Chapter 28 Hole In My Soul
AEROSMITH
As the song fades, I head for the booth,
when someone cuts off my path. Next,
my eyes are climbing six-foot-two of holy shit.
Perfect mouth.
Perfect nose.
Perfect eyes.
Perfect face.
The sight of him trips me up.
“Hey,” he says, out of breath,
hand against his chest.
Espresso-eyed and god-tier.
And for the first time, I’m fucking got.
And I don’t get got.
I just… get.
I swallow. “Hi.”
My heart sees him
and slaps the panic button to sound the alarm.
The rest of me follows suit.
My lungs are foaming at the mouth.
My libido? Full Hunger Games tribute:
I volunteer. I fuckin’ volunteer.
My clit’s shaking the prison bars, yelling—
CODE DICK. CODE DICK.
He glances down, mouth open, words gone.
Then—“Yeah, didn’t really think this through.
“Saw you out there dancing.
“Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.
“Next thing I know, I’m here.”
His mouth breaks into a hot grin,
cocked and crooked.
“How was I supposed to stay seated?”
My lips part.
Nothing clever comes out.
So I lick them, nodding.
“Romeo,” he says, offering his hand.
A huff leaves me. “You’re kidding.”
He laughs. “Swear on Sinatra, sweetheart.”
He raises a finger,
pulls out a slim wallet,
flips it open
to a driver’s license,
tucked behind a beat-up Ventra card.
ROMEO.
Then he slides his wallet back into his pocket.
“Just don’t stick me in a box with the Shakespeare one. I’m alive and not nearly as tragic.”
There’s a cadence to his voice.
A rhythm of his mouth.
I can’t stop staring.
“And Romeo meets… ?” He draws it out with a grin, head tipped slightly.
“Allison.”
“Allison,” he says, and I melt. “Not gonna lie—watching you take down every guy out there? Little terrifying. I damn near backed out, but something told me to try. You come here with anybody?”
That’s when I realize we’ve got an audience.
Romeo and I both glance at the booth.
Mikey and Nico are watching us,
both wearing a shit-eating grin.
Jay’s tapping his foot, head bobbing,
not a goddamn clue what’s happening.
And Andrew's face is split down the middle—
half of him wants to rip the world apart,
the other half just wants me to look at him one more time.
“Nope. Just me.” I flick my chin toward the guys. “But they’re hittin’ the stage soon, so I’m playing good-friend for the next twenty-five minutes.”
I glance back at Romeo.
“Find me once they go on?”
“C’mon now, darlin’.
“You already know the answer.”
He glances past me, lifts two fingers with a nudge of his chin to the guys.
“Knock ‘em dead, fellas.”
Mikey lifts two fingers—
“Appreciate that, man. Real stand-up thing to say—" He pats Andrew's chest, eyes flicking to him. “What a gentleman move, huh?”
Romeo falls back a step,
flashing a vintage grin,
then walks off with one hand in his pocket.
His gait’s got crooner written all over it,
smooth, sexy.
I fix my face before I turn,
and all of them are staring.
Mikey’s holding back a smirk.
Nico’s not hiding it at all.
Jay’s still clueless.
Andrew’s white-knuckling his glass,
eyes on the crowd, expressions stone-cold.
Redhead’s still curled up beside him,
hand on his thigh.
Mikey stretches an arm across the backrest—
“I'm secure enough to say—that guy? Hot. Bet he don't fuck around either. Nah. He the kind'a guy who locks in.” He shakes his head, bringing his drink to his lips. “Guy's got real swag. Shit's inspirin'.”
“Mmm. Yeah. That one’s dangerous,” Redhead agrees as Romeo walks off.
“You two’d be lethal on a Christmas card.”
I raise a brow. “Yeah?”
Nico’s facing his lap,
trying to hold in his laughter,
trying not to glance over at Andrew.
Still, he does, then giggles some more.
Andrew swirls his drink. “She makes anything look good. Even that guy.”
The look on his face? Murder.
The look on mine?
Barely keeping the laugh in.
“Could say the same for you,” I tell Redhead,
then wave a finger between her and Andrew.
“The two of you together? Fucking hot.”
I smile at her, then lean into Andrew.
“You forgot to give me her name?” I ask him,
intentionally loud enough for her to hear.
Andrew bites his bottom lip, nodding with a middle-finger smile.
I smirk, falling back—
“Been seeing each other long?”
She jumps in—
“Who me? And Andrew Harding?” She laughs at the idea. “You know how it is. Just tied up once or twice.”
“Once,” Andrew says into his drink.
“He doesn't pass through often,” Redhead continues, a sultry smile crawling over her lips as she squeezes his thigh. “So tonight, I'm keepin' that mouth mine.”
Andrew chokes on his soda water, the glass clinking as he leans in and drops it on the table. Grabs her wrist, slides her hand off his thigh. “How about you don’t say that shit when she’s sittin’ right fuckin’ there.”
My laugh is light as I stand,
Andrew’s stare climbing with me.
“So I’m just gonna fuck off stage left,” I say.
“Leave you two alone.”
But she doesn't give me a second to turn.
She's already leaning into him,
her voice lowering to a whisper loud enough for me to hear—“One hand slip, and you'd feel what you're doin' to me right now," she says into his ear. “C’mon, Harding. Ten minutes in the bathroom.”
And suddenly, my heart's paralyzed.
Not in a can’t-feel-anything way.
In a can-feel-everything-but-can’t-move way.
She’s moaning for him
and his eyes are burning into me like—
C’mon, Sonny. Take me.
Rip her off.
Say I’m yours and I’ll drop her right now.
Be the jealous bitch I know you are.
“Not wearing panties…” she keeps going,
“No one would notice if you slipped under my skirt right here.”
My stomach’s spinning.
And my body's turning.
And turning.
And turning.
And there’s Mikey.
Who’s half a twitch from snapping a string on his guitar—a Fender Jaguar looking like it chain-smokes and drinks before noon.
I can hear the flat chord from here,
interrupting Whore Whisper Hour.
(Not slut-shaming. Chill. She’s not a whore. Obviously. It’s just the alliteration. The bit. Like—Welcome to Whore Whisper Wednesdays.)
And Mikey’s the only thing keeping me from lunging over the booth and gnawing off her face.
He’s tuning unplugged,
with no amp, no pedal, no shame.
He pulls out his phone and opens a tuner app.
That’s when I step in, crossing the space,
sinking my knee into the cushion next to him,
half-kneeling and facing him.
Mikey startles, eyes flying up fast.
Yo, I’m trying to run away without actually running away. And you opened a tuning app for fuck’s sake. The judgment’s active. Full music-nerd mode.
Too late to turn it off.
Now distract me.
“Don’t listen for it. Feel it, ” I say,
my hand slipping over his.
He stills, gripping the neck while I lean in.
“Fifth fret on the low E, seventh of the A.
“You’re matching them—string to string.”
Mikey’s brows pull in
as if I just asked him to translate sheet music.
My smirk slides in. “What’s the matter?
“Thought you were lead guitar.”
He pulls in his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes.
“You’re really gonna insult me while fondling my fretboard?”
I inch back, raising both palms.
“You want help or nah?”
Mikey smirks. “Shit, yeah—
“I’ll put my fingers wherever you want.”
I shake my head, leaning back in—
“Fifth fret on the sixth string,
“seventh on the fifth.”
I tap his thumb. “That one.”
Then drag down. “And this one.
“Now pluck ‘em. Feel if they’re fighting.”
He plucks, and my brow hikes—
“You hearin’ it? Not with your ears.”
I tap his thigh where the guitar’s pressed.
“Here.” Then I brush his wrist. “And here…
“Close your eyes, pluck again, and feel it.”
His hand spasms. Wrong string.
“Shit—slipped. That’s on me.”
I laugh under my breath.
He tries again
and gets the note right that time.
The clashing notes vibrate through him
the same second I feel it too.
He nods,
the corner of his mouth tugging—
“Yeah, I felt it.”
“Exactly. Means it’s still off. They’re arguing.”
I adjust the peg. “Tighten just a hair—yeah.
“Now hit it again.”
He plucks, and the buzz evens out.
“There. Feel that? One clean tone instead of two bitching at each other, the sound finally figured out who it wants to be.
“That’s the note locking in.
“A steady exhale.
“That’s how you tune unplugged.”
“Damn… Okay.
“Didn’t know you could do that.”
He clears his throat.
“You always tune this way?”
“Yeah,” I say, distracted, leaning in to the guitar. “It’s faster. No amp needed. You just gotta listen with your body. Keep doing that? Makes you better—no lie.”
Mikey laughs under his breath.
“Yeah. My body’s sayin’ plenty right now, trust me.”
Behind me, Andrew coughs into his fist,
then clears his throat.
Mikey smirks, leaning closer, mouth to my ear.
“I don’t usually get in the middle’a shit.
But I ain’t blind. Known Harding a while, and I ain’t ever seen him like this.
He don’t let girls touch him. Yo—he don’t even look.
Now he’s lettin’ her crawl all over him?
Nah. He’s lettin’ it ride ‘cause you’re standin’ right here, watchin’.
He’s losin’ it. So fuck it—lets make him sweat.
You and me—bar, corner, a smoke. Make him wonder. See if we can get him to crack.”
I cock a brow.
Crack him? I want to fucking shatter him.
I want him raging and wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
Because if I’m going to drown tonight,
Andrew’s damn well going under too.
Mikey flicks his eyes up at me.
“C’mon, Allie. Walk with me.”
I pull back, sliding off the cushion.
Mikey sets his guitar on the seat next to him,
then stands, towering over me,
fixing his waistband as he peers down at me.
“You smell fuckin’ insane, by the way.
“That vanilla shit? Jesus.”
He says it with a smirk,
loud enough for Andrew to hear.
Then he tosses his gaze up at him behind me
and flicks a lazy finger at the guitar.
“Yo, Harding. Mind tuckin’ my girl in?
“Gotta handle somethin’.”
Mikey, babe, you reckless little shit…
You might just be my new favorite person.