Page 71 of Thorns That Bloom
I can barely see straight as Max and I walk off to the side of the stage. A more popular band, the Silver Diggers, is already preparing to perform after us.
“That him?” Max asks, cocking one brow. I can hardly hear him over the noise. “The pregnant one?”
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, fighting the urge to look for Sam again. “Thanks for the assistance. You were great.” Or so I think. I didn’t really pay attention.
He makes a ‘don’t mention it’ kind of huff and gives me a brief side hug while patting my back. “No wonder you needed the performance. Pfff…”
“It’s not mine,” I mutter, giving him a chastising grimace, but then…I realize the discomfort pulsing in me at those words. The dull pain echoes back from somewhere deep inside. When I look at Sam, I don’t think of him as mine, and I don’t think of the child in his belly as mine or not mine. But…I do love her as much as I love him. As much as if she were mine.
I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.
After briefly chatting with the upcoming band and some familiar faces that come up to check up on me, I notice Sam standing by the bar. He raises two glasses, each in one hand, and jerks his head, indicating for me to come with him.
We go sit down on the other side of the establishment. In the corner, behind the bar, where the noise from the stage isn’t as overwhelming.
Sam puts two Mojitos between us. I raise an eyebrow. “They’re virgin,” he says with a smirk, hand resting on his belly. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted the proper one, so I got two. Though you definitely deserve a real one.”
I smile, looking down so he doesn’t see the way my cheeks must be turning red. I was fine onstage, compared to now, when it’s like I’m sitting right across from the burning star that he is. “Did you like it?” I ask, my voice low.
Sam chuckles. “I’d say it was above average.”
Wide-eyed, I shoot my head up and quickly realize how easily I’ve fallen into his trap. Sinking in my chair with a disgruntled grumble while he grins at me, I sip on the mocktail.
“I’m sorry. No, it was beautiful. Really. I’m not usually one to appreciate music or look very deeply into the meaning of songs. Probably not as much as you do. And it might be just the pregnancy hormones, but your performance did move me.”
Hearing him say that is like a soft caress against my soul. I exhale to ground myself before meeting his eyes again, unsure if I’d be able to keep my emotions and pheromones in check if I didn’t.
He plays with the paper straw between his teeth, studying me.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say.
“Have you always enjoyed singing?”
I nod. “When I was little, I used to perform in front of my parents. My sister and I would do reenactments of those talent competitions. Of course, I’d always win,” I admit with a chuckle.Gail would get so mad. “And my pop says I’ve been babbling as soon as I had the mind to. That I chattered in my crib and wouldn’t let my sister fall asleep.”
Sam looks down at his stomach with a fond smile, no doubt imagining what his baby will be like. I can’t wait to see that, either.
“I was always quiet, apparently. Unless it came to getting dressed and going out. I’d get plenty talkative then.”
“Ha… Yeah, I used to be really nervous about performing in front of strangers at the beginning. I’d get the shakes, throw up sometimes. All of it. But then it just…went away. I don’t know why or how.”
Sam tilts his head slightly, something playful swirling in his eyes. “I imagine it might’ve had something to do with you getting older, and realizing how people in the audience certainly appreciated much more than just your voice,” he says in a sing-songy tone. “A handsome young man with an angelic voice to match… Can’t be hard to win the toughest of audiences.”
His voice, both prudent and flirty, sends shivers down my spine. A few zaps of excitement go through my crotch, too.
“You keep saying that,” I mutter.
“What?”
“That I’m young. Like when you said I should be seeing people ‘my age’. You know, I really don’t think we’re as far apart in age as you make it out to be.”
Sam leans back, hand resting on the rim of his glass. His brows shift with interest, and his luscious lips purse playfully. “My apologies. You feel very young at heart.”
“In a good way?” I ask tentatively.
“In a good way.”
“So…how old are you?”
