Page 10 of One Last Encore

Her retort was locked and loaded, but instead of firing it off, she found herself distracted. By his eyes. They weren’t just blue. Up close, they had flecks of warm brown, like sun-dappled water. A completely useless observation that she absolutely didnot need to be making right now. She was leaning in so close that the tips of her heels were practically touching his beat-up Converse. How the hell had they ended up this close?

The realization sent a fresh bolt of irritation through her, and she immediately took a step back, reclaiming her space. Rolling her eyes, she mentally shook off whatever dark magic had just happened and refocused.

He was sabotaging Eden. She should not be looking into his eyes. She should not be noticing anything about his eyes.

"Well," she declared, regaining her composure, "you’re headed straight to prison once I report you for…" She made a dramatic show of holding up the severed cable. "Destruction of property!"

There. Checkmate, asshole. She savored the moment, waiting for him to finally look rattled. Instead? He barely blinked.

"Knock yourself out," he replied smoothly, flashing a lazy smirk that only made her want to throw the entire amplifier at his stupid, attractive face.

Ingrid shot him one last withering look before turning on her heel, her blood still simmering with irritation.

She could feel his eyes burning into her back as she swayed away, her heart still hammering from the confrontation. She needed to purge this entire interaction from her brain immediately before she started questioning why her body reacted like she’d just been in a damn action movie car chase.

Her steps were brisk as she scanned the room for Eden, who was still posted up at the bar, completely oblivious to the criminal activity that had just unfolded backstage.

Ingrid made a beeline for her, desperate to shake off the memory of him and return to something resembling sanity.

"A strange man is messing with your gear!" Ingrid exclaimed, her voice a mix of panic and righteous indignation. She thrust the severed cable toward Eden like it was a crime scene photo.

Eden blinked at the cable in Ingrid’s hand, then at Ingrid’s face.

"A man was messing with my gear?" she repeated.

"Yes!" Ingrid waved the severed cable again for emphasis, nearly smacking a passing bartender. "Some six-foot-something menace with audacity in his veins was back there, full-on tampering with your amp like he was about to monologue about world domination!"

Eden slammed her drink down so hard the ice rattled. "Absolutely not."

"Thank you! That’s the appropriate reaction!"

Eden straightened, cracking her knuckles. "Did you get a good look at him? Was he some sweaty, tech-bro reject? A washed-up roadie looking for revenge?"

Ingrid opened her mouth, then hesitated. Because no, he had not been sweaty. Or washed-up. Or even remotely tech-bro-adjacent.

He had been… well. Smug. Irritatingly good-looking. Covered in tattoos. The kind of guy who looked like he smoked expensive cigarettes and played guitar in a band that exclusively performed emotionally devastating songs.

Eden caught the pause immediately and narrowed her eyes. "Oh my God."

"What?" Ingrid said, far too quickly.

Eden squinted at her like a detective piecing together a case. "Was he hot?"

"Not the point," Ingrid hissed.

"That’s a yes."

"It is not a yes!"

Eden folded her arms. "Did he, or did he not, look like someone who could ruin your life in under ten minutes?"

That was... disturbingly accurate. Ingrid made a strangled sound of frustration. "Focus on the task at hand."

"I’m just asking the real questions," Eden said. "More importantly, where is this guy? Because if he thinks he’s getting away with messing with my set, I’m about to go full ‘angry chihuahua’ on his ass."

"Come with me!" Ingrid grabbed Eden’s wrist and started pulling her toward the back of the bar, practically vibrating with urgency.

"Wait! What am I supposed to do? Fend him off with my noodle arms?" Eden yelped, stumbling after her.

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