Rich Groom (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 1)

The music that’s playing is a lazy country song, and the sun is starting to set. It feels a little bit like a movie, the perfect setting for romance. But those kinds of movies end with the two people actually getting together, and right now, just being this close to Annabelle, I want that. There’s been no one in my life since her, not in any real way. I was so in love with her, and honestly, I’m not sure that I ever stopped loving her.

The thought stills me. That’s the first time that I’ve ever admitted that to myself. And as I reach out and put my arms around her waist and her hands reach for my shoulders, there’s a drop in my gut. She’s real, and she’s here. It doesn’t matter that time has passed and that we’ve both changed, she’s Annabelle Hughes, the girl of my dreams. And I was an absolute jackass for ever letting her out of my life.

She seems happy. Carefree. Not at all haunted by our past. I should be happy about that, that I haven’t caused her lasting pain, but I’m not. It drives me a little mad that she managed to get out unscathed. But I’m not going to focus on it while I have her in my arms, and I pull her a little closer.

Her smile is easy again. “You always were a good dancer, Frankie.”

“Thanks. I learned to impress you.”

“I knew,” she says.

“Really?”

She presses her lips together to keep from laughing. “Everybody knows everything here, remember? I was told by at least three different people that you were learning to dance after you asked me out.”

I nearly roll my eyes, and I shake my head. “Well, if that’s true, then us dancing together is going to be the talk of the town tomorrow.”

“I’m sure that it’s going to be the talk of the town in the next ten minutes.” She looks towards the stage for a second, thinking. “I’m glad that I left my phone in my car. I probably have five or six texts already.”

I let my fingers spread a little, feeling more of her body, trying to force down the desire and arousal that’s building from having her so close to me. She’s not wrong. I took off my glasses to look for her. It seems stupid that that would be enough to draw attention, but it is. I’m ignoring the stares. “I don’t understand why people care that much.”

Anna smirks. “You remember what it was like. Not much happens here. Drama is all there is to talk about.”

“That and the festival,” I say.

“That and the festival.”

We stare at each other for a couple of minutes, saying nothing, and it feels…special. Like there’s something that we don’t have to communicate with words while we’re swaying together. The spell breaks when the song ends, and Anna looks down. “That’s my cue,” she says, pulling away, and I hate that I let her go. Again.

She doesn’t even say anything, just disappears into the crowd before I can protest, and I’m about to follow her, when I hear the announcement.

“Up next, a local favorite. Please give a warm welcome for Annabelle Hughes!”

Anna is walking onto the stage with her guitar, but for her, it doesn’t seem contrived. It feels natural, like the instrument is a part of her, and she should barely appear without it. She smiles and thanks the crowd, and then starts to sing. There’s no introduction, and her music doesn’t need it. It soars.

This. This is what I’ve been waiting for all day. Her smooth voice and chords twist around each other in new and original ways, and it feels like the music goes through you. Anna was always a great musician when we were together, but it’s nothing compared to now. The crowd, no the entire festival ground, has gone quiet, listening to the beauty of her singing. And it takes me a second to register the lyrics.

They talk about pain and loss and coming back stronger. They’re bittersweet and poignant, and it’s about us. I know it is, deep in my gut. And I know that even though she’s happy now, she hurt just as much as I did. It doesn’t make me happy. It makes me sick that I would ever cause her pain.

We used to play together, back when I played. She would come over and we would play for my grandmother. I remember the brilliant smiles on my grandmother’s face when she heard the music. Those are memories that I’ll always treasure, no matter what happens.

I’m going to kill my friends for not telling me how brilliant she became. They want to tell me where she hangs out but not that she’s one of the most natural artists I’ve ever heard?

One song blends into the next, and the crowd remains spellbound as the sun fades and the lights of the festival seem to brighten with her voice. We’re all carried away in the magic, and when she finishes her third song and says thank you, every person there—myself included—explodes into applause that shakes the ground.