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Felicity is the most adorable baby in the entire world, and anyone too stupid to see that isn’t someone worthy of my time or affection.
Yeah, deep down I realize he was talking about babies, in general, not Felicity, in particular, but recalling the nauseous look on his face when I asked him to hold Felicity while I fetched her diaper bag from my trunk always helps ease my guilt about failing to respond to his texts.
“Later,” I mumble, turning my phone off and slipping it into my purse.
I’m going to have to hit Brian with a truth bomb sooner or later—since he seems incapable of taking a hint—but not tonight. Tonight, I need to focus on nailing this audition.
With one final look in the mirror and a deep breath, I head for the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m stepping into The Horse and Rider…the very dark and quiet Horse and Rider.
The bar is empty and so silent it’s a little creepy. The single row of red lights burning around the edge of the stage adds to the creep factor, bathing the dance floor in a spooky light that reminds me of a horror movie.
I pause near the door, fishing my phone from my purse to check the time and double-check that Seth said eight o’clock in his text.
He did. And it’s only ten minutes until eight.
Where the heck is everyone?
“Hello?” I call out, my voice nervous and thin in the cavernous space. “Is anyone here?”
“Hey! Come on in!” Seth’s muffled voice comes from behind the stage curtains. “Just looking for the lights.”
My chest loosens with relief. “All right. Great. Sorry I’m early!”
“No worries. Just take a seat at the bar and I’ll be out in a second.”
I cross to the bar, my eyes adjusting to the darkness enough that I locate a shiny black stool without a problem. I set my purse on the scarred wood and perch on the stool, nervously crossing and uncrossing my legs.
I feel all jittery inside, and there are goose bumps rising on my arms even though it isn’t much cooler in here than it is outside. Clearly, the air-conditioning has been off for most of the day, which is normal, I guess. It’s Sunday. The bar is closed. Why would they have the air running?
Still, something feels…off.
I tell myself it’s just audition anxiety and force a smile as the white stage lights flare on, and Seth emerges from behind the curtains.
“Hey, there you are,” he says, grinning as he jumps off the edge of the stage, landing with a smooth bend of his muscled legs.
Seth isn’t much taller than I am—maybe five-eight to my five-seven—but he’s thick all over, with bulgy, muscled arms from drumming, a barrel chest that reminds me of my friend Laney’s pug, Ruby, and bulky legs that strain the seams of his jeans. His head is shaved, and his bright blue eyes are striking in his tanned face.
I’m sure most girls would consider him handsome in a rock-n-roll meets former Marine kind of way, but there’s no sizzle for me.
There are no warm, friendly type feelings, either.
I just feel…anxious, vaguely nauseous, kind of like the first day of culinary school, when I was the youngest student by far and the only one not old enough to taste the wine samples Chef brought in every Friday.
“You look great.” Seth leans in to kiss my cheek, making me feel even more flustered. “Love this dress.”
“Thanks,” I breathe, my cheeks hot and my pulse thready with nerves. Seth is standing too close, so close my nose begins to sting from the powerful scent of his cologne.
“So where’s everyone else?” I ask, glancing around the still empty room.
Seth grins, making the skin around his eyes crinkle. “They’ll be here in an hour. I had you come early so I could give you a few tips on your audition before the others get here.”
“Oh, yeah?” I return his smile, but my jaw feels tight. I fight the urge to slide off my stool and put some distance between us. “Is that fair?”
Seth shrugs and drops a hand to rest on my knee, sending an alarm blaring to life in my head. “Who cares about fair?” His fingers press gently into my thigh. “You’re the best, and I want you to get the job. End of story. You want a drink before we start?”
When he releases my leg and starts around the bar, my muscles tremble with relief.
“No, thank you,” I say, my voice shakier than I would like. “I don’t drink before I sing. I like to stay in full control of my faculties.”
“Aw, I don’t know. Sometimes being a little out of control can be a good thing.” Seth pulls down two glasses and gets busy with the well liquor, pouring with an expertise that makes it clear he’s at home behind the bar. “You were great on Friday,” he continues. “But you could stand to loosen up a little.”
