Page 7 of Elusion

She comes back inside, almost causing me to miss the transition to our next song.

Two more to go.

Not staying anywhere long, she wanders around the party. It makes tracking her a full-time job. On her way past, her eyes finally connect with mine. I nod, completing both steps one and two. As she rounds the corner and heads up the stairs, we start our last song. The same song we’re playing when she descends and walks out the door, wearing her coat.

Shit.

The remaining two minutes of the set might as well last an hour. I cut the final note short, rip off my strap, and lean my guitar against my amp. Benji says something, but I jump off the stage and push my way through the people.

I stop short when someone steps in front of me. Petite Blonde, who I forgot about until now.

“I thought I recognized you yesterday,” she says.

“Uh.” I wonder how many people would notice if I shoved her out of my way. Too many probably. “You know, I should really—”

“Well, if you ask me again, I won’t say no.”

Persistent—one of my favorite qualities in a woman … until this very second.

“Oh, well, that was just a friendly reminder to always stay aware of your surroundings when walking alone.” I have no idea what the hell I’m prattling on about, but it sounds legitimate. “Anytime someone you don’t know approaches you, please be prepared to use pepper spray, a whistle, or to utilize self-defense.”

My impromptu security speech wraps up as Johnny turns on music to play during our break. The pounding bass provides a distraction, and I slip around a now-confused blonde.

The screen door swings open when I bolt out, banging against the house and back shut. Callie only has a few minutes on me. A cab takes longer, and she wouldn’t have made it far on foot. I stop at the end of the sidewalk, clasping my hands behind my head, and scan up and down the street.

Nothing. Nowhere. Gone.

I let out my frustrations through multiple syllables’ worth of obscenities. Once again, the girl has derailed me. My arms drop to my sides on my way back to the porch, but the disappointment only lasts until I reach the steps. A body leans over the banister—big, round eyes watching me.

“Callie Henders,” I say with a smile.

So much for my questions-only tactic.

“Too many clothes on to enjoy a run?” she asks.

At least she’s talking this time. Better yet, she’s asking questions, which require answers and guarantee a more extensive conversation.

“Actually, I spotted a red coat leaving and hoped to catch it.”

“No redcoats,” she says, not missing a beat. “But Paul Revere rode through a few minutes ago.”

“Clever girl.”

I hop up onto the banister, close enough to her that I catch the scent of coconut. She doesn’t move away when my leg brushes her arm. A positive sign.

“Shouldn’t you match the rest of your band with a pink hat?” She’s so much better at questions than I am.

“I’ve experienced the real thing. A cheap replica will never do it for me now.”

“I told you to keep it.” She hands me her hat from her coat pocket, and I brush my fingertips over her hand while taking it. “It’s the least I can do, considering the picture.”

I jump down, pulling it on, and lean next to her. “I think you owe me something else, too.” The comment sounds more suggestive than I intended, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Which do you prefer, dogs or cats?”

She relaxes back on the banister. “I’m also more of a dog person, but I like some cats.”

“Music preference?”

---