Normally, I’d scan the crowd, zeroing in on exactly where those screams are coming from to decide which girl—or two—I’d be talking into coming back to the hotel room with me. But my gaze doesn’t stray an inch tonight. I saw Avery the second I took the stage, and I can’t seem to look away. She’s floating from table to table, her hair piled on top of her head with a few lone strands kissing her neck. She’s keeping her back to me. And something tells me it’s on purpose. I was planning on starting out simple, to get my chops warm. But I’m man enough to admit that Avery’s part of the reason I’m doing this in the first place, and if she’s not willing to look at me, I’m willing to work for it.

“This first one is a song I never thought I got quite right. But a good friend…well…she told me otherwise. She’s pretty stubborn,” I laugh lightly as I set the song up, my insides just begging Avery to turn around. I can see her back at the bar, and she’s alone. I know she’s just listening, waiting to see if I’m going to do what she thinks I’m going to do. “This one’s ‘Wild Horses’.”

When her tray falls, my heart speeds up. I know I’m in trouble. But I’ve been in trouble before. I love trouble. So I start to play, and when I sing, I keep my eyes on her the entire time, just waiting for the moment she turns around. She never does. But she doesn’t move from her spot, either, and I think maybe she’s in trouble, too.

Avery

I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m not surprised Mason is playing this song. I practically challenged him. But I didn’t think it would make my entire body feel numb hearing it. I haven’t looked at him all night, not since I saw him talking to Max. I didn’t see his face when he took the stage, and I can’t say for sure that he was looking at me when he introduced his first song. But he was definitely talking to me. I can feel it deep down, and it hurts a little.

Mason Street is going to crush me—he’s going to rip open my heart…again. He’s going to completely destroy me, unless I can stand here and convince myself that my heart isn’t pounding out of my goddamned chest just listening to his perfect voice.

Every flick of his fingers on that stupid guitar sends a new wave down my body. Every crack in his voice—his voice that is suddenly so much older, so much…sexier—gives me shivers. I’m so thankful that no one has come near me, because if they did they’d see the flipping goosebumps all over my arms. But no one has ventured anywhere near my spot at the bar. They haven’t moved because they’re frozen stiff. Mason has everyone captivated; he’s just that amazingly good.

I wonder if he’s looking at me. I want to turn around to check so badly, but I’m terrified I’ll meet his eyes. That would be it—I don’t have many cards left to play, and my defense is weakening. If I look at Mason now, I’ll be lost. And I don’t have time to be lost—I have too many things on the other side of this fantasy that depend on me.

When the crowd stands and starts to whistle and yell at the end, I take my opportunity and race to the kitchen, heading right for the safety of my locker. By the time I get there, I have my shirt untucked, and I’m pulling it in and out from my body just to get the air flowing around me. I’m so hot I think I might pass out, and I lay back on the bench with my knees pulled in.

“So, that was kind of intense,” I hear Claire say over me. I could lie, tell her I’m not feeling well, but Claire’s always seen though my bullshit. I can’t pull any punches with her. Besides—who else would I talk to?

“Yeah…that was,” I say, flopping my head to the side and meeting her eyes. She’s already smirking, and I just keep my stare on her, hoping she gets that I’m not ready to be teased. I’m overwhelmed right now.

“I’m not going to brag that I was right…but I was right, huh?” she starts.

“Right about what? That Mason Street is hotter than ever? Uh…yeah, check. That he’s gotten sexier? Uh, yes…he has. That my stupid girl-crush is going to come raging back like a case of the shingles?” I fold my arms over my head while my ears pick up hints of Mason’s next song. He’s singing “In Your Eyes” now—fucking Peter Gabriel!

“Well, yes. I was right about all of that,” Claire says, lifting my feet and putting them on her lap so she can sit down. “But that’s not what I meant.”

I squint at her, and my chest feels heavy; I’m having a hard time filling my lungs with air.