Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)(119)

With impeccable timing, they went silent on the last note of the song. The crowd roared, and a thong flew over his shoulder and landed on Joker’s drums. There was always at least one in every crowd, especially the Shifter bars. Man, the buzz of energy swelled in the room, and Jericho had never felt more alive. Just knowing Isabelle was in the sea of faces—watching and listening—made this so damn worth it.
A woman suddenly rushed the stage, hobbling clumsily in heels, and planted a kiss on Trevor. Joker burst out laughing when the woman ripped off her wig, revealing she was a man.
Dammit, Joker. He’d taken his practical joke too far, not knowing Trevor was gay.
The crowd whistled and a few people laughed. So much for Trevor’s life in the spotlight.
But the joke was on them.
Trevor suddenly stepped forward and kissed the man hard, biting the guy’s lower lip in the most erotic way. To Jericho’s surprise, the women in the crowd were cheering—all for it.
In a Shifter bar, of all places. Shifters were one of the few Breeds who could have offspring, so they didn’t take it lightly when one of their own turned their nose up at it. Maybe they accepted it more readily because the band was putting on a performance, but in any case, Trevor got all the acceptance he needed. He pushed the guy away and started up a bass line, walking the stage like he owned it. And he did.
Joker turned beet red.
Jericho revealed himself to the crowd, slowly turning to prepare for the next song. A wave of surprise spread across their faces when some of them recognized they were staring at Jericho Sexton Cole.
But he didn’t see them. All he saw was the empty space where Isabelle had once been standing at the back of the bar.
 

Chapter 28
“Come on, come on, come on. Hurry up,” I chanted at the red light illuminating my windshield.
The moment Jericho hit the stage, I’d known right then and there that I loved him something fierce. I’d always known it, but that moment solidified everything I’d ever felt for him and everything I wanted to feel for the rest of my life.
There was only one thing left to do, and that was run.
Run home to get that damn Pink Floyd shirt and put it on!
Hell’s bells, I hoped Jericho hadn’t seen me running out, although I doubted with all the luscious women in the front row that he’d noticed me in the shadows.
Blink. The light turned green and I hit the gas, sailing down the street like a racecar driver. I’d left in such a hurry that I’d forgotten my purse.
I couldn’t stop grinning as I approached the bar. My vintage T-shirt was a little big and came to the ends of my shorts, but it still smelled like Jericho, even though it had been in my apartment for over a week. It’s like every breath of him was in that fabric—every breath of us. A story of our past, present, and future—woven into the fibers of a threadbare T-shirt.
My heart pounded against my chest and I cursed, unable to find a parking space anywhere near the bar.
“Dammit!” I shrieked.
Word must have spread about their performance because people were parking across the street and jogging toward the door. I couldn’t take it. After circling twice, I double-parked and hopped out of the car.
“Hey, you can’t do that!” someone shouted from behind. I turned to look while running toward the bar and stumbled, twisting my ankle.
Pain lanced through my foot and I hissed, pulling up my leg and debating on whether or not to shift in the street to heal myself or suck it up like a big girl.
I sucked it up.
Hobbling on one leg toward your true love isn’t the most graceful way to find your happily-ever-after, but that’s exactly what I did. I provided a few laughs for some onlookers, hopping like a lame kangaroo as I made my way to the front door.
Thankfully, I still heard Jericho’s voice, calling to me like a siren.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Denver shouted over the music.
“Honey, is your foot bothering you?” Rosie said, coming up on my left.
“Get out of my way!” I shouted, hopping through the crowd. I got pushed left and right as people wanted to get as close to the stage as possible.
I screamed his name like a silly fangirl, so naturally he didn’t look in my direction. I squeezed my head between two large men, hoping maybe Jericho would see my bright hair and look my way.
“Over here!” I shouted.
My heart stopped when he looked right at me. But then I saw it. That look. The one that told me he was pissed off. The one that said maybe he didn’t care about me like I had hoped. The one that said there were a million other girls out there, and I was nothing special.
His eyes dragged back to the front row of girls as he sang to them.