Page 57 of Dear Pink

I play an Eric Clapton song my dad always sang to my mom, “You Look Wonderful Tonight.”

The crowd jumps up, phones held high in the air with the flashlight app on, swaying to the music. The electric guitar guy edges beside me, singing backup and blending our harmonies. We weave the song around us and make the spectators fall in love with the music. The entire audience joins the performance, singing and raising their glasses. We own the stage.

I glance at the ceiling and send Libby silent gratitude.

We’re playing the refrain when I recognize him in the back of the room. Gabe’s eyes pierce mine. He grins from ear to ear, looking fiercely sexy in his dark jeans and a skin-tight black T-shirt. His hair hangs loose and disheveled in a just-had-sex kind of way. As if reading my mind, his gaze shifts to my body. I lick my lips and finish the song. The crowd goes wild.

I hug the electric guitar guy.

He squeezes me back and says, “Best open mic night yet.”

“Thank you. You made the songs extra special.” I jump off the stage, and the MC calls another name.

I drop my guitar at June and Maude’s table. “Thank you for coming.” I hug each of them.

“We’re proud of you. Your voice is beautiful,” June gushes.

“Give me a second. There’s a guy I have to see.”

“Go. Maude ordered another round of drinks.”

I roll my shoulders and gather more confidence as people congratulate me. Gabe pushes through the crowd to reach me, and that’s when the other shoe drops.

I stop walking and blink a few times. My eyes deceive me. Maybe stardom’s gone to my head? I blink one more time, and he’s still there, slung along the wall like an ad campaign.

Jack-in-the-Asshat.

He stands behind Gabe, but his cocky smirk is directed straight at me. He thinks I’m happy to see him. He assumes I bulldozed through the audience for him. But damn if he doesn’t look, oh, so hot. A pair of worn Levi’s slide over his ass, and a tight polo shirt shows off his muscles, which doubled in size since I last saw him. This ripped male specimen is no longer the lanky skater kid I loved in high school, but a solid man.

He steps in front of Gabe, pushing him away with a hand to his chest, and flashes me our signal.

We would tap our left cheek, a sign only the two of us knew, a sign that says I love you, or you’re the best, or at a party, get me the hell out of here. He does it, and my heart pangs. I stumble, but he catches me, setting my body upright. Our bodies stop less than an inch apart, his spearmint breath warm on my face when he bends to meet my eyes.

“Why are you here?” I stammer in a high-pitched voice I barely recognize. My racing heart betrays me, and I take a slow breath to calm myself. Gabe moves in closer, hovering behind Jack-Roach. He frowns and crosses his arms. I refocus on Jack-Hole. I can’t deal with Gabe right now.

“I’m so happy I ran into you,” Son-of-a-Jack says, stroking my bare arm.

“What? Why?” I snatch my arm away like his evil touch burned my skin.

“I’m in town visiting my parents. Didn’t realize you still played the guitar. Cool, babe.”

“Huh?” My head spins. What’s he doing here? Tonight? Is this a crazy-ass dream?

“Hannah, let’s go outside and talk.”

“Why?”

“I miss you. We were good together,” Adulterous-Jack says without shame. He draws me into him, crushing my body. We hug chest to chest, and his muscled stomach rubs against me. I inhale his minty scent. He smells like my childhood. I press a tiny bit into him, remembering how we felt together. My heart beats out of my ribcage, and I struggle to slow my breathing.

“I’m in town for a bit. You look hot. We should talk orya know.” He winks at me, the Shit-Jacker.

That gesture breaks the evil spell. My mind, heart, and body catch up simultaneously. This isn’t the boy I fell in love with at fifteen. This isn’t the boy who shared high school dreams with me, who rounded the bases innocently with me. This man isn’t the kindhearted boy who taught me to drive and came on family vacations. This is the dick he turned into. This is the Jack-Wack who went to art school and cheated on me.

Remembering how much I loathe him, I take three steps backward. “Yeah, no thanks.” This guy trampled my heart and pounded the pieces to sawdust.

Because my laser eyes stayed focused on Jack-Wad, I almost forgot about Gabe. His attention darts between me and Slither-Jack. Clearly, Mr. Fancy’s confused about the situation. Hell, I’m confused.

“Pink, you were fantastic on stage,” he says, ignoring Viral-Jack completely.

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