“Hey, girl,” I say, pulling back, “thanks for the invite. I’m Lorelai Jones,” I say, holding out my hand to the dark-haired woman. Her grip is strong, and one glance at her cut arms in her stylish tank confirms my suspicions just as she’s saying her name.
“Kacey Rosewood.”
I nod at Annie’s cousin and fiddler, feeling a little starstruck. “I’m a massive fan. You’re so fucking talented.”
“More talented than my husband?” She quirks a nod toward the stage, where Fitz Jacoby is accompanying Jefferson. Tonight he’s on the fiddle, and he’s of course dazzling. Even still, Kacey Rosewood is a prodigy, and I’m not ashamed to admit I’m inclined to root for my fellow females in a male-dominated industry.
“I’m biased, but obviously, yes.”
She laughs, dark eyes sparkling. “Fair enough.”
“Trina Hamilton,” the blonde says, her hand extended, her matte lips pressed in a firm line. “I manage Coolidge.”
“Oh!” I say, startled. “Um.” My eyes dart to Annie and I lower my voice. “Is it okay that I’m here?”
Annie’s brow furrows over the rim of her drink. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, I don’t know if you heard my interview—”
“Fucking idiots,” Trina cuts in, pretending to swat at a particularly stupid mosquito.
“Which ones?”
“All of ’em,” she scoffs. “Jennifer Blake, to start. Putting you in front of the fucking firing squad with nothing but a piece of tinfoil over your heart. Christ. What on earth were you even doing there?”
“Apology tour? I guess? Doesn’t matter. I fired her,” I say quickly.
Trina’s eyes flash with approval, and despite being a grown woman who kicks ass on a regular basis, I immediately warm. She reaches her manicured hand for mine, and with her other, motions for a drink. A server approaches and faster than I can blink, I’m ordering a G and T and scooting closer to the trio in the booth.
“Listen, Lorelai,” Trina says in a low drawl, “you were young, you were angry, and you used the platform they gave you, and when you did, they got their dicks in a Celtic knot.”
I choke on air, skeptical. “You don’t think I was in the wrong?”
She rolls her eyes. “Christ, Neil Young? There are a thousand other songs I would have chosen over ‘Ohio’ to get your point across.” Annie snorts into her glass with a rattle of the cubes and exchanges glances with her smirking cousin. When Trina levels her with a look, she lets out a full-bellied laugh.
“Sorry, Trina, but you say that like Neil Young isn’t a legend of protest rock and therefore a brilliant choice for actual protesting.”
“Neverthefuckingless, there were better ways to do what you did, and shame on your management for not supporting you.”
I’m so shocked by her enthusiastic defense, any response evaporates straight out of my brain, so I just nod my thanks and take a grateful pull from my newly arrived gin and tonic.
“Well, Trina would know,” Kacey says with a secretive grin. “She’s been supporting those idiots up there for the last half a decade.”
“And the Lord knows how they try me,” the older woman mumbles under her breath, but it’s softened by the proud way she watches the three men on stage.
The music is excellent, and it feels good to be around other female artists. It’s not that Shelby and Maren aren’t incredible women. They’re the actual best. But there’s something about being around women who get it. Get this. This overwhelming urge to perform and put yourself out there time and again. Why I can’t just give it up and go back to teaching. Why I want this so fucking much.
I eventually let Trina buy me another drink, this time a double, and start to relax. Before I know it, our table’s collected a number of empty glasses and bottles. By the time Coolidge takes a break, we shuffle around to make room for the three men.
“No Boseman tonight?”
Annie answers for me. “Ladies’ night. I only invited Lorelai.” She looks at me. “I didn’t even think. Is that okay? Do you want to call him up?”
“Totally okay. I needed a ladies’ night in a bad way.”
“Craig Boseman?” Trina asks idly.
“Yeah—” I start to answer, but Fitz chimes in.
“Talk about a power couple, right?”
“Oh, well.” I can feel my cheeks warm. Damn gin. “We’re not actually—”
“There he is!”
Coolidge grins apologetically at Annie and then at the rest of us. “I texted him earlier. Sorry. Didn’t get the memo about ladies’ night.”
We all turn, and I try not to stare as Huck weaves through the crowd, making his way over to us. He’s dressed in well-worn jeans that hug his glorious hips and a faded Tom Petty T-shirt. A perfectly normal pair of clothes. Underdressed for a bar, even.
So why am I sweating? Probably just the lingering effects of my glutening.
His eyes meet mine across the sea of people and his lips curl in the smallest grin only for me and I cross my legs, squeezing them together and taking a long, fortifying sip from my straw. He saunters up and is shaking hands with the men and Trina when Annie jumps up and gives his cheek a loud smacking kiss before swiping at her eyes.
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m so happy you’re working with Jefferson.”
Coolidge shakes his head as if she’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, and honestly she might be.
“Sorry, Boseman,” Jefferson apologizes with an easy, loping smile. “She’s not much of a drinker, so when she does let loose, she turns into a giant sap. The first time we drank together, she basically adopted me. No getting away now.”
Huck laughs low, settling into the back of the booth, his shoulder brushing mine and sending a frisson of awareness along my skin. My heart gives a throb in my chest and I take a sip from my glass, the ice clinking clumsily against my lips. His eyes dart toward me and away before he turns to Coolidge, who is waving a server over.
Jason starts showing them something on his phone and Huck takes the opportunity to lean close and whisper in my ear. I ignore the way his breath electrifies my skin. “Is it okay that I’m here?”
“Yes!” I blurt before softening my voice to match his. “Annie invited me,” I explain unnecessarily.
His eyes flash with humor before zeroing in on my mouth, and he’s so close I can practically taste his toothpaste on my tongue, and I can’t really breathe. I feel like I might pass out. Or spontaneously orgasm. Or both.
It’s been like this all week. Well, once I got over feeling like death. Even then, it’s hard to ignore a guy who runs you regular hot baths. For me anyway. Huck appears unfairly unaffected.
“Another round for the table!” Kacey suggests, interrupting our staring contest.
We get our drinks, and everyone is talking over one another, laughing and teasing, and it’s clear these two bands and Trina are close. I try not to think about how much fucking talent is sitting around this table right now and how much attention we have to be attracting by default.