Page 12 of Highball Rush
I didn’t bother looking for the jackass who’d almost picked a fight with the wrong guy. He wasn’t important. Instead, I lost myself in the song. In the feel of my fingers strumming the strings. The harmony of our instruments. The rhythm. The way it felt to belt out the lyrics. The energy of the crowd.
The audience didn’t just take. On a good night, they gave back just as much as they got. Our music made their bodies move, touched their hearts. And in turn, they filled the air with electricity. With a powerful energy. Big crowd or small, the energy was there.
It fed my soul in a way not much else did.
We rolled right into another song, keeping the energy alive. It seeped into my skin, ran through my veins. This was my high. Right here, on a little stage in a rinky-dink bar in some podunk town. I loved this shit. I didn’t admit that very often, but I did.
The crowd danced, cheered, and sang along. With that song done, we paused, just long enough to murmur to each other about what to play next.
“Play the one from the video,” someone called.
I glanced up. Who’d said that? I’d only played that song the one time, at the Lookout, and only because I’d lost a bet with Jameson. I’d never planned on playing it again in public. Playing covers of songs everyone loved was easy. They knew them, knew the words, enjoyed them along with us. Butmysong? One I’d written?
More people chimed in, calling for me to play the song. I looked over at Corbin, but he just shrugged. Hung nodded.
I grunted and let out a breath. Fine.
The crowd hushed as soon as my fingers hit the strings. And there it was again—their energy. It pinged off my skin, like shocks of static electricity. I sang the first few lines and the power grew. It surrounded me, like heat from a fire on a cold night.
The lyrics poured out, my voice deep and low. I lost myself in the melody, as if nothing else in the room existed but me, my guitar, and that supernatural energy the crowd gave back to me.
Applause erupted as I strummed the last chord. I opened my eyes—hadn’t quite realized I’d closed them—and stood. Gave the crowd a nod, like I always did. My heart beat a little too fast and I wanted to get out of the spotlight. Singing that song again left me with a full feeling in my chest. I needed some more water.
I started to lift the guitar strap from my shoulder when my eyes landed on a woman in the crowd.
Her hair caught my attention. It was long and blond, but in the dim light I could make out streaks of color—maybe purple and blue, it was hard to tell. She had tattoos on both arms. Dark t-shirt. Jeans. She was busy with something on her phone.
I was about to look away when she glanced up, meeting my eyes. A striking sense of familiarity swept through me, like I should know her from somewhere. She had a scar on her cheek, running down through her upper lip. That wasn’t the sort of thing you’d forget. But I’d never met a woman with a scar like that, so why did it feel like I’d seen her before?
Once in a while I locked eyes with a girl in the crowd. Sometimes that ended with us in a hotel or back at my place. But this felt different. She was beautiful, no doubt about that. But that wasn’t why I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She broke eye contact first, her gaze going back to her phone. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. That was weird.
A second later, I looked up again and she was gone.
I had an inexplicable urge to find her. But my guitar strap suddenly felt like a spiderweb, sticking to every bit of skin it touched. I tore myself free, set my guitar down, and pushed my way into the crowd.
I didn’t see her in the throng of people. Not near the bar, or between me and the restrooms. Could she have made it to the ladies’ room that fast? I didn’t think so. Another glance told me she probably hadn’t. There was a line, and she wasn’t in it.
Someone bumped into me, but I ignored them. What the hell was I doing? This was ridiculous. And stupid. Why was I following some girl? I didn’t chase women—literally or figuratively. But it was like I couldn’t help myself.
She must have gone outside. With my heart pumping strangely fast, my veins filling with adrenaline, I pushed open the door and went out into the warm night.
The light next to the door cast a dingy glow over the quiet parking lot. The bar was right off the highway, but the road was empty this time of night. Nothing out here but the sound of frogs and crickets.
I spotted her off to the side, walking toward a car. I knew this was crazy—I knew I had to be wrong—but before I could stop myself, I said it out loud.
“Callie?”
5
MAYA
My breath hitched and I stopped in my tracks, my car keys dangling from my hand. Tension rippled down my back. I glanced over my shoulder, keeping my voice smooth and even. “Sorry, my name’s Maya Davis.”
“Maya?” he said.
Walk away, Maya. Just put one foot in front of the other.He didn’t say more, but even without looking, I could tell he hadn’t moved. I walked to my car but paused again, next to the driver’s side door. “I liked your song.”
