“Oh, a new one!” Canary Hair shrieked, her voice loud enough for people to turn their heads. Jamie glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at Clayton, pointing to Canary Hairas the culprit.
She turned to Beau and ordered a tequila shot, her favorite late-night poison—no lime, of course—but she turned toward the stage before he finished pouring.
No, it isn’t!
“Congratulations are in order . . .” Clayton began to sing.
“Fuck, that’s my song!” Jamie said to no one in particular.
“Language!” Canary Hair scolded, her pruned brow frowning.
“There’s no law against swearing—First Amendment,” Jamie replied, then slid off the stool and marched toward him. There was an empty seat beside Clayton with her name on it. She’d showhimhow it was done by singing her song, even if she wasn’t welcome.
When their eyes locked Clayton stopped singing but continued strumming his guitar. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Miss Jamie Keaton!”
A few people clapped but most didn’t, so she quickly sat before the crowd turned on her. The audience was seated so close to the stage she could have reached out and touched them, but it was too late to turn back, even if she wanted to.
“Should we take it from the top?” Clayton asked. She nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling through her nose.
Jamie sang the first verse alone while Clayton joined in during the “I Did a Good Job of Drinking” part. They exchanged verses and harmonized during the chorus, with the audience singing along. He played it slowly and with a country feel—she could have killed him without a twinge of guilt. It was supposed to be a rock song with pyrotechnics blowing up in the background and a guitar solo.
When the song ended at midnight, Hawaiian Shirt returned to the microphone and thanked everyone for coming out.
“Thanks, that was fun,” Clayton said to Jamie with a smile. “Why don’t you stay and have another drink with me?”
It took every last ounce of sobriety she had in her not to rip him a new asshole.
“I’ve got a session in the morning,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Rain check?”
She nodded and walked to the bar, where Beau had lined up six shots of tequila—three on each side. They clinked glasses and downed one shot after another, skipping the salt and lime.
Beau picked up the empty glasses and leaned across the bar. “Can I get your number?”
A.k.a., want to fuck?
But she couldn’t, even though she wanted to. It was only a matter of time before Derrick came crawling back with some big apology, and she wasn’t a cheater.
“Another time,” she said, letting him down easy. She mimed writing her signature. “Just my bill, please.”
“Oh, Clayton put it on his tab.”
She repeated herself. “My bill, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Get me out of this town.
CHAPTER 6
CLAYTON
Nolan parked his truck in front of the Bluebird and hollered out the window, “Clay! Jamie just left. I offered her a ride but she jumped into an Uber.”
Clayton tossed his guitar into the truck’s cab before climbing in. “She sang my new song with me then up and skedaddled,” he drawled, waving his hand dismissively. Given the crowd’s reaction, he couldn’t believe she’d left without saying goodbye. He’d felt this way only once before; the song was sure to be a hit single.
“She seemed kind of angry,” Nolan noted.
