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He frowns and looks away. “Not so often anymore.”
Well, shit, that’s a damn shame.
“I happen to know a guy here with a guitar.” At least I hope he brought it. “Do you mind?”
“Have at it,” he says over his shoulder as he shuffles away. “Would be a welcome change.”
I’m grinning when Porter returns to the booth. “Uh-oh. What are you up to?”
“Still have your guitar with you?”
“Yeah, left it in my truck. Why?”
“I just got you a gig.” I motion toward the stage. “It’s not paid, but still, I’d love to hear you play again.”
He bites his bottom lip, considering the idea, then sinks down in the booth. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Aw, come on.” I lean toward him. “I figure it’s either you play a set, or you finally tell me why you skipped town all those years ago.”
He thumps the table and stands. “No contest there. Be right back.”
I laugh as I call after him, “I’ll order us another round.”
There’re not many people in the bar when Porter drags a chair over to the stage. He plugs in the small speaker and the cable from the dusty mic stand, then starts plucking on the strings. A quick glance around tells me most are enjoying the familiar country ballad. Familiar song or not, hearing Porter play again is exciting, but this time is a bit different than in front of the fire and at Buck’s. He looks serene, relaxed, which in turn makes the atmosphere feel cozy, like putting on a pair of warm, fuzzy socks.
Plus, I like watching him, how he shuts his eyes on certain notes and seems to tune out everything around him. The mic stand is sitting low to pick up the guitar, but when he starts humming, my eyes spring to his lips as his head moves, his knee jiggling in time with the refrain.
His lids closed, the humming turns to singing, and I couldn’t look away even if I tried. His voice doesn’t carry much over the guitar, and he likely prefers it that way, but damn if I don’t hang on every single word. That deep, husky tone makes the hair rise on the nape of my neck.
When he finally opens his eyes, his gaze latches on to mine. It’s like he’s seeing me but looking right through me at the same time. Like he’s living the song, feeling the touching words, which just so happen to be about long-lost lovers. Christ, if there was ever a moment when I could melt under someone’s intense gaze, it’s right here and now.
And suddenly I want to know more than anything why he never said goodbye.
Chapter 20
Porter
Even when I’m not looking at him, I feel Sully watching me. It’s like a touch, his gaze like fingers that are both gentle and calloused against my skin. It doesn’t make a bit of sense, feeling someone’s stare, but I can with him, and it twists me up inside. The other people in the bar don’t matter. They fade into the background, and it’s just me and him.
Christ, I hate that he gets to me this way, makes me feel all this shit I don’t wanna feel.
As soon as I finish the song, I don’t look up while pushing to my feet. People clap, but I hear him whistling and cheering for me over the others. I can’t help but glance up then and make eye contact with him. He’s so damn genuine that being around him makes it easy to forget everything else.
“Thank you,” I say into the mic. While I like performing, that was enough for me tonight. My skin is prickling with heat from the way Sully was watching me. He warmed my blood from across the room, making me sizzle with need for him.
I pack up my guitar and return to the table. He’s sitting down and looks up at me, and I swear sometimes it’s like he sees more in me than I am. Makes me feel like I’m more than I’ll ever be. I think that’s why it hurt so much that he wasn’t there when I needed him—though I realize the illogic of that, since he hadn’t known I was looking for him. Still, I’d felt important to Sully, and then suddenly it felt like I wasn’t.
“What?” Sully asks, brows drawn together beneath his cowboy hat.
“I want you,” I admit because it’s the easiest part to sort through. I don’t have to explain it like I would anything else. “I want to take you home and fuck you in your bed. Want to make your sheets smell like us. Want you to have it seared into your memory what it’s like being taken by me in your own bed, so whenever you take someone else there, you’ll always have the memory of me.”
His hand reaches down, and he adjusts himself. “Yeah. I want that too.”
I look around to make sure no one is listening, something I should have done a few minutes before, and tilt my head toward the door. “Go home. I’ll pay, then park out on the road and sneak to your door. I don’t want the guys to know I’m home and wonder where I am. I want you naked and ready for me when I get there.”
I practically see the shiver run through him. “Jesus, you know how it gets to me when you talk to me that way. I never…”
He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t have to. No one has ever talked to him the way I do, and there’s almost nothing I love more than knowing that. “I know. Go on, now. I’ll see you soon.”
