Page 41 of Rock the Chardonnay

“My dad’s here to tell Daughtry he loves her,” Alex says.

I rub the back of my neck. “Way to make me not sound like a stalker, Alex.”

“Thank the goddesses,” Selene replies. “She’s been miserable since we left Wisconsin. Come on in. Barns, let us through.”

Barns the bouncer grumbles and mostly keeps his opinions to himself as Alex and I pass him.

“Thank you,” I say, moving quickly to follow in Selene’s footsteps. It’s challenging, balancing the luggage in one hand and guiding Alex with the other. What kind of parent brings his nine-year-old to a crowded Nashville bar? The entire place smells like stale beer and spilled whiskey.

“Why is the floor sticky?” Alex says, not bothering to lower his voice. It’s a good thing, because I wouldn’t have been able to hear him in the quiet din of the busy bar.

“Don’t ask. And never tell your mother about this.”

“I don’t think she’ll care. We went to this pub in London when I visited her last year. This place smells better. I don’t like mushy peas.”

Parental pride blossoms in my chest. It mingles with the anxiety over seeing Daughtry, so all I end up with is an acidic, nauseous sensation.

Knocking her drumsticks together, Selene leads us to an empty two-top with a small sign on it saying reserved. “We leave it in case family shows. And here you are. Enjoy.” She winks at Alex. “I won’t tell Daughtry. This is the best kind of surprise.”

Alex perches on his stool, while I collapse against mine. The adrenaline from the day has left me feeling woozy. Hopefully I haven’t gotten sick from the plane ride.

“Can I get a ginger ale?” Alex asks me, looking through the menu on the table.

A waitress in skin-tight jeans and a halter midi top approaches, and I order Alex’s soda and a coffee for me.

“Want a free whiskey back, darlin’?” Her twang reminds me we’re no longer in Wisconsin. “We’ve got a good local one.”

“I’m all right. Thank you,” I reply. I don’t need a hangover on top of whatever the hell it is I’m feeling right now.

Alex’s feet bounce against the metal rods of the stool. I open my mouth to tell him to keep still, and act like a respectable person who was not raised in a carnival, but the house lights dim, and the emcee, a short and thin dark brown-skinned man steps to the microphone. He has on a bright red shirt that looks like snakeskin.

“Evening, all! We have quite the lineup for you tonight. Remember. If you like what you hear, clap loud, cheer, and tip your waitresses. Those ladies work hard. Without any further ado, please welcome…Daughtry!”

My heart drops onto the floor, to be trampled by muddy cowboy boots and covered in peanut shells.

Daughtry steps on stage, looking—to put it mildly—fucking amazing. She wears a white and silver A-line dress that flares over her hips, the bodice clinging to the curves of her breasts. All it makes me think of was that little jeweled barbell on her right nipple. What if she’s pierced the other one in the last few weeks?

“Good evening, everyone!” Daughtry says, her voice a little too bright. “So happy to vibe with you tonight.”

My cock throbs in my pants, like she’s its North Star.

“She looks great. Right, Dad?” Alex asks. The waitress drops off our drinks.

I say something along the lines of “Mbleiddiddypopcorn.”

Alex simply laughs and sips his ginger ale.

Unsure what to do with my hands—because I can’t jerk off in front of everyone in the bar, no matter how badly I want to at that moment—I go for the coffee cup. It’s too hot, and scalds my palms.

“Ow fuck,” I say, biting off the scream before I draw attention to myself. “Alex, I didn’t say that.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, unconvinced.

Unfortunately, my little outburst is louder than I anticipated, because when I look up at the stage, Daughtry stares right back at me.

CHAPTER 22

Daughtry

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