“What do you mean?”
“I mean the conversation literally started with me talking to myself out loud because I thought I was alone, and then proceeded with us bonding over our need for space and silence when the world gets too loud.”
“I’m confused,” she admitted.
“Yeah.” I opened my eyes big. “Same.”
“So, did you figure out who it was? Like were you able to spot him when you came back into the barn?”
I pulled the straw to my lips and grinned. “Yes.”
“Oh my god. And? Spill it. I’m not trying to miss this entire set.”
“It was Stetson fucking Walker. That’s who I was talking to outside. And I’m so confused because there is no way that the conversation I had outside was with the man who is sitting on stage right now.”
Her jaw dropped and she looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I’ve been replaying the interaction over and over in my head ever since he stepped foot on stage, and I’m one thousand percent sure he was the guy I was talking to. But I just can’t wrap my head around how that could possibly be the case.” I let out a deep breath. “I mean, we’ve all seen the news.”
“Hey, maybe he’s not the guy the media has portrayed him to be in the past,” she said, her shoulders shrugging to her ears.
“Ha. Come on, Mags. No one’s forcing the man’s tongue down the throats of all the Nashville tourists. He’s exactly the guy the media makes him out to be.”
“Touché.” She sipped her drink, a black straw placed between her pink lips. “Either way, you owe me. You thought you were just going to another barn party, and instead I take you to a party where you’re having heart to hearts with Stetson Walker,” she said. “And”—she smirked at herself in the mirror before locking eyes with my reflection—“with a smile on your face, I might add.”
“You’re never going to let that one go, are you?”
“Never,” she responded. “Now let’s go. Someone might be waiting for you out there.”
“You’re insane and I love you.”
“Don’t forget it,” she said, bopping out of the bathroom and back to the dance floor.
Chapter Five
“That man looked at you at least twenty times,” Maggie boasted.
“That’s dramatic. And it’s kind of hard not to look at someone when they’ve been placed right in front of you,” I said back, my eyes narrowing.
“What? I was just trying to make sure we had a good view of his performance.”
Maggie had insisted on us wiggling our bodies to the front because she said she couldn’t see Stetson from where we had originally started.
“Uh huh. I call bullshit,” I yapped.
“That’s fine. We had a good view, didn’t we?”
“I can’t argue with you there.” And I couldn’t, the view was five stars. We could practically see the sweat beads forming on his face from the obnoxiously bright spotlight Booker had on him.
“You’re welcome. Maybe one day you’ll listen to me. Hell, your life would probably get a lot easier,” she teased, trying to focus on our conversation but failing miserably. “Looks like Booker is over at the bar, think I might need a refill,” she said, slurpingdown the rest of the liquid that filled her red Solo cup. “Want one?”
“No, I’m good, but thanks!” I replied.
Scanning the room for a place to sit, I wandered over to a picnic table and slid onto the bench that was situated on the outskirts of the dance floor. The wooden table was decorated simply, with a handful of tea light candles and a small clear vase filled with bronze-colored daises.
After watching Stetson up on that stage, there was no doubt in my mind why that man was the talk of country music—or the talk of music in general. I’d seen videos from his concerts, and while this performance was definitely a stripped-down version, it was still incredible. His voice, the lyrics, the way he exuded confidence in a way that was cocky but understated.
He had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand, specifically the female population. They just couldn’t seem to get enough—myself included. And rightly so. Although, the men appeared pretty infatuated too. Everyone was eager for each line that danced from his mouth.
