69. Chapter 69
Jase splashed cold water on his face in the men’s room. There wasn’t anything written about him on the walls in there.
He didn’t recognize the man in the splattered mirror looking at him with the wild eyes—not a deer caught in headlights, one already stuck to the front of a truck—and the firm jaw of a mind made up.
Jase finally found Lindsey coming out of the women’s bathroom. She was probably rereading the notes on the wall, making sure she didn’t fall for his old tricks again.
This was a new one, and he’d asked Helen to make sure Lindsey stuck around to see it.
The emcee announced it was Jase’s turn onstage again. With his balls in his throat, he climbed the steps and looked past the women at the front to Lindsey standing at the back of the crowd with Helen, Graham, and Luke.
“Sorry, I don’t usually do this.” He paused and reconsidered. “Actually, I’ve never done this. I’m pretty sure I’m going to fuck it up, but here goes.”
“We love you, Jase!” someone called out. A few others whistled. He thanked them with a nod and found Lindsey again. She wasn’t looking at him.
“See, there’s this woman.” The crowd at the front of the stage erupted. He saw Helen take Lindsey’s arm. “She’s important to me, and I’ve done a really bad job of letting her know that. So, I thought the best way I could show her was to bring her up here for a duet.”
It took effort, that much was clear, but she finally looked at him.
“Some of you might remember my dad’s band, the Old Men Play 3, that used to perform here.”
Cheers broke out around the bar, and he nodded his appreciation again.
“They always closed with this one. It was my mom’s favorite, and it’s the first song I remember singing as a kid. I hope she knows this one. Most people do.”
Lindsey’s eyes were wide with terror as he beckoned her to join him.
“Sundress, I know I’ve been an ass,” he said. “Is this proof enough that I choose you?”
She’d become a statue, standing completely still except for her head shaking back and forth. He sang the first verse of “Sister Christian” without her, then asked, “Are you really going to make me do this alone?”
The dramatic notes leading to the refrain known around the world were cresting when Luke managed to haul her to the stage, push her up the steps, and block her from running back down them.
Jase belted the first refrain at her back and she slowly turned.
He’d never seen her glower; didn’t know he’d find her murderous stare sexy.
She hated him or hated this or both, and it didn’t matter.
Night Ranger couldn’t be stopped, and the more he got into it, chasing her from one end of the stage to the other, the harder she fought a smile.
At the start of the second refrain, he grabbed her hand and pulled her against his chest, and she shocked him by belting out the lyrics along with him.
It was so beautiful, she was so beautiful, so fearless, that he threw everything at that one refrain, into her, and a light went off inside him that was hotter and brighter than the spotlight drawing sweat from his temples, illuminating the best, most perfect moment of his life.
The crowd gasped and the emcee hurried out with a second mic while Lindsey met Jase word for word, verse for verse.
He spun her, her blue dress flying up around her legs, and pulled her into his body to dance the way they had at the sweaty jazz club in New Orleans, back when he wouldn’t in a million years, or for three million dollars, have imagined he’d be onstage at the Haunt dancing with her, singing with her, loving it, and not realizing until that moment how much he needed it.
The song finally slowed. Jase brought her in and held her around the waist to sing the final words to her, and she took what looked like a sigh of relief. His sweaty forehead touched hers and he kissed her as the last notes of the song played through with a chorus of whistles and applause.
He didn’t come up for air until the emcee relieved them of their microphones and thanked them for a show no one would soon forget.
The next song was a slow Skynyrd ballad, one the Old Men Play 3 often performed, and Jase’s head swung around to the singer, half expecting to find his dad smiling behind the mic. He wasn’t, of course, but the first bars of “Tuesday’s Gone” were a nod of affirmation from his old man.
Jase led Lindsey off the stage to a quiet corner far from their brothers and the women dispersing from their performance, and they slowly danced.
Girlfriend came to his mind, and he leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn’t such a bad word, he decided. When he pulled back and saw the way she was looking at him, he didn’t think girlfriend was enough.
And that was okay. They could just have this for as long as they could have this without worrying about what to call it.
Or whether or not he was falling in love.