Afterward, I do make a pitstop in the bathroom. By the time I return to Brayden, there’s a glass of water in place of my empty shot glasses. I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t want you drunk,” is all he says.
So, I drink my water. Brayden has switched to water too. He’s a guy who walks on the safe side of the line, which is a good sign. Brayden turns on the barstool toward me and asks a question, but my eyes fall to his thighs.
How did I not notice those before? His legs must be powerful based on how big those suckers are. Oddly, it reminds me of Zane.
“Deanna?”
I lift my gaze. “Why don’t you give me a kiss?” I ask.
Watching his face carefully, I see that I’ve surprised him again. He barely widened his eyes. For the most part, this guy keeps his emotions close to the vest. That intrigues me because it reminds me of myself in a way.
Brayden grabs my hips, pulls me off the barstool until I’m standing between his knees, and tilts his head a bit to the right. He rests his forehead against mine, his lips a breath away. Oh, no. He’s one who likes anticipation. That can be good and bad because it can be such an agonizing, yet amazing thing. He licks his lips, stealing my breath when his tongue brushes my mouth, which parts immediately. His hearty chuckle is almost too much to deal with.
“Next up is Brayden.” The DJ’s voice calling out breaks into our little bubble.
Brayden frowns.
“He means you,” I say. “Do this for me? Please? I’ll make it worth your while, especially if you give me a good show.”
He eyes me long enough that I think he’ll say no. “I’m supposed to get up there? For you?” He somehow manages to say that without it sounding like an insult.
“Yes.”
“You’re not taking no for an answer?”
“Correct.”
He sighs, but stands and makes his way to the stage. He grabs the microphone from the DJ, blinking a few times from the bright lights. Damn, he’s stiff as a board up there. Definitely out of his comfort zone. He rubs a hand over his head a few times. There’s a shift in the crowd, as if they’re just as surprised as he is that he’s up there.
“Oh my God, Brayden!” someone shouts. Okay, so apparently, someone here knows him.
Brayden forces a chuckle. “Obviously, this isn’t my usual stage.” Is that a hint as to what he does? Maybe he’s some indie singer that I’ve never heard of before, but that doesn’t quite make sense. There’s a laugh through the crowd too. His eyes seem to find my general area. “First, let me say that darlin’, I know I just met you, but I already don’t like you a little bit.”
That worries me until I see a faint smile.
When the music starts for “Low Rider,” he groans. “Seriously?” he mumbles, but the crowd rumbles with excitement. Chairs scrape across the floor as people stand to dance. I can’t help but grin. When his deep voice gets seemingly deeper as he sings the first line, I shiver. The music and the words fall away and all that’s left is the tone of his voice. Holy hell, his voice is hot.
Then, I’m distracted because he actually does give me a show. His hips do a little wiggle and he manages to slowly dance. It’s hilarious because it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable. It’s probably a sign of how evil I am to find pleasure in this.
When the song is over, he takes a deep breath, but the DJ says, “Hold up, man; she signed you up for another one.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
The crowd cheers, though. His next song is more of a hint based on his accomplishment of doing the first song. The music starts for “Gettin’ You Home” by Chris Young and Brayden relaxes a little until a few women in the bar catcall him. Ha. Sorry, ladies, but he’s going home with me. What surprises me the most, as he gets into a groove with this one, is that the man can actually sing. And with that low voice? I’m squirming in my seat from that alone.
When the song is over, Brayden quickly leaves the stage, weaves through the people, and comes over, but he doesn’t look at me. He pulls his wallet out, waves the bartender over, and hands him some cash. “I believe you said something about making that torture worth my while?” Finally, those dark green eyes focus on me.
I hold my hand out and he takes it. He insists on driving since he only had the one beer. That’s totally fine because I took a cab since I knew I’d be drinking. God, it’s been forever since I’ve left with someone I don’t know and gone back to their house. Too late to hope he’s not a bad guy. We could go to my house, but I try not to do that too often, if at all.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I find a text.
Zane: Back in town. When can I see you?
Such a simple question. If he had just messaged me earlier, it could’ve been tonight. But now I’ve met Brayden.
Me: Tomorrow.