Killing Me Softly(A Broken Souls Series)

There’s a large crowd gathered around the coffee station. I can tell the baristas are overwhelmed with orders, so I stand quietly before placing my order. Tate has started another song, this one from Oklahoma native, Garth Brooks. Not being zoned into his playing is helping my insides calm down before I have to face, Bethany, and her gushing over Tate. Once the barista looks caught up, I place my order. I have only two orders up before mine is ready. The music stops and the energy in the room shifts. He must be finished with his set. Thank God!

Out of nowhere, there’s tons of people surrounding the small coffee section. I scoot forward, closer to the pick-up area to stay out of the way. From behind, a whisper in my ear startles me and I jump.

“I recognize you,” he whispers. HE WHISPERED IN MY EAR! “Small world.”

He’s so close behind me, I catch myself before I lean back into him. The heat coming from his body is sobering as it penetrates through my clothes. God! I need a drink! Turning around, the grin on his face throws me off my center and I put my hand on the bar to keep me upright. His hand comes out and he grabs my elbow. God, why does he keep touching me? “Do I know you?” I blurt out in my attempt at being dumb.

“Either you have a twin and your male friend with you has a twin, or you work in the mall. You’ve actually seen my ass and it was fantasy worthy.”

Don’t laugh! “Your ass was fantasy worthy for me, or did me seeing your ass fulfill your own fantasy? You’re the rash guy who walked out without his refund.”

“I think it was a little of both,” he flashes that damn crooked grin at me. I bet he thinks he’s going to melt my panties off with that smoldering look. “I’m Tate,” he holds his hand out to me to shake.

Absently, I accept his hand and shake it, “I’m Holland.”

His black t-shirt is tight enough across his muscular chest that I can see the perfect outline of his pecs. The strap of his guitar has the Harley Davidson logo in bright orange against the black of the strap. The guitar is pulled up to his back and I can’t help wondering what it feels like to have a guitar on my back like a turtle’s shell. I wonder if he rides a motorcycle. I dated a guy in high school who rode a crotch rocket and he drove like a maniac everywhere we went.

“Nice name, have you been here before?” Tate asks.

“I have, it’s been a while. You have a lot of fans in the audience, do you play here often?” The barista calls my name and I add a packet of sugar to my latte.

He grins without showing his teeth. “I’ve played here a couple of times. Everyone’s been great to me here so I keep coming back. This is the coolest bookstore with a phenomenal clientele. Hey, I’ve got to go back on in a few minutes. Can I come over and visit you when I’m finished?”

“Ah, sure,” I stammer. Bethany is going to kill me.

“See you then,” he says and walks away pulling his guitar around in front of him.

“See you.” As I get back to the table, Sam and Bethany are deep in conversation.

Bethany leans over and asks, “What was he saying to you?”

“Nothing really, he’s been in my store before. Do you remember him, Sam? He’s the guy who came in for a refund and had the rash on his butt?”

Bethany’s hand slaps the table hard enough to make the table wobble. “It didn’t appear to be nothing.”

“He said he wanted to come over and sit with us when he’s done. I’m not interested in him, Bethany. I’m not trying to move in on your guy,” I say sheepishly. The last thing I want to happen is a fight with the only girl who wants to be my friend.

She looks at me surprised and with a grin she reached over and patted my arm. “Girl, we’ve been dying to get you two together! When Sam and I were in here before he recognized him and said sparks were flying when he came into your store. We knew you wouldn’t come up here if you knew, so we kind of tricked you.” Bethany admits and for a split second, I’m pissed off, but they’re right, I wouldn’t have come.

“Sam, you knew this the whole time?” I glance at him and he’s grinning from ear to ear.

He holds up his beer and says, “To friends.”

That means I don’t have to feel guilty about him flirting with me.

“You saw his bum?” Bethany blurts out. “I pray it looks as good as it does in those jeans he has on. He should call them his bootie jeans. You’re not too mad at us are you?”

I hate being tricked. A part of me wants to storm out and be pissy, another part of me wants to jump for joy. “I’m not mad, but I’m paying you both back!” I hold up my latte and say, “Game on.”

Tate walks up on the stage and takes the microphone with his hands, he’s confident as he peers out to the crowd. “Hello folks, I’m Tate Cook and this is a little song you might know by Johnny Cash.” The crowd goes insane with applause. I only know the songs because they’re from my favorite movie, Walk the Line. His eyes check the audience before he settles his gaze on me. I’d never heard an acoustic version of Ring of Fire, but my heart starts pounding as he never averted his eyes.

“Oh shit Holland, he’s singing it to you,” Bethany bumps me as she whispers in my ear. “You need to jump on that before someone else snags him up.” She shrugs her shoulders, “Just sayin’.”

No matter how hard I try, I’m rendered useless and can’t break the connection we’re having in front of all these people. As he finishes the song not only does everyone clap, but people are leaning over and telling me that my boyfriend is awesome. Boyfriend? No, he’ll spend five minutes at my table and find a crazy excuse to leave and I’ll never see him again. I turn back toward the stage and he’s moved a stool out to sit down. He’s pulling the mic stand until the mic is right at his mouth. He rests the guitar on his leg and starts singing Losing My Way, and tapping his thumb on the black guitar. The lyrics are scary and he’s singing them with conviction. This time, he doesn’t look my direction, instead he focuses on his guitar. The crowd snaps in rhythm of every thumping sound he makes. He sings the last lyric and the crowd jumps to their feet and give him a much deserved ovation. He’s not a regular guy, there’s something more to him. How I know it, I don’t know, but I do.

Sam jumps up to get another beer and to talk to a girl who was flirting with him a while ago. No one else will sing for another hour and the first guy will be back to sing. Bethany is telling me about her sister’s invention to lock your bedroom door with the clap of your hands and I’m wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. How do I go from self-sufficient control freak to a nervous groupie? From behind, someone has put their hand on the back of my chair and my jittery nerves cause me to jump a foot out of my chair.

Tate and Bethany laugh like old friends as he sits down in the chair to my left. The square table is pub sized, barely large enough for our drinks so I hold the book in my lap so it won’t get wet. There’s something familiar about him and this moment. His presence depletes the oxygen from my lungs making it difficult not to breathe.

“You were really good, Tate. Do you know what you’re going to sing before you go on stage?” Bethany asks in her breezy easy going way.

“Not always. I change it up for the crowd. Some of the songs are crowd favorites others aren’t. This crowd is eclectic and they were easy to entertain with both super old songs and newer ones. Some crowds only like one or the other, making it hard to know until you do a song and it flops,” Tate says as he makes a quarter weave between his fingers. My eyes are drawn to his hand, his nails are short but clean, he’s tan so he likes to be outside. He doesn’t have a lot of hair on his hand, why this is something I notice is beyond me.