Page 13 of Mine

From the stage, behind the throng of strangers grinding and swaying and cheering.

It was her. Finally looking at me.

I knew it was her because I hadn’t been able to purge that woman from my mind over the last twenty-four hours.

Singing to strangers never made me nervous. But now, I was singing straight to her. My voice crooned, my callused fingers gliding over my guitar with ease born from years of practice. My gaze never left her. I couldn’t look away.

Her eyes never left mine, either. My heart stuttered in my chest, the song possessing me as I gave it everything I had.

I came to the end, using my pedal to suspend the final chord. I glanced over at Jack and he nodded, hitting a bass note that rolled smoothly into the next song, one everyone knew. Claps and cheers and whistles filled the venue, but I tuned it out, focusing on my guitar. On my voice. On the song.

Music was burned into the cells of my toxic, cursed blood. The buzz of it hummed through me as I sang. It was an addiction burning through me,ruiningme and everyone who heard it.

But I had a corruption kink. And this was where I felt most at home—turning a crowd of strangers into heathens and feeding off the energy like it was my lifeline. I liked their attention. I liked imagining that one day, we’d play a massive, sold-out venue. That I’d sing about fucking the person of my dreams and the entire world would be listening.

The rest of the set flew by. By the time it ended, my body was drenched in sweat from the stage lights. I thanked the crowd and unplugged my guitar.

Jack clapped my shoulder. “That was great, man,” he called.

“You did great.” I smiled at him, Tyler, and Eric.

A couple of screams startled us and I started to turn back, but Jack gave me a shove. “Get off stage man, they’re feral for you.”

I glanced back and realized I was being filmed by a few women in the front. Their boyfriends glowered at me, and I winked at them before heading off stage.

I needed water and food, especially since I never ate before a show. Even though I loved it, I sometimes felt sick from nerves.

Adam, the booking manager at Beaumont’s, waited in the back. I ducked my head to avoid the doorframe and took the three short steps down into the pit. The band playing after me was made up of three guys and a woman dressed in cowgirl boots and a glittery dress.

“That was hot,” she said as she passed by, her gaze sweeping over me. “You busy after the show?”

I smirked. Normally I’d say no, but I wasn’t interested in anyone but the coffee shop woman. “Yeah, I’m busy,” I said.

“Your loss.”

I watched her step on stage, offering nods to the band as they followed her out to set up.

Adam held out his hand as I walked up to him. “That was great, man.”

“Thanks,” I said. I shook his hand and reached for my guitar case, quickly packing away my prized possession. I was eager to leave now. “As always, loved playing here.”

Adam nodded as I rose back up, standing my guitar case on end and leaning against it.

He raised both brows. “You got people watching you. The kind of people who change lives. I think you’re going places, Salt. I’m glad you got a fucking band. They’re doing good.”

I was paying them well, so I hoped so. “Good. Thanks for that suggestion. Bigger venues are starting to reach out.”

“I bet. Always remember Beaumont’s though,” he chuckled. “Where you got your big break.”

“I haven’t broken anything yet.”

Adam laughed, and then winced when mic feedback reverberated through the venue. We both leaned back to glance at the stage.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

I smiled. “That’s why I liked playing alone. Now, I have to worry about that shit too.”

He rolled his eyes and then clapped my shoulder. “Good problems. I’ll see you next Friday. Now, go say hi to Daniel Park and his husband, Tommy. I also spotted the Rosethorn CEO, although I can’t remember her name to save my life. Something weird. They were all in the VIP area.”

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