Page 53 of Echoes of a Southern Song

Chapter Nineteen

Jack

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THE BAR IS PACKED TONIGHT. Feels like it always is these days, especially on Fridays. I walk up to the mic with my guitar slung across my chest, grinning as the crowd claps and hoots like they’re genuinely excited to see me again. A few familiar faces wave, and I wave back, tipping my hat for good measure. It’s loud, sweaty, and chaotic—but in that beautiful, addictive way live music always is.

I strum a few chords to warm up. People are already cheering. Some woman yells, “Jumping Jack!” and the nickname catches fire again. A chorus of laughs follows. I chuckle along, but it still feels weird—like a costume I didn’t mean to put on. They like the way I bounce a little on stage when I’m really into a song. It wasn’t intentional. But now people expect it. So, I give them a little hop with a wink and they go nuts.

Whatever works, I guess.

I wouldn’t have picked it for myself, but who gets to pick their own nickname?

The set kicks off smoothly. I’m hitting the notes just right, my fingers moving like they’ve got minds of their own. I’m completely in the zone—until I notice her.

Blonde. Red lips. Tight dress that looks expensive without trying too hard. She’s sitting near the front, one leg crossed over the other, watching me with this cool, confident gaze that’s different from the usual excitement or flirty chaos I’m used to. There’s something sharp in her eyes. Calculated. Like she’s measuring me up. She has the look of a woman who’s trying to decide what cut of beef she wants.

But she’s just a face in the crowd. Doesn’t matter.

I keep playing, pouring my heart into the music. I finish the song Jinnie helped me fix and the room lights up with applause.

“You guys are wild tonight!” I shout into the mic.

I’m a little out of breath.

The crowd yells in response.

“Did you guys like that?” I ask with a flirty smile.

Yes, I’m absolutely flirting. I’ve figured out this little game. I know how to make the tip jar get fat with dollar bills.

“If you guys like that, I think I got another little something,” I tease. “It’ll make your toes curl.”

The crowd cheers. I tease with a little play on the strings, letting the anticipation build. I can feel their energy buzzing in the air, electric and alive. It’s impossible not to feed off it. My fingers move faster, my heartbeat keeping time with the rhythm as I launch into the next song. I’ve got them on their feet.

I bounce a little on stage—because they expect it now—and flash a grin at the front row. My eyes catch hers again. Blonde. Red lips. She’s watching me. Studying me. I don’t let myself linger on her for too long, but I do give her a playful wink as I sing the next lyric.

The crowd erupts into cheers, and I can’t help but laugh. A few women near the stage laugh, one of them shouting something I don’t quite catch but pretend to anyway. “Oh, you think so?” I tease, leaning forward like I’m sharing a secret with her. “Well, let’s see if this next one changes your mind.”

I shift into another song, slower this time but with a deep groove that makes people sway. My voice softens just enough to draw them in, and I let my eyes wander across the room as I sing. I want them to think I’m singing to them.

I play it up until my throat is dry. “Give me ten minutes, guys!”

I head to the bar to grab some water and breathe for a minute. That’s when the flurry starts. Normally, people leave me alone or someone will offer to buy me a drink.

This is different.

Three girls swarm me first, practically blocking off my escape route. They’re nice enough—drunk and giggly, complimenting my voice, my hair, my “stage presence,” whatever that means. I nod and thank them, but I don’t engage. Not really. I’ve learned the difference between polite and leading someone on. I’m not about to make that mistake.

Then the blonde approaches. The one with the bright red lips and eyes like she’s taking my measurements. She stands just outside the circle of groupies, giving off that vibe like she’s too good for all this, but still part of it. She leans in just enough for me to catch her scent. It’s thick and heavy and not anything I like. “You’ve got real talent. You ever think about taking this on the road?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs her shoulder, sipping her drink. “You’ve got the voice, the look, the moves. Jumping Jack could be a thing.”

“I’m not a thing,” I say, trying to keep it light.

“Oh, I think you could be.” She tilts her head, eyes scanning me with slow interest. “If you ever want someone to help make that happen, I’m good at spotting potential.”