Page 121 of Diary of a Biker Queen

He cried and tried to help her clean up. “Sorry! I just really like this song!”

He moved his hips in a little shimmy that was probably supposed to be in time with the beat but was definitely not. He had a bit of pudge around his belly, probably thanks to the munchies the man seemed to have a permanent case of, courtesy of his pot smoking habit. A beard hid a double chin, but did nothing to disguise the warm, friendly smile he always had at the ready. “Come on, Amber! Dance with me.”

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “That’s not dancing. That’s… I don’t know what that is, actually.”

I didn’t either. Herb’s dance moves looked like a cross between an oversized worm having a fit and the water sprinklers that jerked around the lawns of the fancy houses in Providence.

The two of them had bickered from the time we’d left the Slayers’ compound, all through the first three bands of the night, and with Kyle and Kiki staking out spots at the front of the crowd and not here to be a buffer between them, I was all that was left. I was ready for a break from it. The wind was picking up again, blowing dust in my eyes, and there was a hell of a lot of people at this thing. My brain rattled from the constant noise of the last few hours. “I’m going to take a break. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I pointed back toward the campsite we’d left behind.

Herb and Amber were too busy with their bickering to even notice.

Coming along on this trip had probably been a mistake. There was nowhere to go for any downtime. Nowhere quiet where an introvert could recharge, except my truck, and it had been too hot to sit in there, at least until the sun had gone down.

It was fine. It was only a few days, and I’d go back to the club afterward and lock myself in my room until I could people again.

But here, while I couldn’t physically be alone, my fingers itched to pick up a guitar. Because that was the only other way I found some peace. I only ever played in my bedroom, and normally only when the other guys were all out so no one would hear. But nobody knew me here.

The campsites weren’t as quiet as I might have hoped, even though I was back well before the performances were scheduled to finish. People still milled about, some clearly getting ready to go down to the stages late, but others set in for the night, camp chairs set in circles, drinks flowing and the smell of barbecue in the air. Faint strains of music from the stage reached back here, but it wasn’t loud. I passed groups playing their own music from little portable, battery-operated speakers, one site’s music crashing into the next.

By the time I got back to our things, I was more overstimulated than ever and beelined for the beat-up old guitar in the back of my truck.

I dropped the tailgate, and pushed myself up on it, settling my lower back against the metal and propping up one jean-covered leg so I had somewhere to rest my instrument.

The strings were familiar beneath my fingers, the pick an extension I’d been holding ever since my early teens. I strummed a few times, twisted a few knobs until it all sounded right, and then closed my eyes.

Covers fell from my fingers first, one song running into the next while I craved that musical zone where everything else drifted away. At some point, the notes I played changed to an original. It had always been one of my favorites and as the wind swirled around me, I moved through more of the stuff I’d created.

“Mess Me Up”

“Teeth Marks”

“Love Me Like You Hate Me”

They were old songs, ones I knew by heart, ones that required no conscious thought. Ones I could lose myself to and just fall into the notes and rhythm.

The rest of the world faded away when I played.

At some point of barely conscious thought, I opened my mouth and sang the lyrics so deeply imprinted in my brain there was no chance I could forget them.

I didn’t know how long I sat there playing. Only that when I opened my eyes, someone else’s collided.

I’d drawn a crowd. A small group of people who had stopped to listen to me sing and play, and I hadn’t even had the remotest idea of anyone there. Hot embarrassment flushed my cheeks, and I ducked my head, feeling stupid.

“Don’t stop,” someone called out. “You’re really good.”

I shook my head, ready to brush off their compliments, but then my gaze locked again with that set of blue eyes I’d first noticed when I’d come out of the zone.

She didn’t say anything, just gave me the tiniest smile and went to walk away.

And I suddenly found myself playing again because I didn’t want her to leave.

Something settled inside me when she stopped to listen again, and this time when I played, I did it with my eyes open so I could keep watching her.

She’d curled her blond hair into loose waves that fell beneath a wide brimmed cowboy hat. Her outfit was something between what Kiki and Amber had been wearing, cowboy boots and a mini skirt, paired with a bikini top her tits practically spilled out of.

She rubbed at her arms as the wind rattled between campsites, and I found myself wanting to know why she was standing there watching me when she was obviously cold. She should have gone back to her site and grabbed a sweater.

I jerked my head toward my club jacket, folded and hanging over the side of my truck bed, inviting her to take it.