on the table. I reach my hand out to hers. She looks at it for a few seconds before finally slipping her small fingers inside of mine. I’m not surprised by how soft they are—most women’s hands are small and soft—but I’m surprised by how much I like the feel of hers inside mine, how they fit perfectly when nothing else about us in my life seems to fit.
We head into the crowd where a herd of concertgoers is pushing their way toward the front of the still-growing crowd. I start to move in their direction with the intention of getting us as close to the front as possible when I feel a tug on my hand and turn around.
Maggie is shaking her head and pointing at the side wall. “I’d be perfectly happy standing over there.”
I let her lead the way.
“Ah,” I say as I lean against the wood panel. There’s a clear view of the stage, and we’re free of shoving, sweaty bodies. “This is perfect.”
She twists and gives me a full-fledged grin. “I agree. And now I have somewhere I can put my drink.” She reaches over me and sets her glass on a tall, round table before facing the front, just as Matt Nathanson makes his way to the stage.
All eyes in the building are on him as he sits down at his piano. He doesn’t take a beat of a pause before he’s playing the opening melody of “Giants.” It’s an upbeat number with a chill vibe that gets the crowd moving. Arms are in the air, lips are mouthing the lyrics, and hips are swaying.
By the end of the first song, more people have made their way down to the main floor, filling all the empty spaces around us. Maggie doesn’t seem to notice at all. She’s still twisting her shoulders to the rhythm and singing every word to that song, and the next one, and the next.
My eyes keep flicking between her and the stage. She’s kind of adorable when she lets loose like this, oblivious to everything and everyone around her, including the prick from the bar who starts to inch his way closer. She didn’t seem to appreciate his advances earlier, so I don’t know what the hell he thinks he’s doing now.
The dude has the nerve to sidle right up beside Maggie, appearing drunk as fuck. I don’t even think Maggie has noticed him yet, but she scoots closer to me anyway. For the second time tonight, the guy doesn’t get the hint. He leans in, presses his lips right up to her ear, and starts to say something, causing her to jump.
I do what I should have done earlier tonight and place a hand on the guy’s chest to hold him back. Then I wrap my hand around Maggie’s arm and tug her closer until she’s standing directly in front of me instead of on the side. “Time for you to find another place to stand, dude.” My voice is calm, but there’s no misplacing my warning.
He gives me a look like I just threatened his life and cocks his head to the side. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I give him a little push with my palm, and he stumbles back as if I socked him. Yup. Definitely drunk off his ass.
When his friends help steady him, he starts to charge toward me. His friends are smart enough to hold him back. Then they pull him away completely, earning me an unreadable glance from Maggie.
“What?” I ask with an upward tick of my jaw.
She bats those long, pretty lashes at me, feigning innocence, and shrugs before turning back around. I take note that she makes no move to stand beside me again. Instead, she wiggles her ass mere inches from my front. I try my damnedest not to inhale her sweet scent as I watch her move, but it’s impossible. She really needs to stop moving like that.
In a desperate attempt to distract her from dancing, I reach beside me to the table, grab her drink, and hand it to her over her shoulder. She sips on it, but her ass fails to stop moving, and I swear if it doesn’t, I will not survive this night.
The next song, “Faster,” is another upbeat one about the singer’s heart beating faster, and how his woman tastes like sunlight and strawberry bubblegum. The words might as well have been written by me about Maggie. The words speak directly to the pulsing