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18
SUTTON
PRESENT DAY
I already forgot the name of this club, probably because it feels and smells and sounds exactly like every other club I’ve ever been to.
Heavy bass reverberates off the walls, thudding a steady rhythm that settles and pounds. The artificially cooled air is laden with the scent of expensive perfume.
The ambiance is dark and playful. The lighting is low and flattering, casting shadows and lending an air of mystery.
I swirl a short black straw through my drink, paying more attention to the sound of the ice clinking against glass than the guy talking to my left. James Jackson is one of the opening acts on my tour. Our interaction throughout the first two shows of the tour has been minimal. I have a vague awareness of his music, which is an intersection of rap, electronic, and rock that’s been praised as new and innovative and is the reason he earned a spot on my tour.
At the moment, I’m more focused on the cocky grin he’s aiming my way. He’s twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. Young, hot, and single, eyeing me like he thinks the same three adjectives describe me. The first two are subjective. And as for the last, I guess I technically am.
Teddy is standing near the bar, in a group that includes Camille, Amelia, Jaxon, and Adam. I’ve spent the past ten or so minutes nodding along to whatever James is talking about, hoping Teddy will come over and interrupt.
But he hasn’t. He doesn’t seem to have even noticed where I am or who I’m talking to. With another guy, I’d think he was playing games or trying to make me jealous.
I think Teddy is giving me space after what happened between us earlier.
It’s distance I don’t want. Need. I used him for sex before the show. A way to get out of my head for a little while. With anyone else, that’s all it would have been. But I want more from him than that. He’s theoneperson I want to talk to—tell about the farm selling and the mention of my mother. The one person who will understand.
I gulp the end of my margarita and give James what I hope is a genuine-looking smile. “I’m going to grab a refill.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to you later.”
I smile and nod at him before moving in the direction of the bar. We’re in the VIP section, so the crowd is thinner than in the rest of the club—more manageable and less overwhelming.
Rather than sidle up toward one of the bartenders waiting to distribute refills, I head for him.
Teddy’s back is to me, but Adam is standing directly across from him. Even from a dozen feet away, I can see his eyes widen noticeably. Nerves churn in my stomach. This isn’t the sort of situation I enjoy being the center of attention in.
I can’t recall the last time I put myself out there when a guy was involved. Most make it easy for me to take a passive role, pursue me so I never have the opportunity to reciprocate, even if I wanted to.
It’s especially strange under these circumstances. I keep the interactions with the band and backup singers minimal and professional. My crew has changed from tour to tour, and I’m a solo act at the end of the day. We don’t build the same rapport that a band builds through endless hours of rehearsals and a shared interest in the outcome.
Amelia has noticed my approach as well. Her brow wrinkles as I near, with some combination of confusion and annoyance. Based on the way she was looking at Teddy when I saw them returning to the hotel in Amsterdam, I’m certain I know the reason why the second emotion is present.
“Hey, guys.” I inject my voice with the same overdone cheer I imbue onstage, attempting to act entirely at ease.
I’m not sure if I fully—or even partly—succeed, but I gain Teddy’s attention, which was my primary goal.
He glances over at me, his expression starting with surprise and then journeying toward appreciative.
I chose the slinky black dress I’m wearing with him in mind. The front neckline is high, but it’s almost entirely backless. I left my makeup from the show on and pulled my hair up so the back of the dress—or lack thereof—is entirely exposed.
A chorus of, “Hey,” sounds in response to my greeting.
I smile at the group, then focus on Teddy. “Wanna dance?”
He smirks as his gaze continues to rove. “With who?”
I roll my eyes.
“Yeah,” he adds, turning serious. “I’d love to, June.”
I wait for him to set his drink down. What’s thirty more seconds? I’ve waited a lot longer than that to touch him.
