Page 6 of Everything I Crave

Fuck. “No, just here to listen tonight.”

“But youhaveto sing something! It’s open mic tonight and you’re here!” One of her friends demands, spinning around in a circle with her arms like this bar is special to me.

I can see I’m not getting out of this. “Ok, I’ll do one. What do you want?” I say as I sling back the rest of my drink.

“The cover you just did.” They all nod in agreement with broad smiles.

What they don’t know is that I recorded that months ago. I haven’t sung or picked up my guitar since leaving Nashville. It’s too painful to remind myself of the dreams I’ll never see come true.

I walk over to the guy running Open Mic Night, at least I think I walk. All the shots are starting to hit me now that I’ve stood up from my stool.

He lets me know I can go up next.

I groan out a thanks and wait by the stage.

The thought of touching the guitar brings on nothing but bad memories, and worse emotions.

The girls bring a shot for me and ask if I could take it with them. Since I was put on a shot ban by the sexy owner, I happily agree, shooting the sugary pink shot with the five girls.

Before I know it, I’ve been up here singing for an hour with a borrowed guitar, and they’re closing down the bar. I don’t even know how many shots those girls brought me, but my head is spinning and I can’t quite figure out where the step is to get off the stage in the corner of the patio.

I take a risk and step where I think I need to before the sensation of falling sets in.

Shit. This is going to hurt.

As soon as I have that thought, I am already smashing into a hard chest, and big, warm hands wrap around my waist.

“Not fucking again,” the body whispers to himself. “Seems we keep meeting like this, Willow Harper.”

I stare up to find the deep blue eyes of Gunnar Keaton staring into mine. But he is not smiling like I am.

“Sssure dooo.” I stumble to stand. “You’re so frigin’ hot,” I let my eyes roam his body. His dark jeans, and black tee with cream lettering that says ‘The Bar’ on the front must be the uniform. But somehow he looks way hotter than any of his bartenders. His biceps look like they’re about to bust that tee open.

“Listen, I can’t leave right now, you got a ride or someone to walk you home?” he asks.

I lie, I don’t know why. I don’t have anyone. “Yea, Ade is coming to get me.”

He walks me to the front door and sets me on the bench outside to wait for her.

“Can I just stay?” I ask before he leaves.

“No, darling. You should get home, sleep it off,” he answers flatly.

“Rhett is more fun,” I pout.

“Who the hell is Rhett?” He stares at me waiting for my answer.

“My bestie who owns the bar in Nashville below my apartment.” I notice the tick in his jaw. “He’s my gay bestie. His husband owns the bar. They always let me stay.”

“I’d gamble to say you weren’t trying to numb the pain away in their bar. Call Addy. I know you didn’t call her before.” He walks back into the bar leaving me outside, slumped on the bench after hearing his name called from somewhere inside.

I pull out my phone to call Adelaide, but my eyelids are so heavy. Maybe I’ll just close them for a few minutes here before I do.

Chapter Four

Gunnar

I open the door to go get the trash bags from out front and by the patio exits. I assume I’ll be doing so alone since it’s almost two in the morning and I sent my staff home an hour ago. I’m surprised when I hear a familiar voice pleading with someone on the phone. Of course it’s on speaker for all the world to hear.

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