And this plus that kiss yesterday … has my pre-show nerves combining with my what the fuck is going on? anxiety, and if I don’t get one or both under control soon, I’m going to explode.
Eventually I slide my hand away from his, adjusting my position as an excuse, and he doesn’t seem upset by my withdrawal, his attention one hundred percent focused on the movie. And as soon as it’s over, I head for the shower while Colt gets lunch together.
This will be our last real meal for the day, since neither of us want to perform on a full stomach. He’ll be making energy smoothies to bring with us to the venue that we’ll have between the sound check and the show.
But our time to relax is over. It’s time to get ready.
The crowd sits in absolute silence as the last notes of my song fade into the rafters, everyone holding their breath for one brief, wondrous moment before erupting in applause.
A huge smile bursts onto my face as I loop the neck strap of my guitar over my head and off, elation making me feel like I could float in the air, lifted by the adulation of this crowd and my own joy at the obvious success of this show. “Thank you so much!” I say into the microphone before taking a bow. “Thank you all for coming out tonight. It means so much to Colt and me that you’re here. We appreciate your support!”
The applause grows louder, confirmation that I didn’t need of our nearly-full house, punctuated by ear-splitting whistles and screams that reach me through my in-ear monitors. Turning to face the wings, I wave Colt onto the stage, needing him to share this moment with me. When we were going over the set list, I’d suggested finishing with one of the duets, but he’d declined, saying it was my show more than his, and I should be the closer. But we agreed to hold one duet back as an encore if we need it. And with the way this crowd is carrying on, we’ll definitely need it. It’s really the perfect way to round this out, no matter what Colt might’ve said.
Jogging to my side, he grabs my free hand, and we take a bow together, straightening and grinning at the audience.
They loved the show. Every last second of it. They clapped and sang along on the choruses of the upbeat songs, and they sat in reverent silence for the slow, soulful ballads, treating Colt and me with equal warmth and pleasure. Hearing their reactions to my songs is everything I’ve ever wanted out of being a performer. Sure, selling out Madison Square Gardens is the ultimate goal, but even if I never make it that far, this is what my soul needs. Performing, writing, sharing my music with the world, and surrounding myself with people—both fans and fellow performers—who get it. This right here is the summation of what and how I want my life to be.
Ricky, the venue owner, told us before the show that it was almost a sold-out crowd, better than he would’ve expected. Apparently our pre-show promotion aimed at my fans and Brash’s fans worked like a charm.
A stagehand comes forward and takes my guitar to put it back in its case, and Colt wraps his arms around me, picking me up in a rib-crushing hug, grinning from ear to ear. My smile matches his, and we just bask in this moment together, no need for words, which is good, since we wouldn’t be able to hear each other anyway.
The crowd starts chanting something, and at first I can’t quite make it out, but it eventually resolves itself into a drumbeat of, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
The grin on Colt’s face changes as he sets me back on my feet, still there, but softening to include more affection rather than just unbridled joy at a well-received performance. This is the look he gives me sometimes when I’m working through problems in a song, this reflective, awe-struck expression that I always pretend not to see. It’s too telling, too real, too raw. Too much of all the things we aren’t supposed to have together. The things I’m not supposed to want with him because it could get too messy.
But now I can’t ignore it. Not when his face is inches from mine. His lips move, and he says something I can’t quite make out, but if I had to guess, I think it’s, “Have to give the crowd what they want.”
His face moves, and I hold my breath, bracing myself for his kiss. Not because I don’t want it, but because I do. Too much.
Then his lips are on mine, firm and demanding, his arms tightening around me again, and he’s not holding back at all. This isn’t just a kiss, it’s a declaration—of lust, longing, pride, and belonging. I’m reeling from all of it, unconsciously responding with all the feelings I’ve been holding back.
His lips part, moving mine along with them, and his tongue slides into my mouth, tasting me as he pulls me closer.
I go up on my tiptoes, striving to give him what he wants, needing to pour all my gratitude and lust into this kiss. Because he’s given me a second chance at the career I’ve longed for since I knew more than just to parrot the jobs I saw around me as a child—teacher, librarian, salesman. He might’ve said this show was about me, but I couldn’t have pulled any of this off on my own. I might’ve written the bulk of the songs, but he helped me polish and perfect them. And even if I had three albums’ worth of songs to sing, I didn’t have the contacts to secure a venue, especially not on such short notice.
Without Colt, I’d still be sitting at home waiting for Delores to tell me what to do. Now I have more agency, more choices, more opportunities.
As he sets me back on my feet again, his grip loosening just enough so that I can breathe without his cock digging into my belly—not that I mind—and I become aware that the crowd is still screaming their heads off.
“Should we give them an encore?” I mouth to him.
He leans his face next to my ear and tugs my monitor out, the wall of sound it muffled hitting me like a ton of bricks. But his low voice blocks all of that out. “Only if I can get an encore of that kiss later.”
My breath catches, and I stare into his hooded eyes as I tuck the monitor back in place. He’s intent, not backing down, asking for what he wants. What he’s wanted all along, really. Daring me to give in to what we both want.
Should I? It’s one thing to play the part in front of a demanding crowd, to get carried away and caught up in the moment and let my feelings run away with me. It’s another thing entirely to make a conscious plan to tear down the wall I’ve erected. A wall meant to keep us both safe.
But it’s Colt. Colt who cooks for me, who makes sure I stick to my diet even if he doesn’t like that I’m on one, who smiles whenever I enter a room even if I’ve only been gone for a minute to use the bathroom, who makes me laugh, who cares about me far more than my career or what I’m doing for him. And that’s when it hits me. This is already more than a business exchange. Denying our chemistry won’t make it go away, and what if ignoring what’s between us, the real feelings that have already developed on both sides, is what really causes the heartache I’m desperate to avoid? If we’re both miserable now, how is that better than avoiding a different kind of misery later?
On an exhale, I give a shallow nod. His eyes darken, and a wicked smile pulls on his lips. Looking past me, he signals one of the techs, and she brings out our guitars. Another tech jogs out and takes away the stool. We’ll perform the encore standing and sharing a mic.
Giddiness bubbles inside me as I slip my guitar over my head. The thrill of debuting another song mixes with the anticipation of what I just agreed to when we get home. That heady rush of adrenaline that sharpens all the senses makes me extra aware of Colt standing next to me, his body throwing off as much heat as the stage lights. Tonight is the best night I’ve had in a long time. And I have a feeling it’s only going to get better.