Sticky floors. Neon beer signs. Afternoon crowd.
But the second I strum the first chord?—
It’s like oxygen.
Like I finally exhale for the first time all week.
People actually look at me.
Smile.
Tap their feet.
Some girl at the bar mouths the lyrics.
And God help me?—
I love it.
I love the attention.
I love the way heads turn.
I love being wanted for something that isn’t a résumé or a paycheck.
This part of me feels… real.
Halfway through the second set, I step offstage for water.
And this cute, bubbly brunette slides onto the stool next to me like she’s been waiting.
Tan. Bright eyes. Easy grin.
The kind of girl who looks like summer.
“Hi,” she says. “You’re kinda incredible.”
I laugh. “Kinda?”
“Okay, very.”
She sticks out her hand. “Emily.”
“Ethan.”
She leans in like we’re sharing a secret. “So how long have you been hiding that voice from the public?”
“Couple years.”
“Criminal.”
We flirt. Light. Harmless.
It’s easy.
Too easy.
Then I catch myself smiling too long.
