He sang a line about never leaving and as he did, his eyes lifted, cut through the dimness shrouding the room, and looked at me. My heart skipped a beat. I lifted my hand toward my throat, my palm resting in the hollow place beneath my chin.
He watched me as his fingers moved. He strummed that guitar with such finesse and he didn’t struggle, not one time. His voice kept perfect pace with the music… and then the piano started to play backup.
It didn’t overpower his voice because he was so commanding that not even a bomb would do that. The music just accompanied him; it floated along behind him like the caress from a lover.
I wondered if his fingers would caress me like they did the guitar.
I squeezed my thighs together and squirmed a little in the wooden chair. He made me feel fidgety inside.
Then he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and delivered the last few lines of the song, his raspy, deep tone fading away with the music.
You could have heard a pin drop in the seconds that followed.
And then everyone erupted into mad applause. But I didn’t. I still couldn’t move. I still was wondering about this man—feeling him in ways I never expected.
My eyes caught on the way his hips swiveled as he weaved through the bar, back to our little two-person table. Even his movements seemed new to me, like I had been blind all this time, but now I could see.
It was so confusing.
Yet it was so achingly wonderful.
He lowered himself into the chair and gave me a little half smile, and I could have sworn I saw a little bit of insecurity in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasped, my voice literally scraping out of my throat.
His brows drew together. “What are you sorry for?”
I grabbed the bottle of beer and slid it closer to me, almost hugging it against my chest. “For never seeing you the way I see you right now.”
The fleeting look that passed behind his eyes was of alarm and sadness. But it was gone so fast I couldn’t ask him what it was all about.
“How do you see me right now, Charlie?” he asked.
“Real,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
“What?”
“I just…” I began, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I just always thought of you as this perfect guy. The guy who always knew what he wanted. The guy who never let emotion rule his head or his heart. The kind of guy who never stumbled a day in his life.”
“And now?” Max whispered. I swear his face seemed paler than just seconds ago.
“Now I know I was wrong. There is no way anyone could have that kind of grit, that kind of soul in their voice, if they hadn’t lived through pain. There’s no way that kind of emotion can just be pulled out of thin air. You aren’t perfect, are you, Max?” I whispered the last part, sliding my hand across the table toward his.
He opened his fingers and mine slid into his palm, like it was exactly where they belonged.
“No. No, I’m definitely not perfect. I guess I’m not the guy you thought I was. I’m not the guy you wanted.”
Why so much sadness in his tone?
“Can I tell you a secret?” The fluttery sensation in my stomach was so wild I felt like I was sitting at the top of a super steep roller coaster.
“Yeah.”
“I like this guy better.”
He jerked so forcefully his hand pulled away from mine and his chair slid back a couple inches. Then he snagged a bottle off the table and chugged the rest of it down.
“I gotta piss,” he announced and shot up out of his seat and took off for the bathroom across the room.
I sat there and wondered what I said that was so wrong.
15
Tucker
My dick was broken.
It was so hard it was uncomfortable, and I couldn’t leave the bathroom until it decided to knock it the hell off.
Okay, fine. My dick wasn’t broken. Clearly, it was working just fine.
I needed to get laid.
Like STAT.
I should put Charlotte in a cab, send her packing, and then pick a girl—any girl—at the bar and go home with her. That would take care of this pecker problem.
I thought about a couple of the girls I noticed sitting at the bar. The blonde was pretty hot. An image of Charlotte flashed into my mind.
Okay, no blondes.
There was also a brunette. Brunettes were good.
I thought about Charlotte again. I heard the words she just admitted.
She liked me better than my brother.
Holy hell.
What a freaking clusterfuck.
I went over to the urinal and unbuttoned my jeans. Of course, he sprang out like some secret agent on a mission. Pissing with a hard-on wasn’t the easiest task. It required some heavy leaning.
Stop thinking about your brother’s woman, Patton! Think about someone else!
I thought back to the brunette at the bar. She had long, dark hair, pulled up in a bouncy ponytail. Her top was tight and her boots went all the way to her knees. She looked like the kind of girl I would take home any night of the week. She was exactly what I needed right now.