15
ROWAN
I’d never seen Tex like that before.
Not that I knew him much to begin with. But seeing him up there, under the flashing lights on stage, I didn’t see the biker that scared me anymore. I saw someone more.
The whole bar had quietened the moment he started playing, conversations softening into murmurs as the first low chords filled the room. His voice carried easily over the crowd, rough, steady, and somehow softer than I expected from a man who looked like he could, and would, snap bones with his bare hands.
I stood swaying, my drink forgotten in my hand.
Watching him.
Listening to him.
And suddenly everything inside me felt too big to hold.
The music wrapped around the room like something warm, and for a moment the noise of the bar faded away and all I could see was him—his fingers moving over the strings, his head tilted slightly toward the microphone, the faint crease between his brows when he hit a certain note.
My chest tightened and emotion crept up unexpectedly.
He was good, really good, and I couldn’t stop the smile from rising to my face.
Where the hell had this man come from?
There was a sadness to his singing. A deepness that whispered of hidden pain and maybe loneliness. His voice stirred something inside me and a chill ran down my spine, crawling across the skin on my arms.
I was feeling things I hadn’t felt before. Things I didn’t want to put a name to.
Because naming it would mean admitting that something was slowly happening between us.
When his final song ended, the bar erupted into applause and for a second, I just stood there, silent, mesmerized by everythinghim. Then I realized everyone else was cheering and I put my bottle down and lifted my hands and started clapping too, louder than anyone else.
“Woo!” I shouted.
Tex looked up from the stage and our eyes met again, like magnets that couldn’t look away from the other, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
He turned to talk to a man who came on stage, shaking his hand as he placed the guitar to one side. The jukebox began to play again, music filling the bar with one of my favorite songs, and yet nothing compared to the music Tex had just made.
Beside me, my friend Mark shook his head and I jumped, surprised because I hadn’t noticed him come over.
“You’ve got it bad,” he muttered.
I shot him a look. “Got what bad?”
“It. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t be coy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”
Mark grabbed my elbow gently and pulled me a few steps away from the stage, lowering his voice.
“Rowan, come on, what are you doing with him?”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You shouldn’t be getting involved with those guys. You know their reputation. You know they’re dangerous. The whole town knows what they’re like.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
