, the lights dim but the men on stage clear as day, I stood rooted to the spot.
“Stevie.” Aiden found me. “What the fuck, are you high?”
“No,” I breathed, my eyes watering as Everett, almost unchanged, sat on the stage, his knee bent for his guitar to rest over, and the mic lowered for his voice to reach.
Once more, his hair was longer, tucked behind one ear as he sang with closed eyes.