Hiding behind messy topknots and sweatpants mostly.
Maybe Leandra was right. She smiles and waves at me from across the room as she plops down at a table near the piano where Cassidy and Jaggerd are already sitting. I wave and they wave back but Jag looks strangely unsettled.
I sang at Dallas’s wedding but it’s not something I typically do unless it’s backup vocals. That night I saw Gavin for the first time in months, I was just messing around because the girls talked me into it. This was not what I pictured for my life, but I can finally see how Dallas did find some joy in performing solo. It’s like doing a trapeze act with no net.
Somehow my life has taken an abrupt left turn as of late.
I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Excited.
Scared.
Anxious as hell, really.
My eyes scan the room without my permission. I pretend I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know exactly who I’m hoping to see.
He’s probably busy working, Dixie, I tell myself. He may be getting off soon but he might not be leaving alone. His complicated blonde could be here.
I feel sick.
Nothing I try to console myself with is really helping matters much. I feel like all of my nerves have been stretched to their absolute breaking point and I’m on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.
A few minutes after I’ve stepped into the small backstage area, which apparently also doubles as storage for stacked cardboard boxes, someone closes in behind me.
“Hey there, Bluebird. Or should I call you Songbird now?” His breath tickles the back of my neck and the delicious heat shimmies down my spine.
“Gavin,” I say, turning to face him. “Heard there was a girl looking for you.”
His gaze doesn’t even waver. “Oh yeah? Too bad for her. I already found the girl I’m looking for.”
My nose scrunches, my unfailing tell that I am confused. “What’s with you these days, Mr. Smooth Pants? You sure are laying on the charm lately.”
“And here I thought I was just being nice.”
There’s something about the way he says the word that lulls me into a false sense of security. I feel like I’m being hypnotized by the seductive lilt to his voice, the liquid warmth in his eyes. It’s disorienting and mesmerizing.
“Nice isn’t really the word I’d use to describe you, Garrison.”
“And what word would you use?”
Being put on the spot so suddenly flusters me. I’m unprepared for this pop quiz. “I, um, I’m not—”
“I don’t want to distract you tonight. I’m looking forward to seeing you play, but if my being in the crowd will throw you off or something, I can—”
“Arrogant, Gav. That’s the word I’d use.” I smirk at him. “And don’t worry, I can perform just fine with you front and center.”
He appears to take my defiance as a challenge. He leans forward to whisper in my ear and it’s everything I can do not to melt into a puddle. “You sure? Be honest, Bluebird.”
Heat creeps up my neck and spread across my face. His voice lowers as he leans in closer.
“Tell me you don’t want me here and I’ll walk out the door right now. No questions asked.”
“I want you. Here,” I say, hearing the waver in my voice.
“Good. Because I want you, too.” He rests his forehead on mine. “Here,” he says, gently kissing me on the temple. “Here,” he breathes while brushing his lips down my jawline. “And a few other places not appropriate to place my mouth on in public. Unless you’re into that.”
My blood has turned to gasoline and Gavin Garrison has tossed a match on me.
“Gav,” I whisper, turning away shyly because we’re visible to the folks sitting at the front tables. “People can see us.”
One person specifically appears particularly disconcerted about our exchange. Jag’s normally handsome face is twisted into a mask of unadulterated disgust.