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Need is so much more.
But before I can make my beeline for Coop, Jack grabs my arm and tugs me behind him to talk to his dad and Eddie Black.
They talk about the band.
About the sound.
The need for original music.
Jack tells him about the songs I’ve helped him and Theo write this year. We only perform a few in each set because the bar crowd wants the covers. It’s a smart move on the guys’ part. Give the crowd what they want, but add a little of your own music each week, so they start wanting more of that too.
Stone and Eddie try to convince me that I’d be crazy to pass up the opportunities I’ll get as part of Six Day War. They talk about labels and touring.
And the entire time, I feel Cooper’s eyes on me.
Two bottles of water later, I excuse myself to use the ladies’ room... And to give myself a break from this full-court press from the band and Stone and Eddie to get me to change my mind about sticking with them. They don’t seem to be listening to me at all, which is pissing me off. And I really do have to pee. So, it’s not a complete duck-and-run plan.
The bar is more packed now than it was during our set, and I push my way through the crowded dance floor full of writhing bodies and drunk coeds. The bathroom is tucked away in the back hall, near the stage. And thank goodness, it’s empty because at this point tonight, I’m in no mood to wait in a line of people just to pee.
Once I’ve washed my hands and run a damp cloth over my face, I flip my head over and run my fingers through my hair to try to fluff it up a little. My thin hair has very little body to it on a good day, and a good day died under the heat of the lights earlier. I tug my skirt down just an inch on my hips and adjust my bra, so what little boobs I have sit a bit higher because it can’t hurt. And screw anyone who says they’re not at least a tiny bit vain. Because I like to think I’m low-maintenance, but I still want to look my best.
When I open the door and step out into the hall, I manage to crash face-first into a wall.
Well, not so much a wall as someone’s chest.
A large someone.
Oh shit.
A man I don’t know grabs both my shoulders and crowds me against the wall.
I look around, but there’s no one else in the hallway. And the music is so loud, I don’t think anyone will even hear me if I scream.
“Has anyone ever told you, you have the voice of an angel?”
Trick and Rookare arguing over something. I should be paying attention to what, but I’m not. Carys went to the bathroom almost ten minutes ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I watched her push her way through the crowd, but once she was on the other side of the dance floor, I lost her as she turned down the hall, and something about it isn’t sitting well with me.
“Right, Coop?” Trick asks.
I have no clue what the hell he said before that and nod my head as I push off the bar and follow the path Carys took a few minutes ago. But with every step, warning bells start to go off in my mind, and I pick up my speed.
Then I turn down the hallway.
Carys is pinned against the wall by a large man.
He’s five foot ten, two hundred and fifty pounds.
He looks sloppy drunk.
Physically, he’s no threat.
I can easily take him, but I can’t be sure he doesn’t have a weapon.
His face is too close to hers.
His body is invading her space.
Her delicate palms are flat against his chest, and her eyes are wide with fear while his fingers run through her hair.
