Page 104 of On The Rocks

The murmurs increased as people started looking around.

A shadow moved across the stage and my heart pounded in my chest. Another spotlight came on and Griffin sat on a similar stool with a borrowed guitar in his arms. His smile was a bit bashful and yet he looked so perfectly right on that stool with that guitar.

“Hey,” he said softly into the microphone set up in front of him.

“Put your hands together for Griffin St. James from Reversal of Fortune.”

The murmurs became a chorus of gasps as the bodies in front of the stage multiplied.

Griffin tipped his head in thanks. “This wasn’t at all how I thought my night would go.”

Bridger laughed. “I’m just happy you said yes. And now I’m nervous since Griffin agreed to play ‘This Old Tattoo’ with me. Now, I’m no Marc Justice, but we’ll see what we can do.”

Griffin found me in the crowd and winked at me as his fingers quickly climbed the fret board as he plucked out the notes of a song from his first album. The rich acoustic tones settled low in my belly, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him.

Bridger’s deep baritone was like smoke over water as the song rose into the rafters of the club. When the chorus started, Griffin’s soulful voice layered right over Bridger’s as if they’d been doing it for years.

The crowd lit up with cell phone torch lights as the ballad resonated with every damn person there. I could barely take my eyes off Griffin, but I couldn’t help but look around at their reactions.

And Griffin, through it all, just closed his eyes as he pulled note after note from the battered acoustic.

When Bridger sang the last long notes of the song, it echoed through the room in silence before the whoops and cheers thundered back at them.

Bridger smiled. “Bucket list man, bucket list. One more?” he asked Griffin.

He nodded. “Can I call an audible?”

Bridger inclined his head. “We playing jukebox? Do I need to find my iPad?”

Griffin laughed. “If you don’t know this one, there’s no hope for you.” He slid his gaze over to me. “For my girl.”

“I’m On Fire” by Bruce Springsteen slowly rolled out of his guitar. The two men sang together as the lyrics carried through the room. The crowd was silent, knowing this was a moment.

I didn’t even have the wherewithal to video the moment, I just sat right inside of it.

Savoring every second.

As the soft notes of the end flowed, Griffin looked up and found me.

Hell.

Double hell.

Absolutely not.

I was not falling in love with this man.

I hopped off the speaker and moved into the crowd. Long white-blond hair flashed in my periphery and then an elbow slammed into my temple.

The flash of pain rocked me back on my heels. If the crowd hadn’t been as tight, I would have gone down.

“Oh my God.” A girl caught me, trying to get me back upright.

Another woman hooked an arm through mine. “Did you see that bitch?” she asked. “Some blond aimed right for you.”

“I hope you did, because I’m going to give her one right back—with a fist,” I snarled. I shook my head to clear it and then I was airborn. “Hey.”

“I got you.”

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