Hearts on Air
Page 28
I brushed some powder over my cheeks, lined my eyes heavily with black, and donned a long purple dress. It was sleeveless but draped nicely over my hips, covering those parts I was always so conscious of. Was that why Trev wasn’t calling? Had seeing me naked turned him off?
No, that couldn’t be it. If it was, then he wouldn’t have been so . . . verbal in expressing his pleasure.
The club’s MC announced my set and I walked out onto the stage, a black veil over my face, my stage name “Queenie” scrawled along my left arm in gold sharpie. I wondered vaguely if it would be hard to scrub off. The crowd cheered, albeit drunkenly, and I took a seat at my keyboard. I carefully drew the veil back and started to play.
It always took me a few songs to get comfortable. But then, when that perfect moment hit, where I was one with my voice and my instrument, I felt like I was soaring, gliding through air. I started the final song of my set, a new one I’d penned just a few days ago. It was called “Completely Incomplete.”
My hand without fingers
My song without words
This is what it feels like when you’re not in my world
Com-com-com-completely incomplete
My eyes without vision
My voice without sound
This what I become when you’re not around
Com-com-com-completely incomplete
The upbeat piano ditty was at odds with my mournful lyrics. A chill fell over me and I opened my eyes. There in the middle of the crowd stood Trev. His bright blue gaze caught the light and glowed. He was half demon, half angel. Everything I ever wanted but never took. I pounded the keys with more force, sweat trickled down the middle of my spine, and a dull ache swelled inside me.
His presence made me forget how much it hurt when he didn’t call. He made me forget everything that came before. All I felt was the moment, whittled down to one single emotion.
Want.
It was a base instinct, one I couldn’t control. I finished my set and stood as the crowd whistled and clapped. When I entered the backstage area and stumbled into my tiny dressing room, I felt drunk, even though I hadn’t taken a drop of alcohol. Foggy headed. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like the devil beckoning me with the promise of everlasting pleasure, urging me to take his hand.
I felt Trev get nearer, some sixth sense knew he was coming, then he pulled back the curtain separating the tiny nook of a dressing room from the corridor. My fingers shook as I lifted a makeup wipe to clean my face. My eyes went to him, but I didn’t speak.
“Hey,” he breathed. His hair was messy and his clothes rumpled. There were bags under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.
“Rough day?” I asked, quiet, subdued, while on the inside I was edgy, skittish, tense.
He stepped past the curtain and pulled it over, shrouding us in a cloak of false privacy. You could still hear the noise of the club, still hear the footsteps going to and fro. I watched as he ran a hand down his face and exhaled heavily. He came and sat on the edge of the dressing table.
“Rough week,” he answered, his attention wandering over my face and down to my cleavage. A twinge of desire flittered through me like feathery wings beating in my belly.
“Want to talk about it?”
His expression softened and I was gifted with a rare moment of the real Trev, the one who had fears and hopes and dreams. “Not really.”
“Okay.”
He sighed. “It’s just, the TV people don’t think the show is going to be strong enough with only three of us. They want to audition others. Callum’s been up in arms about it.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “You know how delicate his ego can be. I don’t care about sharing the spotlight, I just don’t want other people coming in and taking a cut of the money. James is trying to be diplomatic about it, but I know he’s quietly pissed, too.”
I wasn’t surprised that Trev cared more about the money than the spotlight, even though most people would’ve thought it was the opposite. He’d been so poor as a kid that money meant more to him than material things. It meant safety, security. It meant not being at the mercy of another person ever again.
“You guys know lots of other free runners. Just pick the ones you think you’ll get along with best and put them forward as candidates.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said and went silent as I began packing away my things. He watched me with a heat so potent it felt like a physical touch. My skin beaded as I reached by him to grab my make-up bag. He caught my hand, his thumb brushing over the delicate inside of my wrist. My throat constricted as I glanced up to meet his eyes.
“Can we go back to yours?” he asked huskily.
I opened my mouth to speak, then hesitated. My initial thought was to say yes, but instead I asked, “Why didn’t you call me all week?”
Trev frowned like I was being a buzzkill. “I told you, things have been crazy.”
My brows rose. “Too crazy for a five-minute phone call?”
“I told you. It won’t be like this forever. Everything’s just moving really fast right now.”
“Right,” I said, an uneasiness taking hold. The spell broke, my indignation built. I was angry at how he ignored me for days then just thought he could show up and I’d do whatever we wanted. We hadn’t had sex yet, not properly, and the expectation of it hung heavy in the air between us. It was something we both wanted desperately, I knew that, but maybe his intentions weren’t as pure as mine. Showing up unannounced after a week of radio silence felt a lot like being used. I was worth more than that. I wasn’t going to be his booty call, or whatever the hell this was.
I grabbed my bag and keyboard case and made my way out into the corridor. Trev followed heavy on my heels.
“You think I don’t care about you,” he said, guessing my thoughts.
“No. I know you care about me. You just don’t care enough. I’m not asking for the world, Trev. I’m not asking for much at all, just a little respect.”
He caught me by the wrist and tried to take my things. “Let me carry those.”
I refused to let go and turned to face him. “You’re only here because you want sex. Admit it.”
Trev’s expression transformed to one of disbelief. “You honestly think that?”
“What do you expect me to think? You say you want to be with me, but you still treat me like a buddy. This isn’t how you treat a girlfriend, not even close.”
No, that couldn’t be it. If it was, then he wouldn’t have been so . . . verbal in expressing his pleasure.
The club’s MC announced my set and I walked out onto the stage, a black veil over my face, my stage name “Queenie” scrawled along my left arm in gold sharpie. I wondered vaguely if it would be hard to scrub off. The crowd cheered, albeit drunkenly, and I took a seat at my keyboard. I carefully drew the veil back and started to play.
It always took me a few songs to get comfortable. But then, when that perfect moment hit, where I was one with my voice and my instrument, I felt like I was soaring, gliding through air. I started the final song of my set, a new one I’d penned just a few days ago. It was called “Completely Incomplete.”
My hand without fingers
My song without words
This is what it feels like when you’re not in my world
Com-com-com-completely incomplete
My eyes without vision
My voice without sound
This what I become when you’re not around
Com-com-com-completely incomplete
The upbeat piano ditty was at odds with my mournful lyrics. A chill fell over me and I opened my eyes. There in the middle of the crowd stood Trev. His bright blue gaze caught the light and glowed. He was half demon, half angel. Everything I ever wanted but never took. I pounded the keys with more force, sweat trickled down the middle of my spine, and a dull ache swelled inside me.
His presence made me forget how much it hurt when he didn’t call. He made me forget everything that came before. All I felt was the moment, whittled down to one single emotion.
Want.
It was a base instinct, one I couldn’t control. I finished my set and stood as the crowd whistled and clapped. When I entered the backstage area and stumbled into my tiny dressing room, I felt drunk, even though I hadn’t taken a drop of alcohol. Foggy headed. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like the devil beckoning me with the promise of everlasting pleasure, urging me to take his hand.
I felt Trev get nearer, some sixth sense knew he was coming, then he pulled back the curtain separating the tiny nook of a dressing room from the corridor. My fingers shook as I lifted a makeup wipe to clean my face. My eyes went to him, but I didn’t speak.
“Hey,” he breathed. His hair was messy and his clothes rumpled. There were bags under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights.
“Rough day?” I asked, quiet, subdued, while on the inside I was edgy, skittish, tense.
He stepped past the curtain and pulled it over, shrouding us in a cloak of false privacy. You could still hear the noise of the club, still hear the footsteps going to and fro. I watched as he ran a hand down his face and exhaled heavily. He came and sat on the edge of the dressing table.
“Rough week,” he answered, his attention wandering over my face and down to my cleavage. A twinge of desire flittered through me like feathery wings beating in my belly.
“Want to talk about it?”
His expression softened and I was gifted with a rare moment of the real Trev, the one who had fears and hopes and dreams. “Not really.”
“Okay.”
He sighed. “It’s just, the TV people don’t think the show is going to be strong enough with only three of us. They want to audition others. Callum’s been up in arms about it.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “You know how delicate his ego can be. I don’t care about sharing the spotlight, I just don’t want other people coming in and taking a cut of the money. James is trying to be diplomatic about it, but I know he’s quietly pissed, too.”
I wasn’t surprised that Trev cared more about the money than the spotlight, even though most people would’ve thought it was the opposite. He’d been so poor as a kid that money meant more to him than material things. It meant safety, security. It meant not being at the mercy of another person ever again.
“You guys know lots of other free runners. Just pick the ones you think you’ll get along with best and put them forward as candidates.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said and went silent as I began packing away my things. He watched me with a heat so potent it felt like a physical touch. My skin beaded as I reached by him to grab my make-up bag. He caught my hand, his thumb brushing over the delicate inside of my wrist. My throat constricted as I glanced up to meet his eyes.
“Can we go back to yours?” he asked huskily.
I opened my mouth to speak, then hesitated. My initial thought was to say yes, but instead I asked, “Why didn’t you call me all week?”
Trev frowned like I was being a buzzkill. “I told you, things have been crazy.”
My brows rose. “Too crazy for a five-minute phone call?”
“I told you. It won’t be like this forever. Everything’s just moving really fast right now.”
“Right,” I said, an uneasiness taking hold. The spell broke, my indignation built. I was angry at how he ignored me for days then just thought he could show up and I’d do whatever we wanted. We hadn’t had sex yet, not properly, and the expectation of it hung heavy in the air between us. It was something we both wanted desperately, I knew that, but maybe his intentions weren’t as pure as mine. Showing up unannounced after a week of radio silence felt a lot like being used. I was worth more than that. I wasn’t going to be his booty call, or whatever the hell this was.
I grabbed my bag and keyboard case and made my way out into the corridor. Trev followed heavy on my heels.
“You think I don’t care about you,” he said, guessing my thoughts.
“No. I know you care about me. You just don’t care enough. I’m not asking for the world, Trev. I’m not asking for much at all, just a little respect.”
He caught me by the wrist and tried to take my things. “Let me carry those.”
I refused to let go and turned to face him. “You’re only here because you want sex. Admit it.”
Trev’s expression transformed to one of disbelief. “You honestly think that?”
“What do you expect me to think? You say you want to be with me, but you still treat me like a buddy. This isn’t how you treat a girlfriend, not even close.”
