Ireally fucking hate chick singers.
I don’t generally advertise this opinion because it sounds sexist as hell, but that’s not the reason women who sing grate on my last fucking nerve. No, it’s more to do with the fact they’re usually divas, as if being so much more talented that the majority of the greater population gives them superiority. Which is totally bogus, given that a person’s voice is attributed to a God given talent, something determined by birth, and okay, some training. Mostly, you either got it or you don’t. It’s not something earned or worked for; that’s just the luck of the draw.
But Lexi, she’s not a diva. No, she’s more like one of the guys, willing to take our ridiculous antics and give back as good as anyone in our circle. That alone makes her likable, and intriguing, and if I’m being honest, the fact her father is a fucking rock legend fuels the interest. Which is probably why I find myself skulking around the empty stadium during her slated sound check once we arrive in Charlotte.
Shows are so crazy, and life is going full speed so I still haven’t heard her sing. Maybe that’s a shit move on my part. I mean, she is our opening act, but it’s not as if we got to choose her. The label wanted a woman, and she was our compromise. But curiosity has caught this cat’s attention. I’m like a lion on the hunt. I need to hear her.
Pushing against the metal door opens the gateway, and her voice is amplified through an otherwise empty auditorium. Strong. Sensual. Dark. Light. Ascending. It’s all the things. I need to be closer, to observe her while she belts out a song about giving up and getting out. Careful not to draw her attention, I skirt the crew backstage behind the curtains until I’m at the rows and rows of empty seats. I sink into one, in a dark corner, and shivers—full on goosebumps—attack my flesh. I’m mesmerized.
“You took
What wasn’t yours
I’ll leave
Behind a dozen doors
Just to run
Run, run, runaway
You won’t see me
No, not another day”
The house band’s guitars wail and drums clash and Lexi drops her chin, dancing to the beat and strumming her Gibson. She’s so fucking gorgeous, but that’s not surprising. No, it’s more in how she owns every part of that stage. Right now, I’m not tempted in the slightest to watch the other musicians or check my phone. I’m captivated by the hard as nails pixie goddess front and center.
The music drops and she lifts her chin, her lips moving close but not at all touching the mic’s corded surface as she sings again.
“No you won’t see me
Not today”
The musicians stop. Lexi pops out of character and I stand from my seat clapping and screaming out my applause. “Bravo!Fucking A!Bravo!”
Her gaze narrows as she spies me in my row and the relaxed shape of her mouth pinches with disapproval. She lifts her chin to the sound crew and taps her earpiece. “A little more guitar, please?”
“You got it, Lex,” he shouts back. “You wanna run it once more?”
She considers his question with a side glance at me. “No. I’m good. Unless you need me to.”
“We’re golden. Rest up for tonight,” he replies and everyone onstage gets back to work. I jog up to the edge of the stage and climb up before she takes off.
Lexi shuts her guitar case and stands when I reach her. “I thought you hated listening to chicks sing?” She places both hands on her hip and lifts her brow.
“That was before.” My lips twitch at the edges as I hold back my grin, “You made a liar out of me, Lexi Marx.”
She rolls her eyes but I can tell she wants to smile. “I’m sure you were a liar before.”
“Not true. But seriously, that was kickass. You are a badass. Not that you didn’t already know it. I’m glad you’re on this tour.” I don’t know why but my words feel insignificant, unworthy of the performance I witnessed.
She lifts her chin and finally grins, “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah, I do.” I shove my hands into my back pockets and rock on the soles of my boots.
“Thank you. That means a lot.” She releases a deep exhale and I’m proud of myself for not glancing at her chest.
Instead, I knock her with my shoulder. “Aw, you like me.”
