Page 8 of Staying in Clua

Scanning the interior of the bar, my gaze stops on each of the comfy-looking sofas. Disappointment sinking my good mood ever so slightly. He’s not here. Not that I really care obviously. I’m just checking, because—yeah—just checking.

“What’s your poison?” Laia climbs back onto her stool by the bar and gestures to the one next to her. “The Pink Monstrosities are tasty but lethal.” She wrinkles her nose and waves to the stunning blonde behind the bar. “Zi, when you get a sec.”

I slide my guitar off my shoulder and lean it against the bar between our knees. “I’d prefer a Jack and Coke if you’ve got it.” The intro to the Maroon 5 song Cold draws my attention to the small stage on the opposite side of the inside space. “Holy shit.” A stunned laugh escapes before I can reel it in. “Figures.”

Laughing blue-green eyes meet mine across the bar. A seriously sexy, gravel-filled voice doing things to the words of the song I’m not sure even Adam Levine could pull off.

“Got some competition.” Laia nudges my arm from where she’s spun on her stool to join me in watching.

The cab thief can sing.

“Do you know him?” I just manage to tear my gaze from his. On stage the man is almost hot enough to make me forgive him for his—well anything. I mean, I already thought he was hot this morning, and the presents on my table were a nice touch—you know—if you like that sort of thing. But that voice? I take a long sip of my drink as soon as it’s slid across the bar to me. It’s familiar fizzy sweet burn is more than welcome.

Mr. Fun Distraction just got way more interesting.

“Oh, yeah, that’s Sonnie.”

Sonnie. I attempt a subtle glance in his direction and am instantly busted with a knowing smirk.

And I can’t even bring myself to care.

He’s that good.

“Ladies.”

We both turn towards the deep voice.

Laia beams up at the guy she was with on the ferry yesterday. Felix, I assume.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles at her. With these two, I still can’t decide which way the balance is tipped.

“Look who came, Fee.” She shoots me an excited grin. “And she’s brought her guitar.”

“Your timing’s spot on.” His steady blue gaze moves to me. “The guy that was meant to be on after Sonnie just canceled. You can take his slot if you want?”

“I can do that.” I chew on the inside of my cheek and swivel to check out Sonnie as he finishes his song.

A table of women old enough to know better, squeal and catcall much to the amusement of the menfolk sitting with them.

My usual pre-gig nerves make themselves known with a little somersault in my tummy.

Even the most kick-ass of us get nervous, pretty girl.

My dad told me that before my very first gig when I was about five, in front of him and the rest of the band in a dodgy coffee shop along Route 65. I’ve heard them before every gig since.

I should probably call him tomorrow. Let him know I’m alive. The last time we spoke I was bitching about getting on the ferry and he was just about to head into some recording studio.

“You’re up, Stan.” Laia shifts her knees to the side so I can reach for my guitar. “Break a leg.”

I return her grin and hop off my stool. I’m not even sure what I’m planning on singing yet. The thousands of songs I know spin around my mind as I move between the low sofas and tables towards the stage where Sonnie is just climbing off after thanking the crowd and bowing dramatically to the women whistling at him from their table.

This place seems more pop than rock. I take in the clientele as I pass them. Definitely not rockers. Which is cool. I’m a lover of all genres.

I suck in a lungful of calming air when I reach the stage and the man leaning cross-legged against it. His just-the-right-blend-of-musk-spice-and-sweet scent almost ... almost makes me melt.

Any guy who takes the time to smell this good wins brownie points with me. Even if he did steal my cab.

He offers his hand when I reach the first of the three steps to the stage, a dimple creasing his stubbled cheek. “Glad you came.”

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