Home > Love Me Like I Love You(235)

Love Me Like I Love You(235)
Author: Willow Winters

I couldn’t stop the sensation creeping along my nerve endings or the thought from storming into my head.

I wanted to be what he was looking for.

His performance gripped me until the final chord, and it wasn’t until the applause and cheers began to die off that I came out of my stupor. I lusted after him, both professionally and as a woman who was twenty years too old for him. And I was jealous of the younger girls in the audience who smiled up at this gorgeous singer and probably dreamed of going home with him.

Perhaps one of them would, but I hoped not.

There was a swallow’s worth of beer left in the bottom of my glass, but I ignored it. Troy hopped down off the stage and had a brief chat with the band members there, and at the end of it, the drummer slapped a wad of cash into his hands. It had to be Troy’s cut of the tips for the evening.

His Fender was retrieved from the bassist, and by the time he pushed through the side door, I was on my feet to hurry after him. A mixture of emotions swirled inside, including irritation. He was inexperienced, but still too good for this to have been his first-ever performance. Plus, I knew how Blanche’s entertainment worked. He’d either auditioned or performed elsewhere to make it onto their standby list.

So, why the hell didn’t I know how talented he was? The only thing that made sense was that it had been kept from me. But why?

Blanche’s Honky Tonk had a cozy, dive-like atmosphere, but it was manufactured. The décor was fabricated to look aged and the seating worn, but it was actually new beneath. The building itself was old, but had been renovated recently, keeping its charm, while hiding the newer upgrades.

But not in the ‘staff only’ area of the bar. The hallway was grimy and ancient, with a light overhead that could barely illuminate my path as I wove around boxes of liquor and broken equipment. I’d been back here enough times and could find my way through. The guy who ran the place was a friend of Ardy’s, and I’d helped schedule Lauren’s standing gigs with him.

I loved this section of the building. It was real.

The white walls had been graffitied by past performers and staff. Cables for the sound systems ran in a jumbled mess along the wall and were strewn across the ceiling, leading toward a rack of electronics in the corner. Set lists had been tacked up to a cork board, along with employee shifts for the week.

Behind the manager’s office and an employee break area was the green room. It wasn’t big—only enough space for an old sofa, a mini fridge, and a desk perched in front of a lighted mirror. More than anything, it was a place for the talent to store their gear, tune, and mentally prepare for the stage. It was where Troy was, zipping his guitar up in its padded case on the couch as I stepped inside.

When I shut the door, he snapped upright in surprise. “Ms. Graham?”

I ignored the urge to correct him on my name, or the fact he looked both excited and nervous to see me. Instead, I demanded, “How long have you been doing this?”

He glanced quickly around the room, confused by what I was asking, and searched for the answer like it was written on the walls somewhere.

“How long,” I clarified, “have you been performing?”

His gaze returned to me and the confusion dissipated. “Two years, I guess?” He let out a tight breath. “I started doing shows when I was in Chicago.”

Meaning, when he was in college. It made a little more sense now why I hadn’t seen him before. The last thing I had wanted to do during my long divorce was hang out in bars alone, on the off chance I’d scout some talent.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure if he meant in this room or the bar. “You know what I do, right?” Surely Jenna had told him I was an agent and manager, or at least in the business. “Lauren—the act before yours—she’s one of my clients.”

It wasn’t news to him, that much was clear. His lips parted to say something, but nothing came out. I shifted my weight and put my hands on my hips.

“Why didn’t your mom tell me you were performing? She knew I was going to be at Blanche’s tonight.”

He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. “Because she doesn’t know I . . . Look, this is just something I do for fun.” He jammed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I’d appreciate if you, like, didn’t tell her about it.”

I blinked against the enormous information he’d just lobbed at me. He didn’t do it for money, which wasn’t surprising. At most, he’d made an extra hundred bucks tonight. But I liked how Troy had climbed on that stage because there’d been an opportunity, and he enjoyed performing.

Yet he wanted it kept a secret? “Why?”

“Because she’ll tell me about all the people she knows who tried to make it and failed. That it’s a pipe dream, and I need to finally get serious about my life.”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I knew Jenna well enough that I heard the conversation they’d had with perfect clarity in my head. The hardest thing was I was likely the shining example of failure my friend had used when she’d talked to him. I’d struggled for five years before realizing my big break wasn’t coming, and it was never going to happen for me.

I wondered if the thing I most exceled at was failure.

“I know she’s right,” he said softly. “That’s why I only do it when they need someone to fill in.”

“She’s not right,” I said automatically, before tempering myself.

Nothing was known in the entertainment business, and I wasn’t going to stand in front of this kid and tell him I could make him a star. I didn’t exaggerate or make promises I couldn’t keep. But I’d seen something in him that was too strong to ignore, and the least I could offer him was the truth.

“You’re talented, Troy. I see lots of potential.” He gazed at me with deep skepticism, making me continue. “You think I’m joking? I’m not.”

It was like he didn’t want to believe me, but hope was a powerful thing. “Potential,” he repeated.

“My boss represents Stella.” I quirked an eyebrow at his surprised reaction. “Yes, that Stella. She’s going to be holding auditions for the opening act of her final show here in town. I think you should try out with that U2 cover you just did.”

He shifted back like the information had knocked him sideways. “What?” His gaze went unfocused, and his chest moved rapidly with his hurried breath. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can, Troy. You should.” I took a step toward him, forcing his gaze to sharpen on me. “She wants to find that diamond in the rough, an artist to pay it forward with. You are exactly what she’s looking for.”

He stared at me for a long moment, before breaking it off and glancing at his guitar. “Yeah, right.”

“You liked playing tonight, and that was for maybe a hundred people. Imagine ten thousand. Don’t you want that chance?”

“Sure. But it’s never going to happen.” He raked a hand through his hair, and I forced myself to focus on the line of buttons on his plaid shirt, instead of how sexy that action made him look.

I was too in the moment to think about consequences. Too blinded by how good he could be. “Maybe you don’t believe me, but you don’t have to. I can believe in you enough for both of us.”

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