Page 184 of Unexpected Ever After

“I get it. My chiropractor is hot as fuck. Like, hotter than Zeke.” Tarrah bites her lip as her eyes gloss over with nostalgia.

And the jitters in my nerves subside as we settle into who’s hotter—Zeke or the guy she just met, Lincoln. The conclusion? She’s going to have to sleep with Lincoln in order to make the final call.

“Fair enough.” Micah shrugs.

“Just remember that you’ll be screaming an ancient president’s name in bed, though,” I tease.

As we laugh, the woman’s raspy voice echoes through the mic as she thanks the crowd for being “rowdy as hell tonight.”

Which means Elijah is about to take her place.

Why is my lower belly suddenly on fire?

The moment Elijah steps onto the stage, one black boot in front of the other and damp hair curling across his forehead, the crowd erupts like a rocket launch.

But the cheers are instantly muffled by the rapid thundering of my heart in my ears.

I knew I’d be watching him live. That I’d hear his gruff voice sing the kind of songs I’ve listened to on repeat for years. I even told myself I’d behave—and make sure I don’t need another pair of panties after mine combust, as he suggested this morning.

I tried to remind myself of my new roommate’s annoying habits: leaving cigarette butts in the ceramic bowl I made myself, hiding the remote, and donning a quiet smirk at all times of the day like an accessory.

Before I left the apartment, I had an even longer list of nuisances, but my brain has officially stopped working.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for this.

Elijah sings the first few low notes of a haunting and heart-pounding song.

His pale pink lips brush against the microphone, which sways on the stand each time he grabs it. He only lets go to strum his guitar, although that doesn’t quite capture it.

He doesn’t just strum the instrument.

Elijah smoothly plucks the chords from the strings with care and love, and he does so with seemingly little effort.

It’s remarkable… and hot. Very hot.

The man on stage is so different from the one who’s been invading my space over the last few days. Right now, he’s not the brooding roommate I’ve tiptoed around just to avoid feeling his intense and curious gaze on me. Every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s cracking me open, and the vulnerable truths inside just spill out.

I’ve told this guy so much.

The rock star god now rushes toward the drummer, hikes a bent leg up, and taps his foot to the beat of the bass. Elijah’s tongue slips out as he holds the final chord, and I find myself licking my lips.

“How about we get a little more comfortable in here?” He winks at the women in the front row as he untangles himself from the guitar, then reaches behind his neck and pulls his soaked shirt off.

I almost swallow my tongue.

Plenty of shirtless images of Elijah litter the internet, and it’s not the first time he’s paraded in front of me that way, either. But none of those compare to the real show like this.

Everything about him—his singing, guitar skills, and abs—is better in person.

“My brother is such a fucking show-off,” Tarrah grumbles next to me. “This is why I’ve never invited you two out for his shows. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Totally. He’s showing off all right, and those tattooed muscles are…”

“What?”

I tear my gaze away from Elijah and stare into my friend’s confused expression. “I, um…”

And a vacuum of guilt inside my throat steals any defense that might save me.

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