“Have a seat, Wilkes,” Jace said, pushing a chair out with his foot. “I have a feeling the show’s going to be worth watching.”
Colby sat and Jace, being the annoying yet considerate friend that he was, ordered Colby a double shot of whiskey.
Keats adjusted the microphone and moved the stool aside so he could stay standing. He plucked a few strings and twisted the tuning pegs. “You’ll have to forgive me. Robyn was kind enough to lend me her guitar since I don’t have mine, so I’ll have to feel my way through this a little.”
“I know what he could feel his way through,” muttered one of the chicks at the table next to Colby. Her friend giggled.
Colby gritted his teeth, a rare bolt of possessiveness taking hold.
Keats looked out at the audience. “I only have one song for you tonight. And to be honest, it’s one song for one person. So let’s hope he likes it.”
Colby’s breathing stopped. He.
Holy shit. The guy who could barely say the word bi had just come out onstage.
Jace smiled over at Colby and held up a finger, his head tilted. “And that’s the sound of female hearts breaking all through the audience.”
But Colby couldn’t respond. Keats started strumming, and that smooth, melodic voice of his moved through Colby. He didn’t recognize the notes, but once Keats opened up his mouth to sing, Colby forgot anyone else was there in the bar with him.
The country flavor in Keats’s voice was different from Colby’s, but warm, full, and rich. Like slow honey sliding off a spoon. Much deeper than it had been in Keats’s high school days. And sexy as fuck.
Keats looked down at his guitar as his fingers moved with confidence over the strings, his words seeping into Colby’s very being.
Light the match, I said.
Feed the flames, I beg.
I need your fire to snap the beams.
Consume the doubts I hear.
Ignite the truths I fear.
Burn me down, baby.
Burn me down.
Colby closed his eyes and knocked back his whiskey, the burning in his throat matching the heat Keats’s song was fueling in his gut. Keats hadn’t looked his way once, but he’d made it clear who he was singing to. Colby didn’t know how he was going to walk away this time.
“Goddamn,” Jace muttered. “This is getting me hot under the collar, and I’m not even into the kid.”
“He’s not a kid,” Colby snapped.
Jace lifted a hand. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. Honestly.”
Colby felt like an asshole. He wasn’t one to let his temper leak into things, especially when it was unfounded. Jace was just being Jace. But everything felt on edge at the moment, like even a breath on his skin would be too much.
“The guy can sing, though, Wilkes. He’s really fucking good.”
“Always has been,” Colby said gruffly. “Just never had a chance to catch a break.”
“That sucks. Want me to talk to Foster’s friend, Pike?”
“For what?”
“Pike’s doing some producing now. He could help him put together a demo. Robyn’s going to do one.”
Colby adjusted his cap, only half able to stay engaged in the conversation. “Yeah, do that. I’m sure Keats has some stuff ready to go.”