Page 10 of After All

“Look, I know I’m not the typical groupie, but you don’t have to laugh at me.”

“Amelie. No, no. Please. You misunderstand. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because you have no idea?—”

He stops abruptly, shaking his head.

“No idea about what?”

Another shake of his head precedes words that seemingly come out of nowhere.

“Charlie is a good guy. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here supporting him in a place that so obviously makes you uncomfortable. Derek is, too, and the other guys. There are plenty more musicians out there like him, too. Musicians with families and children and mortgages. Not drug problems and a revolving door of women. Ones who play because they can’t do anything else. They’ve tried, and they’ve failed to get the love of the rhythms and melodies out of their minds.”

Flabbergasted, my mouth drops as I listen. The conviction in his words, in his tone, penetrates to my gut. “You sound like you know from experience.”

I stare at him, wondering why he sounds so adamant about the topic. Did I cross a line? Strike a nerve? Before I can ask, he balances the back of his hand on my knee, palm open, waiting for me to slip my hand into his.

“Dance with me.”

It’s not a request, but it doesn’t feel like a command either. It’s almost like he’s resigned himself to the fact that we have to do it. Like it’s inevitable.

And in this moment, I completely agree.

Chapter 6

Amelie

I slip my hand into his open palm. But then I realize our error. We aren’t in a club where music plays nonstop and everyone dances. We’re at a concert. In the VIP section. I pull on his hand, trying to stop him, and he bends his ear closer to my mouth. “There’s not a dance space. This is a concert,” I say.

He pulls back and looks down at me, smiling. “I was right. You are extremely astute.”

When he winks at me, I smile before I can stop it. My body truly seems to be under autonomous control when it comes to the man, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“Carter, we can’t be the only ones dancing!”

“Why the hell not? Every movement has to have a leader, right?”

“Well, sure it does, but it doesn’t have to be me. Not tonight.”

He pulls his hand from mine, and I lament the loss — again.

What the hell is going on with me?!

He trails his hand along my waist at the band of my jeans and squeezes the hip furthest from him. The warmth of his hand bleeds through the fabric of my thin poplin shirt. I’ve never been overly fond of or grateful for the sticky, hot summers in Nashville, but since it called for me wearing the thinnest top possible tonight, I figure I can be a little thankful for it this once.

He pulls me closer to his side and speaks very closely to my ear. “It is going to be you. And it is going to be tonight. I want to feel you in my arms.”

The same words from others in the past cause anxiety and tension, sometimes even fear, but from him, they just felt… right.

I purse my lips and exhale slowly. Plucking the cotton between my fingers, I billow my shirt away from my body and back a handful of times. “Is it warmer than usual in here?”

“The only thing that’s out of the ordinary tonight is the crowd. It’s usually packed here on Friday nights, but I’ve never seen it quite like this. Thank the holiday for that, I guess. You’re probably feeling all the extra body heat.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it.” I stumble over something on the floor as he leads me towards the only open space inside the VIP area. “It’s really dark in here, too.”

“Do you have your phone on you? We need a light.”

I slip my phone from my back pocket and hold the button for the flashlight until it shines on the floor. He wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs me closer to him until my body is practically pressed against his while he uses my phone to light up the floor in front of us.

“How do I turn this off?” He taps around until he presses the right button, and the floor goes dark again. “Ah. There we go.”

---