EXCERPT:
Kade finished setting up his mic, then he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and curled his finger at me. “Come here, Miss Laney,” he beckoned in that Godlike voice.
I couldn’t hide my smile. I couldn’t even bring myself to demand he stop calling me Miss Laney. I kind of liked it.
“Is that an order?” I replied with a coy tilt of my head.
He cocked an eyebrow as he took his guitar into his hands. “It most certainly is. Now come here so I can show you something.”
I walked toward him slowly, drawing out the tension, allowing myself a moment to try to compose myself. “What do you want to show me?” I practically purred the question, and by the look on his face, this did not go unnoticed.
He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver fingerpick, which looked sort of like a thimble with a pointed edge. “Can you keep this in your pocket?” he asked, holding it out to me. “It tends to either poke me or fall out of my pocket while I’m seated on the stool. All you have to do is toss it to me when I give you the signal. I want you to be my pick girl tonight.”
“Your pick girl?” I replied. “You pick me to be your pick girl? Should I feel honored?”
“Absolutely,” he replied in that easy Southern drawl. “To be honest, I’ve never had a pick girl. But I think I might be ready for one. What do you say?”
I plucked the pick out of his hand and tucked it into my pocket. “I’m all yours.”
The crowd began filing in just as sounds of the band warming up downstairs began to quiver in the air. A few girls who could be described as prettier and skinnier than I cast flirtatious looks in Kade’s direction as he and one of the club’s sound engineer’s continued to test his guitar pedals and mic volume. But Kade didn’t seem to notice or care, which only served to bolster my crazy theory that maybe, just maybe, getting romantically involved with a musician wasn’t such a stupid idea.
I mentally capped off that statement with a winking emoji then turned my attention back to Kade and the way the red lighting only enhanced his devilish good looks. His golden-brown hair looked even messier and his brown eyes darker under the crimson shadows. He winked at me as I took a seat on my stool at the side of the staging area. The butterflies in my belly flapped their wings in frenzied delight.
He once again slung the guitar across his body and rolled up the sleeves on blue plaid shirt. The distant sounds of folksy acoustic guitar and haunting female vocals wafted up to us from the club downstairs, but the crowd in the gallery upstairs was absolutely silent, holding their breath as Kade finished rolling up his sleeves and leaned in toward the mic.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Austin.”
He issued this greeting in a subdued murmur, but the resounding applause and cheers from the crowd were anything but. He chuckled, throwing his head back as he appeared genuinely humbled by this reaction. Of course, this only called forth even louder cheers and more zealous applause. Kade hung his head to hide his uncontrollable grin as he shook his head in disbelief.
Who was this guy? Why did everyone seem to know him except me?
***
