Page 168 of Please Hate Me

“It’s so weird seeing you with long hair,” he mumbled, completely ignoring the fact that he just dressed me against my will.

I looked down at the nearly hip-length strands, picking up a few to run over the tips of my fingers as I thought. My dad always said I looked better with it long—something about it helping me look thinner. If I cut my hair, my dad would freak the fuck out, and I’d hate to disappoint him.

I wasn’t ignorant to how toxic our relationship was, but he was still my dad. I hoped the second he saw my daughter, he’d hold her, and his heart would heal from whatever poison coursed through his veins. People only hurt others when they’re hurting themselves, and I wanted to save him from that turmoil.

That’s why I was okay with him hurtingmefor so long.

Maybe after everyone went to sleep tonight, I’d call him again; that way, I could tell him exactly where I was, and we could expedite our reunion. Satisfied with my secret plan, I cleared the thought of James Albright from my mind and looked back at Lucian.

“It’s weird seeing my hair long, but not this?” I placed a hand on my stomach.

Lucian smiled, covering my hand with his own. I silently fell in love with the way his tattooed fingers looked when intertwined with mine.

“Nope.Thisis how our life was meant to be.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of my head, causing my heart to soar to impossible altitudes.

“I’m going to go find the rest of the band and run over the set list for tonight—if you have to go to the bathroom, it’s near the front of the bar.”

My brow furrowed. “What, no private bathrooms?”

He let out an easy laugh as he shook his head. “Not in a shithole like this. Until now, I was the most famous person to grace these walls.”

Lucian popped in and out of the dressing room for the next hour or so, mostly to make sure I was still there, I think. During his brief visits, he explained a little more about the place I was in. Apparently, the bar owner was the drummer, and his friend was the bassist. They hated the idea of playing with any one band for too long, so they created this space where anyone with a guitar or a voice was encouraged to join. On Fridays, they typically had two performers and would close the night out with Lucian. He blushed when I told him that it meanthewas the headliner.

Halfway through the second opening act, Lucian and I walked around to find a suitable spot for me to watch him from the side. I got a couple of long looks from the techies and the first act, but no one stopped me, which was nice.

Tonight, I wasn’t the Mason Albright who sold out tours. Instead, I was Mason Albright, girlfriend of an up-and-coming rock star. One well-taken video uploaded to my social media, and people would go crazy for Lucian’s music.

The world went dark as the second artist rushed off the stage, guitar in hand.

“It’s your time to shine.” I smiled at Lucian, hoping he could see the glint of my teeth despite the perfect blackness surrounding us.

“It is, and this whole show is for you, Kitten.” He leaned in, and I assumed he just wanted to kiss my forehead again. Instead, his lips met mine, and an electric current rippled through my body.

His breathing went shallow, and heat radiated off his face. He gasped when he pulled away, but didn’t formally recognize what had just happened. Maybe it was better that way.

Still, my lips tingled with the memory of his.

The lights clicked as they flashed on, bathing the wooden stage in tones of blue and white.

“What thefuckis up, Hartwood?” Lucian’s voice boomed into the microphone as he fumbled with the jack, trying to plug in his guitar.

My smile widened, and I wondered if he had to stop himself from laughing while saying something that ridiculous. I tucked my hands into the solo pocket of his hoodie, rooting myself to my spot. I didn’t want to miss a single moment of the Lucian Castillo experience.

His set started with a few covers of some of the horniest songs I had ever heard. Lucian didn’t hesitate while performing them, relishing in the attention of the crowd. He knew he was sexy—no reason to hide behind a façade of modesty.

I was afraid to cheer between songs; I had no idea what the microphones would pick up and what they wouldn’t. Instead, I basked in the energy of the crowd as they screamed his name. After what felt like the world’s shortest eternity, Lucian held his hands to the sky and bowed, and I realized I had been so spellbound that I forgot to take a video. My pulse raced as Igrabbed my phone in hopes of taking a photo. Maybe that would be enough to kick-start his career.

“If this is your first show, please allow me to introduce myself.” His voice rumbled through the microphone—nearly an hour of performing had left Lucian sweaty and panting. “My name is Lucian Castillo—”

A chorus of cheers interrupted him, and I started recording anyway. Even though he was done singing, this would be the best way to showcase Lucian’s massive personality.

“—And I’m a local musician.” More cheers, and Lucian waited patiently to continue. “Let’s hear it for Kevin and Dave! Without their willingness to share their stage, this show would not have been possible.”

The crowd wasn’t nearly as excited about the other two members of the ensemble. I almost laughed at that, but it would have been rude.

“And although they are vehemently against encores—”

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