I’d considered telling her to bring her instrument but hadn’t wanted to ruin the surprise. Luckily, I had enough connections here to know that we could get someone to lend one to Allie if I asked nicely enough.
“I’ll handle that. Just…put your name down, and by the time it’s your turn, we’ll have a guitar for you.”
Allie hesitated, but proved herself to be as bold as I remembered. “Fuck it,” she said, putting her name on the list. “It can’t hurt anything. Even if I flop, I’ll just be in the same place as I am now.”
“You won’t flop,” I half laughed as I guided her back into the main seating area. We found a table at the back and settled in to watch some other people perform as we waited for Allie’s name to be called.
I wasn’t lying with my encouraging words. I’d done my research on Allie Tate and dug up her long-dormant YouTube channel, and I’d accidentally watched every single video of a younger Allie singing her heart out the night before—likely part of the reason I couldn’t get my head on straight today. Back then, Allie had mostly stuck to covers of popular songs, which wasn’t anything special in and of itself. But she had a unique way of twisting the songs so they had a cooler, darker sound, or performing the lyrics in such a way that the shallow words took on a whole new, more complex meaning. A song about partying all night turned into a near lament about looking for happiness in all the wrong places; a sexy little love song turned deeper, more passionate under her care.
And yeah, her voice was killer. It was good to know I hadn’t hitched my wagon to someone who dreamed of success in an industry that didn’t suit them. Allie Tate had popstar potential,and I was full of anticipation for a new reason as I waited for her turn at the mic. We ordered drinks, and Allie had just about finished hers as a comedian finished bombing on the stage. When I knew we were only a few slots away from Allie’s moment, I stood up.
“Hold our table,” I told Allie as I brushed away thoughts of her singing voice, the way her eyes glinted in the low light as she looked up at me from our table. I was getting tired of being so obsessed with this girl. “I’m going to get you a guitar.”
It didn’t take long for me to find someone I knew, someone who owed me a favor even, who also happened to have a guitar on hand. The guy was an employee at Ratliff, hoping to break into the industry himself someday, and a regular at Lenny’s open mic. Allie stared at me, dumbfounded, as I sidled back up to her in a few minutes, gripping an acoustic guitar by its neck. The warm, polished wood caught the club’s soft light.
“Now how the hell did you manage that?” she asked through incredulous, impressed laughter. Her ample chest shook with the effort, and I indulged myself with a little look, fascinated by the dark line of cleavage between her breasts. Allie noticed me looking, but she didn’t slap me, which I figured was a good sign. In fact, I could have sworn she leaned in, giving me an even better view. She was on her second drink, I thought, which could have been part of it. I wasn’t about to push my luck.
“You asked the right man for help making connections,” I told Allie as she took the instrument from my hands. Her own hands, her delicate fingers, fell into place perfectly, like the guitar was an extension of herself. I was all the more excited to see her play. “I know everyone at Lenny’s. And everyone here—hell, just about everyone within fifty miles who has any interest in making a name for themselves in the music scene—knows me.”
“Your humility is admirable,” Allie quipped, which had me grinning like a cat who got the cream.
Ideally, peaches and cream. Like the perfect shade of Allie’s skin, smooth and begging for my touch.
Moments later, the host announced the next act. The last slot before Allie’s name would be called. I could see her stiffen, nerves starting to get to her, and I resisted the urge to touch her, to smooth away the crease that had formed in her forehead with my thumb.
“Remember. When you get up there, just picture the audience in their underwear.” I paused, winked. “Especially me.”
The flirting seemed to ease some of her stress, making her laugh again. We settled in to watch a mediocre cover band play their little hearts out, and when they were finished, the emcee was calling, “Allie Tate.”
Allie stepped up to the microphone, slinging the guitar around her neck with its strap. I took the opportunity to watch the sway of her hips, the enticing curve of her full ass as she walked through the room and approached the microphone. And then she was up there, standing proud on the stage in her heels, and she was giving the room a winning grin with just a hint of sass.
“How’s everybody tonight?” she asked into the microphone, her warm voice floating over us all. A few people down front whooped, and most of the rest of us murmured our contentment. She nodded, no trace of the nerves she’d been fighting earlier in her face. “Alright. I’m Allie Tate, and I’m gonna play an original song tonight. I wrote this one for…well, for someone special, and I haven’t performed it for anyone but her before, so…”
The crowd gave soft claps and words of encouragement. That was another reason Lenny’s was perfect for Allie’s firstbig outing: I’d never been to a place with a more supportive environment. Certainly not in LA. I wondered at who Allie was talking about, this woman who had inspired a song, but I didn’t have much chance to do more than that.
As the spotlight bathed her in a gentle glow, the noise of the room faded into a quiet anticipation. I propped up my cell phone on the table, angling the camera to capture her in all her glory. And then she began.
Allie’s fingers danced over the guitar strings in a way that felt effortless and deeply emotional. Like she’d missed this more than she thought, and this return to the stage was her impassioned,There’s no place like home.The first notes of her song filled the room—a soulful melody that suited the warm timbre of her voice as she started with wordless syllables, a gorgeous interlude.
And then the words started, giving form to her singing. The lyrics were full of love, unpretentious and true but not without their moments of poetic beauty. I was transfixed, watching as her voice, soft yet powerful, wove through the chords with a raw authenticity that took me back to that impulsive, unforgettable night in Vegas.
Every note, every pause, carried a quiet strength. It was as if the music was her truth, telling a story of a life filled with longing, a secret promise to someone she cared about deeply. I could see it in the slight tremble of her hand on the fretboard, in the way her eyes closed as if to shut out the world and let the music flow entirely from within.
For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of her voice and the gentle strumming of the guitar. I couldn’t help but be utterly starstruck—not just by the beauty of the performance, but by the realization that the Allie who had once been a fleeting memory in Vegas was still here, burning with a passion that had only grown stronger with time. A passion I was desperate totaste again. Screw being sensible or focusing on the annulment mess that had brought me to her after all these years. Now, all I really wanted was to touch her again.
I continued recording until she played her last note, her voice fading from the room. In that suspended moment, with the applause of the small crowd building around us, I felt that undeniable pull—the same magnetic force that had drawn me to her all those years ago.
The crowd erupted in applause, more energetic than they’d been all evening. Because Allie was special, a real talent. She stood there for a moment, a small, shy smile curving her lips, red hair turned to flame under the stage lights, as she absorbed the reaction of the room. I sat there, caught between the thrill of the performance and the whirlwind of questions that swirled in my mind. Who had inspired the song? Was Allie’s career about to take off? And most importantly to my own selfish brain, my starving body—how soon could I get my hands on her again?
11
ALLIE
The second I bounded off the stage, while the adrenaline still had my heart hammering in my ears, Gavin surprised me with a wide grin and swept me into his arms. It almost knocked the air out of my lungs.
“God, Allie, you were incredible,” he told me, his voice huskier than normal. I felt his breath tickling my ear as he showered me with praise, and I couldn’t help but notice how deceptively strong his slim arms were around me. “I’m serious. You’re the best I’ve seen in a long, long time.”
“Really?” I squeaked out, my face flushing with uncertainty and embarrassment. “I…you thought I was that good?”
