Page 45 of Hard Rock Tease
"It's nothing," he said with a shake of his head. "Your beer's still waiting for you."
As we made our way to the bar, a handful of biker guys and punk rock types clapped me on the shoulder with nods and whistles. I couldn't help but grin. As nerve-wracking as it had been, it had also been kind of fun. I couldn't hate Noah too much for forcing me to take part in Walt's karaoke night.
We sat at the bar again. Noah handed me my half finished drink. He called Walt over for another beer. He took his own and chugged down a few gulps. I didn't know how many he'd already had, but his eyes were beginning to fog over.
Noah and I sat and drank and watched as various guys and girls went up and did their thing. Some weren't all that bad, actually. I found that I was actually enjoying myself. It was enough to help me unwind from the stress of trying to compose.
"Did you mean what you said up there?" Noah asked suddenly after a while.
"Mean what?"
"About my music helping you."
I nodded slowly. "I went through some hard times as a teenager."
"Your mom?" he guessed. "You said she was depressed."
My chest ached, like I was picking the scab off an old wound. I could practically feel the letter in my purse burning a hole through the leather.
"Yeah," I choked out. "My mom… it was tough." I left it at that. "When your debut album came out, it spoke to me. I felt like someone understood me. Understood the pain I was feeling, the stuff I was going through."
"I never really thought about my lyrics helping someone like that." Noah frowned into his beer. He glanced at me. His eyes were soft, almost unfocused. "Do you still feel that way? About me? About my lyrics?"
I thought for a moment.
"The man who wrote those lyrics doesn't always feel like the man I've gotten to know. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. Everyone uses art to express themselves. You put something of yourself in everything you write, even if you don't think you do. I think you're sort of amazing, actually."
He was silent for a moment before snorting. "I write words and I sing them. That's it. I'm not some god."
"I know."
"Do you? Sometimes, the way you look at me…" he trailed off.
"How do I look at you?" I whispered.
He shifted in his seat, leaning close to me. "Like I'm the only person on earth."
"When you sing, it's like you are."
Noah stared at me, his eyes zeroing in on my lips. I wet them unconsciously.
"You're so fucking tempting," he murmured.
He put his hand on my upper thigh, thumb mere inches away from my panties. My heartbeat sped up, heat pooling between my legs.
"We're in the middle of a bar," I protested weakly.
"There's always the back room." He narrowed his eyes at me.
I let out a shaky breath as I seriously contemplated it.
A cheer went up somewhere near the pool table, jotting me out of my haze. I ducked my head, pulling away. "As hot as it was, I don't think I want to do a repeat performance."
"I suppose you're right. I need a bed to fuck you properly." He brought his beer to his smirking lips and took another swig.
"Don't get too drunk," I warned him.
"Why?"
