I should have freaking known.
Garrett set the case down on the stage and slowly and purposefully unhooked the latches to open the top. He pulled out the well-worn Taylor acoustic I recognized as the one he played at his house. His hand smoothed down the fret board lovingly as though this inanimate object meant more to him than anything else.
He hooked the guitar strap around his neck and under his arm before sitting on the stool and resting the instrument in his lap. He blew out a breath to move his blond hair out of his eyes. He put a pick between his teeth as he began to turn the tuning pegs.
“Playing without backup this evening?” I asked Mitch dryly, trying like crazy to disguise the uncomfortable thudding of my heart at seeing Garrett on the stage by himself and strangely vulnerable. He looked so much like that other Garrett from weeks ago. The one I had found so compelling.
Mitch’s eyes slid to me as he tried to assess whether I was being a bitch or not. It was an understandable confusion considering most of the time I was being just that. “He’s been playing here every month for years. He was doing it awhile before the rest of us figured out where he was disappearing to,” Cole piped up, answering my question.
Gracie clapped her hands and looked as though she were about to swoon as she watched Garrett tune his guitar. “Isn’t he amazing? Seriously Riley, he’s so awesome!” she remarked, patting my arm a little harder than she probably meant to in her zealousness.
“Wow, when did you become Garrett Bellows’ number one fan?” I asked sarcastically. Gracie was too drunk to notice how irritated I sounded, though my overly astute roommate picked up on it instantly and gave me a funny look.
“I just think he’s so freaking sexy. I mean look at him,” Gracie said breathlessly. She leaned in close and said in a loud whisper in an effort to be discreet and failing miserably. “I’ve been trying to get him between my legs for months. And I plan to seal the deal tonight.”
Ugh. I felt sick all over again. Though I had the consolation of knowing that Gracie and Garrett hadn’t slept together…yet. Though the exact reason I was pleased by that knowledge was a bit unclear in my deep pit of denial.
“I think the only thing you’ll be doing tonight is passing out and hoping you don’t choke on your own vomit,” I bit out angrily. Gracie giggled as though I had just made the funniest joke ever.
The soft strains of music caught my attention as Garrett began to strum a few chords. He pushed his hair back from his face and looked out into the crowd, finding our table and giving his friends a big grin. His smile lit up his face and made my breath catch in my throat. He pointed at his bandmates and made some gesture with his hand that the other three imitated, followed by a fresh round of yelling and cheering.
Without an introduction, Garrett began to play a song. It took me awhile to recognize it. Huh, he was playing an unplugged version of Soundgarden’s Black Hole Sun. And damned if his voice didn’t give Chris Cornell a run for his money. Garrett’s voice was melodic and pleasing to the ear with a slight rasp that gave his singing a raw edge. Why in the hell had Cole become the lead singer when Garrett had a voice like that?
After he finished that song he launched into an up tempo rendition of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb. It was weird but oddly catchy. I found my leg bobbing up and down in time to the music. I looked around the bar and saw that aside from our table, no one else seemed as entranced with the set as I was. Conversation carried on in spite of Garrett’s supreme talent. People were so freaking rude.