She was smiling, her straight, white teeth flashing, her lips red and plump. Everyone in the photos all wore identical uniforms. T-shirts that stated a lone word across the chest.
Lyrics. The bar I was currently in.
Her obvious place of employment.
I actually lifted my hand and placed it over my chest, felt my heart start to beat again, increase in speed. I’d found her. I looked over at the bartender, could see he was watching me with skepticism on his face. Oh, he’d tell her I was here. I had no doubt about that. I was hoping he would. Because every night, I was coming back.
I’d see her, and she’d see me, and I had no doubt in my mind that connection would be too strong for us to ignore.
4
Adele
Sunday morning
Yesterday had been my day off, and I’d done absolutely nothing. I shut off my phone, slept in, stayed in my pajamas, and tried like hell not to think about the one person who consumed my thoughts on a continuous basis.
Oliver.
I stretched in bed, then rolled over and pulled the phone charger out of the end of my cell before bringing it up and turning it on. I really didn’t disconnect from the world like this often, but with constantly working, doing singing gigs in my free time, and the thoughts running through my mind of all the what-ifs and the “why didn’t I do this or that,” I was exhausted. So I totally just wanted to unwind, unplug, and recharge.
And I felt incredible right now.
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up, resting my back against the headboard of the bed, and stared at the screen of my cell as it lit up and finally turned on. I set the cell on my lap and reached out to grab a hair tie from my bedside table drawer, pulled up my braids so they were out of my face, and wrapped the tie around the thick strands. As soon as my phone was on, I heard the continuous dings of missed calls and text messages.
One was from my mother, but the rest were all from Bishop. Although I was friends with him, we didn’t normally talk outside of work. Maybe they were short-staffed and he wanted me to come in?
All his calls and texts were from last night, late, so if that was what he wanted, it was too late now.
I opened up his messages and started reading.
Bishop: Adele, some guy is here asking about you. Only knows your first name. Seems sketchy as hell to me.
Bishop: Yo, where are you?
Bishop: Why aren’t you answering?
Bishop: Told him I didn’t know anyone named Adele, but I could tell from his expression he knew I was full of shit.
Bishop: Dammit, Adele, where the fuck are you?
My heart was beating overtime as I continued reading.
Bishop: He saw the staff picture on the corkboard before he left. I could tell he recognized you right off the bat. I’m gonna kick his fucking ass if he shows back up here again.
This kind of protectiveness wasn’t unusual for Bishop. He was very protective of all the girls at the club. It was his establishment, and he treated all of us like family. It also wasn’t unheard of for him to kick some drunken idiot out who was disrespecting one of the employees. And it certainly wasn’t foreign for him to beat up some asshole who put their hands on us.
Oh my God.
My heart was beating double-time at this point, and I hoped—prayed—that Bishop was talking about Oliver. It had to be, right? Bishop hadn’t said what the guy looked like or what his name was, but who else could it be?
No one else would be looking for me. No one else would be as
king for me by my first name, right? It’s not like I used my name when I sang. I used the pseudonym Addie, more for my privacy, and even more because I wanted to be someone else when I was up on those stages. But I’d given Oliver my real name.
Bishop most likely thought it was some kind of creepy stalker, maybe someone who’d seen me singing at one of the bars. Hell, maybe it was. I didn’t know. I just hoped it wasn’t. I hoped it was Oliver.
But the latter seemed far less likely. I wanted to think that Oliver was so enamored with me, the same way I was with him, that he was actually searching for me in this big-ass city.