Listen to Me (Fusion 1)

He’s probably a homeless guy who usually sings on the street.

But then he starts to sing, and oh my word. He has the voice of an angel, singing “Hallelujah” as if he were singing it from heaven. We’re mesmerized as he plays his guitar and sings.

He’s amazing.

When he finishes, the applause is deafening.

“Wow.” Kat turns her wide blue eyes to me. “Did you hear that?”

I nod. “We’ll get his contact info. If we could clean him up, he could be perfect.”

“If he’d be willing to clean up,” Kat replies. “This could be what he wants.”

Several more lukewarm acts play, then a duo take the stage. A man and woman, who look at each other with stars in their eyes, and sing a love ballad. Their harmonies are smooth as silk.

“I like them,” Kat says as she leans my way. “They have the right look. And they’re in love, which will bring a sexy chemistry to our place.”

“I agree.”

I want them. Like, want them. They’d be absolutely perfect.

“I’m going to go talk to them.” Kat nods, turning her attention to another act already singing.

They’re not nearly as good as the duo who just finished.

“Excuse me.” They turn to me, and I paste on my best smile. “I’m Addison. I’m the co-owner of Seduction, a new restaurant in town, and I’d love to talk with you about a possible weekend job at my place.”

They glance at each other and grin. “Thank you. I’m Rebecca.” The small blonde shakes my hand. “And this is my husband, Paul.”

“You’re both very talented.”

“It’s all her,” Paul replies and stares down at Rebecca with heart eyes.

“I need an act for Friday and Saturday nights. I’m paying five hundred a night.”

“Five hundred each?” Rebecca asks, her eyes suddenly shrewd.

“No.” I shake my head. “For the act.”

They glance at each other again, and Paul shakes his head. “Sorry. We’re worth more than that.”

“What do you normally charge?”

“Oh, we haven’t taken any jobs yet. We’re new to the area.”

I raise a brow. “You’re worth what someone is willing to pay. It was nice to meet you.”

Without glancing back, I return to our table. “Egos,” I say simply and shrug.

“Bummer.”

“It happens.”

A man walks onto the stage and sits on the stool, strums his guitar. The MC didn’t announce his name.

The singer is wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. No shoes. A hat is pulled down his forehead, shadowing his face.

But I’d recognize those tattoos anywhere.

“Oh my God, I think that’s Jake Knox,” I whisper to Kat in disbelief.

“The tattoos,” she breathes and I roll my eyes. “God, I used to be in love with him. I had his posters on my walls when I was in high school.”

“Most did,” I reply and watch as his fingers play the strings on his guitar as if he’s making love to a woman. “God, he can play.”

“What’s he doing at an open-mic night?” Kat turns wide eyes to me. “Does he live here?”

I nod. “Yeah, I heard somewhere that he lives nearby. Maybe he needs an ego boost?”

But then he begins to sing a familiar Lifehouse song, and my chest tightens. I love this song. I love his voice. It’s raw and rich and just a little bit raspy. It’s pure sex.

“He’d be absolutely perfect.” Kat’s voice is a whisper. She probably didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“I know we can’t afford him. He probably plays at celebrity weddings and shit.”

Jake glances up, showing his face and those amazing green eyes for the first time, and aims them right at me. He sings at least five lines, holding my gaze, then winks and lowers his head again.

Arrogant.

“Speaking of egos,” I murmur. “That would be a hot mess.”

“A sexy-as-fuck hot mess,” Kat replies. “God, look at the way his muscles bunch as he plays.”

Trust me, I noticed. You’d have to be blind with an IQ of minus 20 to not notice the way Jake Knox moves. He makes everything in me come awake. Which makes sense because he’s probably been trained to do that. He has to sell music, after all.

He finishes the song and leaves the stage. There are murmurs in the audience. We obviously weren’t the only ones to recognize him. Let’s be honest, Jake Knox is one of the biggest rock stars there is.

Or, was. I don’t think he’s released any new music in the past few years.

I wonder why.

“I don’t think we’re going to find our act here,” Kat says with a sigh. “We’ve seen at least twenty people in the past two hours. The only ones we liked were a homeless guy, an egomaniac couple, and a rock star.”

“You’re right. Let’s go.” We gather our handbags and walk out into the cool spring evening. Walking ahead of us, away from the club, is a man with his guitar case. I’d recognize that shape, that walk, anywhere.

Jake Knox.

What is up with me being so damn attracted to the bad-boy musician type? It never fails. If there’s a bad-boy musician within a thirty-mile radius, my girl parts are on high alert. Every. Single. Time. Ever since I lost my virginity to Todd Perkins in the eleventh grade. Todd was the lead singer of a garage band and happened to seduce me out of my pants in said garage, right behind the drums.

And dump me the next day.