“We’ll be watching,” Waylynn says, and fuck, it does something to my gut. It could just be her word choice, or maybe it’s knowing her eyes will be on me, but I need to go before I do something stupid like try to kiss her when I don’t know if it will end my friendship with my best friends.
Once I’m in the back, I have about ten minutes to relax. I go over the songs I’m going to play and make sure I have my music. My fingers are already drumming on my thigh, moving to the melody in my head.
The door to the room swings open, and the same girl from the bar, Brittany, slides through the gap and puts her back to the door as if someone might be chasing her. Her face is a little red, and her eyes are wild. “I’ve never done this before,” she confesses while shaking her head.
“What are you doing?”
She pushes off the wall and saunters toward me. “I don’t know,” she says, but I’m pretty sure we both know exactly what she’s trying to do.
“You should go back with your friends,” I tell her before she reaches me.
“I’d rather be in here with you.”
“I’m not interested in hooking up,” I tell her, but she takes it the wrong way.
“I’d love to get to know you.”
“No, I’m not interested at all. I’m seeing someone.”
“I didn’t notice a ring.” She finally stops when she’s only a foot or so away from me.
“I never said I was married.” My eyes go to the door again when it swings open, and an employee pokes her head in. Her eyes roam over me and the girl, but she just says, “You’re on in a few minutes,” and then slips back out the door.
I stand up, fisting the neck of my cello. “You should get back to your friends,” I tell her again. I don’t know if she’s been drinking or just decided tonight was the night she would shoot her shot, but I’ve already told her more than once I’m not interested and that’s where it should have stopped.
“Want me to help you get ready?” She purposely looks down at my crotch.
“No. You need to go.” This is getting embarrassing for both of us. Instead of sticking around and waiting for her to listen to me, I walk right past her, out of the room, and into the hall. Being nice so people don’t talk shit does not extend that far. It’s bullshit that people believe they have full access to me because they think I’m available to them in some fucked-up way since I put myself out there with my music.
The excitement and adrenaline I usually experience before getting on stage is replaced with frustration. The same waitress who came to get me is on the stage, speaking to the smallish crowd in the bar. It’s a little busier than Sunday, but not packed. “We’re starting our show a little early tonight because we have something new for you. If you’ve been around, you might have heard him before, otherwise grab your drink and sit back, because he’s about to rock your world. Please welcome Bates and his cello.”
There are a few people clapping, and I bet I know what table is the loudest. Knowing they are here eases a little of the tension I was feeling, but when I take my seat, I still have to plaster a fake smile on my face. “Hey, guys, thanks for letting me play for you this evening.” That’s all I say before getting my cello seated, and then I draw the bow across the strings. Instead of starting with something slow to ease them into it, I throw myself into “Chop Suey” from System of a Down. It’s aggressive and complicated, and it will clear my mind from anything but the music.
I’m breathing heavily when I lower my arm with the bow. The crowd is eerily quiet for one second, and then it erupts into applause. My eyes go right to my table, where Waylynn is clapping so hard, her hands are going to hurt. I send her a wink, and her shoulders hunch up a little as she gives me a shy smile in return, waving her hands.
With my mind clear, I slip back into my planned set. I’m sweating when I take my first break. Memphis walks over to the stage with a glass I drain so quickly, it doesn’t even register as water until the final gulp.
I hop down off the stage, and several people in the bar migrate over to me. It’s like as soon as they see one person approaching, they all decide they should. I’m thankful for the support, but I could use a break. After saying thank you multiple times while edging my way over to the table, Memphis allows me to sit next to Waylynn, while he takes the seat on the end.
Most of the people ease away once I’m seated, but a few linger near the fringes. “You were amazing, even better than last time, but I don’t know how that’s possible.” Waylynn grins at me.
I get caught staring at her mouth for a second too long, but then I force my eyes up to hers. “Thank you,” I murmur, exhilarated and tired at the same time.
“I didn’t even know the things you did were possible, and your fingers move so fast.”
“I’m sure he’d love to give you a more personal demonstration some time.” Oz smirks at me. I have to admit I was thinking the same fucking thing.
“I’d love that,” she replies sweetly, while Memphis chuckles darkly, knowing we are not talking about the same thing she is. At least he’s not shutting the idea down. I need to get twenty minutes alone with him to talk about her before I get any more invested than I already am, but I’m feeling pretty fucking invested.
“How long before you have to go back up?” she questions, unknowing where my thoughts have gone.
“Fifteen minutes or so, and I need to use the bathroom before I do.” I glance around, hoping the waitress will come by. I really don’t want to walk up to the bar, and I need a drink.
“Thirsty?” Waylynn pushes over her full drink.
“If you care at all about the way the waitress is going to eye you when you order that next, don’t bother trying it, because you will want it again.” Oz holds up his matching glass before taking a sip and setting it back down next to an already empty glass.
“I don’t give a shit what they think. Are you sure?” I look to Waylynn for confirmation.
