“Come on, come on,” I said, checking my phone. It was only midnight. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve hung around for at least two more hours until the bar officially closed, but not tonight.
Tonight, I was wound up so tight that I knew I’d have to reach into my bedside table for some help before I even had a chance at sleep. It was hard not to think about how unsatisfying my vibrator would be, especially knowing the real thing was so close.
The door behind me opened, letting in a burst of hot Texas summer air. I groaned when it didn’t close immediately, hating how humidity clung to my skin. As if sexual frustration wasn’t enough, now I had to deal with this? “Hey, buddy,” I said, turning around. “Mind keeping that door?—”
My words died when I noticed it was the band's lead singer. He opened the door so his crew could load their instruments inside a large, white trailer. “Shut?” he finished for me, smiling. He was tall, with dark hair plastered against his neck and a thick mustache. I couldn’t remember his name, but it was something Wilde. It was kinda dumb, but Cleo mentioned it was a stage name. They’d gone to school together. Seeing how many women were screaming it earlier, I guess it didn’t matter much. “Maybeif you weren’t standing so close to the band exit, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
I tapped my chin. “You make a good point. I’ll take it into consideration,” I said, returning his smile. I gestured toward the stage. “Y’all were great up there. It’s been a while since we’ve had a decent live band play.”
“Oh, that’s a damn shame. I got my big break up there. Couldn’t help but come back for the end.”
“The end?” I questioned. Don’t get me wrong, he gave one hell of a performance, but not one that screamed it was the end of his career.
He reached behind him, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’re taking a break for a bit, but I wanted to come back here for a final show. That was the deal. Kind of a full circle moment, ya know?”
“Now, that’s the real shame,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d definitely go to another concert if given the chance.”
The guy was hot; I’d give him that. What struck me as odd was how he didn't look the part despite his music being authentically country. I didn’t know what it was. His clothes fit the bill—jeans, boots, and a well-loved Brooks and Dunn t-shirt—but there was something about him in general that didn’t seem to match the persona he’d curated. It was like he thought just because he was from a small country town, he had to act the part, too.
The man smirked, pointing at me. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the barstool girl.”
I grimaced. “Barstool girl? That doesn’t sound very sexy or cool.”
“Ah, you’re right. I should’ve come up with something better.”
“I guess that’s why singers have songwriters,” I laughed. “You just have to have the voice to sing their words.”
He shifted on his feet. “I’ll have you know I write all my own?—”
“Hey Len, are you ready to?—”
Cleo walked up and came to an abrupt halt when she saw the man standing in front of us. They stood in silence, staring at one another in pure shock.
“Cleo?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I-Is that really you?”
My sister drew her shoulders back, clutching the strap of her purse tighter. “Lawson, right?” There was an edge to her tone I’d rarely heard her use.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he said, dipping his head. “It’s been?—”
Cleo cut him off, turning to me. “Are you ready to go? Bishop is waiting.”
I looked behind her, confused to see Bishop happily talking to the same man he had been earlier. “He’s talking, Cleo. He’s fine.”
“Okay, well, maybe I would like to go,” she said, averting her gaze.
There was a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, some kind of sister intuition that sensed something was wrong. “Yeah, of course,” I said, faking a smile as I turned back to Lawson. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Wait!” he called out, stepping forward once again. I looked down at Cleo, giving her the option to stay or go, but she shook her head. That was enough for me.
As Lawson tried to talk to Cleo, I put one arm around her shoulder and used the other to whistle at Bishop. He looked over, brows furrowed as I waved. “Let’s go!”
“Cleo, wait! Can we talk?” Lawson called out behind us.
“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk, asshole. Take the hint,” I said, pushing my sister through the front doors.
“I just need a moment?—”
I turned around, pushing Cleo behind me. She stumbled, catching herself on my waist. “Listen, dickwad, I don’t know why she doesn’t want to talk to you, and I don’t care. She. Said. No.” I enunciated each word, making sure to drive my point home.
