I find my spot at the mic and take a deep breath as he backs toward the stairs, trying to center myself to read.
“There are people who we have to love, and others we choose to love, which begs the question: What, exactly, is love?”
The door of the bar opens. With the spotlight in my eyes, it’s all but impossible to see anyone’s face in the audience, but I pretend it’s Caiden as I recite the next few lines.
And then I know it is.
I keep going, but my focus isn’t on my words. It’s on him as he stalks slowly toward a table in the front, close enough to the stage that the lights glow in his stormy blue eyes. He lowers himself into a chair and his attention doesn’t stray, even when the waitress, Eva, comes to take his order.
Eva brings his drink just as I’m finishing. He gives her a nod as he starts to clap for me, a huge smile spreading across his strong face. The scores start to post as I make my way down the stairs to him. Mid to high nines. Pretty good scores for number three.
Caiden stands when I reach his table. “Sorry I was late. Got caught up at the library.”
I try not to care that my first thought is he was fucking the brunette. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. It has no bearing on whether he’s about to fuck me. I scrape my chair right up next to his, lift his drink, and down most of it in several large gulps. It burns going down and I can’t stop the grimace. “Let’s get out of here.”
He gives me a long look, then drains the last swallow in his glass and throws a twenty on the table as he stands, pulling my chair back for me. I take his hand and we weave through the tables to the door. Once we’re outside, I press up onto my tiptoes and kiss him. His arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me closer, deepening our kiss.
“That was about your family, wasn’t it?” he asks when our mouths part.
I nod. “My parents, really. My brother’s pretty amazing.”
“You were fucking incredible. How do you do that? Come up with that powerful shit and then just put it all out there for everyone to hear?”
I shrug. “It’s cheap therapy.”
A smile tugs at his mouth.
“So now you know all about my supremely dysfunctional family. What’s your deal?”
His smile is instantly gone. “Not much I really feel like talking about.”
I scowl at him. “You’re really going to shut down on me? After you just gave me props on putting all my shit out there for everyone to hear?”
“Not everyone has your courage,” he says, lowering his gaze.
I search his face. There’s more anger there than pain: the way the muscles of his jaw are bunched in his cheeks, the tightness around his eyes. “What if you turn it into a poem?” When he looks up with alarm in his eyes, I add, “Just for me.”
He takes a deep breath and holds it for a minute before blowing it out. “I think that’s harder than just telling you.”
I reach for his hand, threading my fingers through his and pulling him closer. “So, just tell me.”
He sandwiches my hand between both of his and watches his fingers fidget with mine. “Keri Cunningham was my first real girlfriend. She was popular, a cheerleader, beautiful; the whole package. She broke up with me a month before we graduated high school. We’d only been together for maybe four months, so in hindsight, it wasn’t really that big of a thing, but she broke my heart.”
He splays my hand open and starts tracing the lines of my palm, sending shivers through me. But he still won’t meet my gaze.
“I’d had this grand scheme to win her back at the graduation party by fighting off all the guys who tried to hit on her, because guys were always hitting on her.” His eyes lift to mine and he rolls them a little. “Thought I’d look like some kind of knight in shining armor for protecting her. Stupid, I know, but I was eighteen.” His gaze lowers again. “Anyway, when she hadn’t shown at the party by midnight, I finally gave up on her and went home. My mom was on the couch when I walked in. The TV was turned up full blast with one of those late-night infomercials. I thought she was just waiting up for me until I saw the mounds of tissues on the cushions around her.”