“You’re… you’re not mad I’m going to sing? That I’m wearing this?”
It was his turn to frown as he took in every inch of me. “Mad? Hell, no. I can’t wait to hear my girl. And that outfit? Hell, baby, what you do to me.”
He can’t wait…? He… he wasn’t mad at me. I drew in a breath and exhaled. Okay.
He was the jealous possessive type, though. Would it turn into him blaming me, like Marty had, for the guy calling me doll? The emcee had called every woman who was brave enough to go on stage the same thing.
He turned to face me, tipped my chin up. “Are you nervous?” His voice had a coaxing tone. “Don’t be. You’re going to rock this.” His grin was potent. My nipples tightened from just a look.
He thought I was nervous about singing. I wasn’t. I’d been singing my whole life. When I first moved to town, Natalie had asked me to join the Barn Cats, the band she played fiddle with, but I turned her down, not even taking the time to consider it.
Marty had ruined music for me.
Marty ruined everything for me.
Ever since, Natalie had switched from nudging me to join the Barn Cats to begging and insisting I at least come to karaoke night instead. I’d only agreed to get her off my back. This morning, she’d called this my big night with Boone. Said he’d fall like a tree when he heard me sing.
She had a lot more faith in my talent than I did. No way could I take the knees out from a giant like Boone.
Her words though, true or not, had given me a little sip of my power back. I could remember how I used to hold the attention of a crowd. How I’d absorbed the energy, fed off it. I hadn’t played big venues–just coffee shops and bars around town–but it had given me a chance to share my music. The songs I wrote.
I’d dreamed that some day I’d get a recording contract and perform on bigger stages.
But Marty made me believe I was a fool. Untalented. Or, only led to think I was talented because all people saw was me trying to be slutty.
Boone walked me toward the stage while I heard the Wolf Ranch group clapping and whooping for me. “I can’t wait to hear you sing, baby,” he rumbled as his hand tightened on my hip.
Another one of my in-my-head issues was gone. He didn’t want to stop me from being the center of attention. It didn’t bother him. In fact, he’d led me right up to perform. It wasn’t a ding to his manhood although I wasn’t sure if there was a more manly guy out there.
That was a good sign, too.
I took a deep breath, let it out.
Maybe this wouldn’t be the disaster it had been starting to feel like. Maybe I could do this after all.
I climbed on the stage and took the mic from Joe, the emcee. “Thank you, Joe. And word to the wise, I think my date will tear your head off if you call me doll again.”
I made it into a joke, even though half of me still felt queasy about it.
It worked. Joe looked sheepish and shrugged his shoulders. The crowd laughed, and everyone turned to look at Boone standing at the side of the stage.
He folded his arms across his massive chest. Whether he was playing along or dead serious was debatable.
“Whoa, Boone,” Joe said, offering him a small wave. He obviously knew him, which made sense. It was a small town where everyone seemed to know everyone. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know you were with Summer. No disrespect intended.”
Boone inclined his head.
“Here’s your song. Shania Twain, right, Summer?” He turned to face Boone and the audience. “Not doll. She’s definitely not someone I would ever call doll again.” Joe didn’t seem scared. He was playing it up for the crowd, and everyone laughed, and Boone’s lips may have twitched.
I nodded, my hip bouncing to the music he’d already started up. It was “That Don’t Impress Me Much,” and I got really into it, having fun and singing my heart out.
Boone watched me, his jaw dropping, eyes lighting up when I hit a high note. I strutted around on the stage in my bootie shorts while the audience cat-called and whistled. Boone whistled the loudest. When I finished, he roared, throwing his meaty fists into the air like I’d just scored a touchdown for his favorite team.
“Thank you, everyone,” I said into the mic before I handed it back, breathless and elated.
Boone came to the end of the stage to meet me.
“Catch me.” I jumped into his arms again, and he caught me like I was a feather pillow. I didn’t know what my fascination with climbing him was, but damn, it felt good. He was as big as a tree and just as sturdy, and I guessed it made me feel safe to jump off a ledge and know he’d be there to break my fall.
