“Can I grab a Makers Mark and coke?” There is a very real possibility that she will bat those long lashes at me before flat out refusing me service.
“Slater, How much have you had today?”
Fucking Jaxon got to her.
“Jewels, give me a drink. The girl playing tonight is my girl, and I can’t see her without a drink in my hand. Be a friend? Be a pal. You look so pretty.”
She rolls her eyes and smirks. “You can have three drinks tonight. This is number one.” She dips to grab a glass and gets to work pouring me a Mark and coke. “And I’ll make sure all the other bar staff know.”
“Thank you,” I say, clapping my hands together. “You’re a goddess.” I turn and lean my back on the bar, gauging the room, looking through the crowd for one of the lads.
For Blesk.
“Slater!” Someone yells from a distance, right when I seeher.Blesk is walking out onto the small stage. She sits down with her guitar on her lap and starts tuning.
Fuuuuck...
I drink her in. That dress… I look at the crowd, at the men also noticingthatdress. Is that the kind of shit Blesk has been wearing this whole time?
She is perfect.
And I despise all the eyeballs on her. I swear if I looked up the word 'perfect' in the dictionary, I wouldn’t get a fucking picture, because it isn’t a fucking picture book, but I’d get do a detailed description of Blesk.
Perfect: Adjective. PUR-fikt. Blesk…
My eyes lap her dress, taking in the short length, but innocent flowy style, and my heart pounds against my ribcage. I take a gulp of bourbon.
I like that dress.
And I hate it.
She presses her naked thighs together as she sets the guitar on her lap, tuning it with long slender fingers. I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her, so now I should just leave. But I can’t.
Won’t.
She removes a black piece of pipe from her case and attaches it to her guitar. Adjusting it, she positions the frame until it sits just in front of her mouth. She pulls something from her bag and fits it into the cradle.
My harmonica.
Maybe that is what she has been doing this whole time.
Thinking of me?
And learning how to play the harmonica.
“Hi, my name is Blesk Bellamy, and this song is called ‘Without You’.” She takes a deep breath. Her fingers begin to move on the strings. I can tell she’s nervous when her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip. I shuffle my feet apart.
She moves her mouth to the harmonica, her brows furrowing in concentration as she blows through the channels. Her nervous tension becomes my own, and I try to ignore the way it’s like I’m up there with her.
The harmonica’s music fills the spaces that aren’t filled with her voice. God only knows how she manages her breathing like that.
“Time’s worth nothing without you.” I repeat the last line of the chorus in my head—hopefully.
Not just fucking friends, Blesk.
She plays a few covers before ending on my favourite—"Hero Boy". She plays it, and every chord rushes the entire length of my veins. I really listen this time…
Every line takes me back.
