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“We’re done for the day.” That shut him up.
“Wait,” he said.
Too late. I shoved my materials back inside my backpack. Embarrassed and frustrated, I wanted nothing more than to get out of this enclosed space with him. Sharing breath in the dark with Levi was doing things to my head and body that I didn’t appreciate.
“Come to my show tonight,” he offered in a rush, pushing the request out before I disappeared again.
I tossed my bag over my shoulder. “I don’t think so. Live shows aren’t my thing anymore.”
He lifted his guitar and leaned it against the table. Slowly, he approached me. As if I were a rabbit that might flee from a fox.
The brash light in his stare softened.
“I know. But maybe if you listened to me sing live, we could figure out how to work through our differences in this song. It might make the rest of the album come together easier.”
“Levi, I don’t think—”
He deflated, instantly backing off. “It’s alright. I understand, but I’ll leave a ticket with your name on it at the door tonight if you change your mind.”
Uncertain of anything else to say, I wandered toward the door. The pressure of Levi’s presence didn’t lessen the further I got. I would have sworn he was breathing down my neck even from across the room.
I grabbed the doorknob, and his voice reeled me back in. “I really hope you make it.”
Levi’s aura followed me all the way home. Regardless of the distance, his scent clung to my nostrils. Everything about him was inescapable, like a mystical shroud obscuring my senses.
Both annoyed and impressed with him, I grumbled to myself in the middle of my kitchen. Soup simmered on the stove, and I picked at my nails. Through the kitchen window over the sink, I watched the sun drifting toward the horizon.
Levi Stark was in a category all his own. Despite being booked almost nightly for an extensive local tour, he was still up bright and early to work with me in the studio. I’d readily admit he was talented, driven, and motivated.
But the tour was why he needed the help of a lyricist. He had practice with his band most afternoons and shows most nights. They didn’t permit the rockstar a break in his hectic life and that was where I came into the picture.
And I needed the money.
Levi was actively trying to make our contract work. He openly admired me and my abilities in a way that was almost overwhelming. Even though I wasn’t popstar Diana Winslow anymore, it didn’t matter to him. It was my work as a lyricist that astounded him.
While I wouldn’t admit it aloud, there was some part of me, deeply hidden away, that bloomed from his compliments. I came alive any time he rattled off the praises he offered so willingly.
Then there were the heated glances throughout the day. Tense moments where our eyes locked and the world melted away. Each of us held our breath, waiting for the other to speak and break the spell. That didn’t falter even when he butchered my song.
That fiery tension coiled painfully tight. The lust in my veins fed on the anger and irritation I carried for him. Each time he purposely provoked me, I wanted to tear his clothes off with my teeth and sink to my knees—
“I’m going to the show,” I told myself. “Fuck me.”
Listening to his music live was a decent idea. It might help bridge the gap between what I envisioned for the song and his manner of singing. Otherwise, he might ask me to sing again. I’d avoid that to protect my sanity.
Immediately upon deciding to make an appearance, I noticed the time. I had an hour to shower and get there. Which seemed like enough time when I raced to my bathroom and turned on the water.
Under the scalding spray, I scrubbed myself raw. The day of grime after working in the studio spiraled down the drain along with my nerves. Warm water pressure and wild cherry blossom soap cleansed me of the darkness nibbling away at my confidence.
I performed shows a decade ago. There was nothing at the concert tonight I wouldn't have seen before. I could handle crowds, and it was unlikely anyone there would know me.
Ensuring no one would recognize me, I lathered shampoo with purple dye into my hair. It maintained the vibrancy of my color while securing my invisibility. The color distracted people from taking a second glance at my face any time I left the house. A decade away from the spotlight also helped.
“What do people wear to rock concerts these days?” I thought back to my father’s concerts I went to as a kid and compared what I recalled to the outfits I noticed a few nights ago. Standing out is the last thing I wanted to do. I had to fit in.
Digging through my closet, I decided that tonight I was going undercover. This was an opportunity for me to study Levi Stark and his band in person. Listening to their music and watching how the crowds reacted to his stage presence might guide the next song I wrote for him.
Buried in a box at the back of my closet, I found old band t-shirts from my teenage years. I had hundreds of these from Dad’s shows and other musicians sending them to me. It had taken several donations to weed through the collection.
