He glances over my shoulder to Laurie. “I didn’t let them do anything. It’s where Willow got her gig—what was I supposed to do? Besides, it’s a non-issue—Rose and Wes go there all the time.”
“That’s because Wes’s got it bad for Dusty Callahan. There’s always a ninety percent chance she and Ricky are there.”
Wilder’s jaw tightens like he’s second-guessing his decision. “Dusty likes Rose, she’s not going to mess with her.”
I nod curtly. “Fine. You keep telling yourself that while I get my ass over there. Because the only Ricky Callahan I know is the one who loves nothing more than to fuck with me. And if he saw the announcement, he’s going to ride that for all it’s worth.”
22
“That was beautiful. I swear, I could listen to that voice of yours all day.” Rose praises me as she always does after one of my sets. Then shoves a margarita in my hand as I step off the stage.
Laurie gave me a quick rundown of the crowd here. And so far, she’s been on point. Most of them buzzing for the jazzy entertainment, light meals, and cocktails. But then there are some that totally give off predator vibes. But chances are they’re more brood than bite and I should ignore them.
And whilst I’ve heard from Rose that the crowd itself can get pretty rowdy, Carl has assured me he’s never had any trouble between the crowd and the talent.
Thatmayhave been true until now. But I’m picking up some major trouble vibes from the tall dirty-blond man with the beard and ponytail on the far right. He’s been staring at me like there’s no one else in the room. And not in a romantic way.
I’m wary of him, if I’m honest.
Aside from that, everything else has been incredible. This crowd’s different. They’re alive and fun. They make me want to sing. Not feel like Ihaveto.
“Hey, I missed three calls from Wilder. I’m going to step outside and call him back. Have fun on your next set, I’ll be right back.”
I wink at her and take a few more sips of my drink before stepping back up on the stage. I’m a few minutes early, but I’d rather be up there playing music than in my head about Dallas.
Mr. Ponytail watches me with that look again. I want to say something to Carl, but it doesn’t feel right. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m overreacting. But I’ve been in situations like this enough times to know when a patron is harmless .?.?. and when I should watch my back.
That guy—is definitely making me think the latter.
Eric’s words are in my head. His threats and the implication that I’m helpless surface overwhelmingly, to the point my hands quake as they hover over the keys.
Deep breath. There are too many people here.
Nothing will happen.
I do my best to shove aside the gut feeling that Eric was right. That I need someone to protect me because I’m defenseless on my own. Rolling my shoulders back, I focus on therestof the crowd.
I start slowly, fingers steady over the keys and voice low and soft. I close my eyes. The moment I do, a shadow appears and they fly open again, my voice pausing for a split second. Ponytail man puts a hundred in my tip jar and then lifts my drink, taking a long sip from the side stained with my lipstick. Then places it down in front of me and winks.
Nausea fills my insides. I glance to see if Rose has returned, but she hasn’t.
Left on my own, my heartbeat thunders in my ears, overpowering the music.
I glare up at him. He’s got a strange scowl, like he doesn’t like me.
But I’m a professional. And I’m a New Yorker. And I won’t be intimidated. “Take a seat, cowboy,” I manage, now focused on the keys.
He does—but it’s beside me on the bench. “Laurie likes it when I stop by.”
There’s a beat before I respond, “I’m not Laurie.”
“Don’t be shy now,” the guy murmurs, leaning in close enough that I catch a whiff of cheap cologne and beer breath. I stiffen, shifting to force space between us. My heart stills in my chest.
I glance up to see if Carl’s around. When I do, I catch Dallas at the door. Relief washes over me instantly. The hammering in my ears and chest subsides. And I start to feel more in control.
Dallas’s scowl is firm, his eyes only briefly meeting mine before they shift to the man I’m about to spring away from.
I don’t finish the lyrics. But I wrap up the notes, letting the final chord fade. I barely have time to hop off the small riser they call a stage before the blur of motion.
