2. Konnor #2
And all that.
Jax’s hand lands on my shoulder. His way of checking I’m not shaking or swaying too much.
Been that way since he scraped me off the pavement that time outside the Basement Lounge.
He just appeared, dragged me home, sat his arse down next to me on the bed, and didn’t say a word until I could breathe again.
Hasn’t brought it up since. That’s Jax—all swagger and shit-talk when the boys are around, but when I catch him alone, I see the real him.
Sometimes I wonder why he bothers with the act at all.
I look across at Erik—he’s a different ball game.
Something about him just grates on me. Yeah, he hooked up with Pembie before we got together, which I probably shouldn’t hold against him, but I do.
Sometimes when he thinks no one’s watching, this weird intensity flashes in his eyes—like flipping a switch.
Still, we’ve been through enough shit together over the past years that I’d take a punch for him any day.
“Nice speech, Slater, seriously. You’re a complete idiot. ‘Watch me leave, ladies.’” Jax elbows me. “Ya bloody dickhead. What did the dean have to say about you flirting on stage?”
I chuckle. “Nothing. I just give the people what they want, Jax.” Propping my elbow on the table next to Erik, I ask, “What’s the face for, dude? Why do you look pissed off?”
His eyes flick to me. “I’m not.”
Jax clears his throat to get my attention.
“His little sister is playing in a few moments… and he’s worried.
” Jax cracks up laughing, but I don’t know why.
I laugh at Jax laughing because it’s hard not to.
“And she’s super-hot!” he adds, lifting his fists up to pretend-block any retaliation from Erik.
Gotcha, protective big brother vibes. I can relate to that; I have two sisters.
I watch Erik’s jaw tighten, a muscle punching beneath the skin. His eyes narrow on the stage entrance, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle.
Yep. He is intense.
Jax keeps chuckling, already distracted by a group of girls standing behind us, but I catch the way Erik stiffens as he mutters, “She doesn’t enjoy playing with other people. I didn’t tell Marcus that. Fuck. I forgot.”
I follow his gaze.
And I'm not sure what happened to all the air or when it got so damn hot, but I’m struggling to breathe as my eyes lock on the girl who has just walked onto the little stage.
I shift my weight, watching her settle onto the main stool inside the roped-off area. There's another person beside her holding a harmonica, but she’s got all the attention—mine and every other dickhead in here.
Heat flares through my temples.
Slow down on the booze, Konnor.
Jax’s laughter and commentary fade to white noise, Erik says something about the person with the harmonica, and someone at the table behind me laughs. But me… my head tilts sideways, my shoulder pressing against a stranger as I lean for a better view of this girl.
Is that Erik’s sister?
She lifts a worn acoustic guitar onto her lap, the wood glowing amber under the stage lights. She places the plastic pick between her teeth, just the edge visible, her tongue playing with it.
My jeans suddenly feel two sizes too fucking small. Her fingers stretch across the fretboard, testing each string with a delicate pluck, her eyebrows drawing together. She turns a tuning peg with such precise attention that I forget to swallow the bourbon collecting in my mouth.
She is... perfect.
That’s a fucking weird thing to think, but… I have no other word. Her long, wavy blonde hair bounces behind her shoulders, with a few rogue strands dangling over her breasts—
Shit.
How long have I been staring?
I tear my eyes away from her, glancing around to confirm that no one has caught me staring like a teenage boy who found his uncle’s porno—no one has seen me. Pemberton is talking to Jax. So I look at the girl again. I think she has brown eyes, but it’s hard to tell from here.
The guitar rests on her lap as if it belongs there, her bare thighs pressing together beneath it each time she shifts her weight.
Her fingers hover over the strings, trembling almost imperceptibly—but I notice.
The black dress with white polka dots rides up just enough to make my mouth go dry and my heart thump.
Fuck me, she is stunning.
Pemberton's hand lands on my shoulder, and I jolt back to the moment. Her lips press to my ear. "I want to leave.” She's noticed interest on my face, and this is her response— warm and measured. "This is boring. I can be more fun."
I stare at the stage. "Nah, Pem. I wanna stay for this."
She goes silent for a beat and a half, then snaps, "For what, exactly?"
I keep it short. "The music."
She doesn't respond, but she stays, which is worse than if she'd left. I feel like a man caught wanting something Pemberton has never been able to give me. She stands beside me with her arms crossed over her chest, sneering at the stage.
The girl speaks into the microphone, and Erik hushes someone beside me. "Hi, my name is Blesk Bellamy. This song is called 'Hero Boy.’"
Blesk…
Blesk Bellamy.
I watch her fingers glide across the strings, and when she opens her mouth to sing, my chest feels too tight.
She sings, “You could be the truth; I could be the treason. I could be the storm; you could be the season. It's still dark at 3 p.m., dark for no good reason.
Let's do all the things we planned to do, remember what we wanted to. My hero boy.”
I open my mouth. Then shut it again.
As she sings, the light catches her teary eyes, and I find myself rubbing at my own before anyone can see.
Too soon, her fingertips strum the strings for the last time, the melody humming, her voice sailing, then silence.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
And it’s like the world needs to realign for me. I blink. Hard. And again. Even after the applause starts, that song keeps circling in my head, refusing to fade.
I reach for my drink, sip it, and hold it like the crutch it is as she plays several more songs, mostly covers.
She rarely looks up.
But then she does.
Our eyes lock. I straighten as if summoned to fight or go to her but… A stolen moment passes. It lasts a second. It doesn't feel like one. And it’s over too fast.
I lean my arm on the table.
The charge in the air lessens when her set ends. As she squats to pack her guitar into its case, I glimpse her white knickers, and I want to stand up and block her from the room.
"White. Virginal." Jax laughs, knocking me with his elbow while watching her intently.
Fuck off, Jax.
I turn to Erik, who’s staring at the stage with the same glazed expression I probably have. “Your sister?” I ask, nodding towards the blonde.
He glances at me. "Yeah.” Then wanders in her direction. "I'll go collect her."
I watch him move through the crowd toward her—not looking around, not stopping for the girls in front of him who gaze up and say his name, not distracted by a single thing in the room. A straight, certain line to her. Like there is no other direction available to him in this moment.
I frown at him.
Pemberton's hand finds my shoulder again. She kisses my neck. "Hey, my green-eyed boy. Want to go make out somewhere?" She's acting cute, and that usually speaks directly to my groin. Still, I surprise myself when I shake my head and say, "Nah, Pem. I kinda wanna meet Erik's sister."
The actual fuck?
I just said that to my girlfriend?
She scoffs loudly, making sure everyone nearby hears. "I met her already.” She checks her nails. “She’s dull. Trust me. No personality at all."
My forehead tightens. “Be nice. She's Erik's sister."
Her eyes widen, and I can tell I've struck a nerve. Knowing Pemberton like I do, I'd wager she's jealous. She talks through her teeth. "Don't use that tone with me. What? Over a girl you don't even know?"
Yep, jealous.
I stare at her beautiful face—the same one that can shift from soft to hard in the space of a single conversation. The same one that knows exactly how to morph into the perfect expression to get whatever she wants from men.
I tap her nose, trying to keep it light. "Pemberton Lewis, you need to learn to play nicely with other girls."
She smirks. "Konnor Slater"—she lifts a brow—"if you don't come outside right now and come in my mouth, I'm going to find someone who will."
Well, fuck.