Anti-Romance

  I sat on the wooden stool Kade had set up for me near the staging area and sipped my Jack and Coke while wondering if we had purposely arrived so early as to avoid his sister’s band. My stomach gurgled with slight nausea as I realized I’d gushed over his sister’s band and I didn’t even know who he was. I must have made him feel awful.

  The gallery looked so different without the lights turned down and dozens of drunk people pressed up against one another. The dark wood floor was well worn from years of traffic and spilled drinks. The pink and black neon “Continental” sign on the back wall behind the staging area wasn’t lit up. The walls were a plain white without the infernal red glow of the club’s lighting.

  Kade arrived a few minutes later with a guy I recognized as the owner of the club, Sam Weisenberg, each of them holding a frosty amber bottle of beer. “Laney, this is Sam. The owner of the club. Have you two met?”

  I stood from the stool and offered my hand. “No, we haven’t been formally introduced, but I’ve seen him around the club many times.”

  Sam switched his beer to his other hand then took mine to give it a vigorous shake. “Are you a regular, Laney?”

  “You might say that. My friends and I have been coming at least once every month or two for a few years now.”

  “Well, I apologize we haven’t met sooner,” he replied, tilting his head so his salt-and-pepper hair, which stuck up about four inches high, fluttered a bit.

  He was lanky and at least four inches taller than Kade, who himself stood about six-foot-two-inches tall. The black T-shirt he wore depicted a graphic image of two aliens doing it doggy style beneath the words “Aliens are coming.”

  “No need to apologize,” I said, casually wiping the cold beer sweat Sam had transferred to my hand onto my jeans. “We love it here. This place is a true Austin treasure. I’m pretty sure I’ll still be coming here when my hair is gray and my boobs are hanging over my walker.”

  They both laughed, but Kade also cast an indecipherable look in my direction. I couldn’t tell if it was admiration or desire, but it was definitely positive.

  “Let me know if you two need any more drinks or if you need some help setting up,” Sam said, clapping Kade on the arm as he turned to him. “Thanks for coming out tonight. Means a lot to me, man.”

  Kade nodded and flashed him a tight smile. “No sweat, man. Catch you later.”

  I wanted to know more about this falling out Kade had had with his sister, but I didn’t want this first date—if that was indeed what this was—to feel too heavy.

  I’d just come out of a false relationship that felt as if it were about to become something more. As much as I hated to admit that, it was the truth. I was falling for Rick right up until the bastard gave me gonorrhea. Thank goodness that was all he gave me. All I could think as I watched Kade set up his equipment was how the doctor told me I would be clear to have protected sex again seven days after my treatment. I’d officially been in the clear for about twelve days.

  No, I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t even consider having protected sex with Kade. I had to give myself more time to get over Rick before I jumped into anything new.

  Then again, as I watched him setting up his amp and foot pedals, I couldn’t help but think about George and the advice he’d given me when I was heartbroken by another musician so long ago. George’s words to me were “Musicians don’t love music. They live it. When all is said and done, you will never matter more than the music.”

  I never understood how George could gain this much insight into the psyche of a musician just by working as an accountant for Dialtone Records, but his wisdom rang so true at the time that I never questioned the logic. But what if George was wrong?

  Maybe it was possible for an artist—whether it be a musician, a painter, or a writer like myself—to love someone, one special person, more than their art. Or maybe it didn’t matter. At least, not on a first date.

  Kade finished setting up his mic, then he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and curled his finger at me. “Come here, Miss Laney,” he beckoned in that godlike voice.

  I couldn’t hide my smile. I couldn’t even bring myself to demand he stop calling me Miss Laney. I kind of liked it.

  “Is that an order?” I replied with a coy tilt of my head.

  He cocked an eyebrow as he took his guitar into his hands. “It most certainly is. Now come here so I can show you something.”

  I walked toward him slowly, drawing out the tension, allowing myself a moment to try to compose myself. “What do you want to show me?” I practically purred the question, and by the look on his face, this did not go unnoticed.

  He dug his hand in his pocket and pulled out a silver fingerpick, which looked sort of like a thimble with a pointed edge. “Can you keep this in your pocket?” he asked, holding it out to me. “It tends to either poke me or fall out of my pocket while I’m seated on the stool. All you have to do is toss it to me when I give you the signal. I want you to be my pick girl tonight.”

  “Your pick girl?” I replied. “You picked me to be your pick girl? Should I feel honored?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied in that easy Southern drawl. “To be honest, I’ve never had a pick girl. But I think I might be ready for one. What do you say?”

  I plucked the pick out of his hand and tucked it into my pocket. “I’m all yours.”

  The crowd began filing in just as sounds of the band warming up downstairs began to quiver in the air. A few girls who could be described as prettier and skinnier than I cast flirtatious looks in Kade’s direction as he and one of the club’s sound engineers continued to test his guitar pedals and mic volume. But Kade didn’t seem to notice or care, which only served to bolster my crazy theory that maybe, just maybe, getting romantically involved with a musician wasn’t such a stupid idea.

  I mentally capped off that statement with a winking emoji then turned my attention back to Kade and the way the red lighting only enhanced his devilish good looks. His golden-brown hair looked even messier and his brown eyes darker under the crimson shadows. He winked at me as I took a seat on my stool at the side of the staging area. The butterflies in my belly flapped their wings in frenzied delight.

  He once again slung an electric guitar across his body and rolled up the sleeves on his blue plaid shirt. The distant sounds of folksy acoustic guitar and haunting female vocals wafted up to us from the club downstairs, but the crowd in the gallery upstairs was absolutely silent, holding their breath as Kade finished rolling up his sleeves and leaned in toward the mic.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day, Austin.”

  He issued this greeting in a subdued murmur, but the resounding applause and cheers from the crowd were anything but. He chuckled, throwing his head back as he appeared genuinely humbled by this reaction. Of course, this only called forth even louder cheers and more zealous applause. Kade hung his head to hide his uncontrollable grin as he shook his head in disbelief.

  Who was this guy? Why did everyone seem to know him except me?

  True, I had only just begun frequenting The Continental Club in the past couple of years, but this seemed like a hometown greeting from a group of longtime fans.

  As the cheering quieted down, Kade raised his head and brought his lips to the mic again. “Thank you all. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear that tonight. Thank you, sincerely.” He waited a few more seconds for some more cheers and whistles to subside. “But all that lovey-dovey shit aside, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been here. And I wouldn’t be here unless it was abso-fucking-lutely necessary. So are you ready to rock the vote for Senator Feinman?” The crowd responded with a halfhearted yes, clearly more interested in Kade than politics, but h continued undaunted. “I said, ‘Are you ready for a fucking revolution?’” This time, the crowd issued a booming yes, augmented with fist pumps and more cheering. “Then let’s get this fucking show started.”

  I found myself literally clutching my chest as my heart pu
mped with excitement. It seemed the genteel Southern gentleman who referred to me as ma’am and Miss Laney had a few tricks up his sleeve. I was more than intrigued. I was spellbound.

  And I was not the only one. When he signaled me to toss him his guitar pick, I almost froze under the penetrating scrutiny of so many Kade-thirsty women. Then he started the show off with an explosive blues cover of “Revolution” by The Beatles, and I was floored.

  I remained awed by Kade for the rest of the show. Every glance he cast in my direction made various parts of my body twitch with arousal. Every song he sang made me wish he were singing directly to me. The feverish reaction from the crowd was unlike anything I’d ever seen in all the times I’d watched his sister’s band perform. I was prepared to admit that Kade was definitely the more talented sibling of the two. But nothing could have prepared me for his final performance of the night.

  Kade beckoned me toward him as he put down his electric guitar and picked up his acoustic guitar. Once again, I felt the glare of dozens of envious girls bearing down on me. His eyes beamed with delight and he bit his lip sensually as he watched me approach.

  “We’re gonna change it up for this last song,” he said into the mic. “I know a lot of you out there are sick and tired of the same old shit and you’re ready for some change,” he continued as I stopped a couple feet away from him.

  He looked down at me with that smile that made me more nervous than I’d ever been around a man in my life, then he turned to face the crowd. “I’m talking real change. I believe it was Einstein who once said, ‘The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.’ I seem to remember Einstein being right about a few things.”

  The crowd laughed and I looked up at him, my eyes pleading with him to tell me what the hell I was doing on this stage. But he just shook his head at me and continued addressing the crowd.

  The crowd was silent now, waiting with bated breath for the next words out of his gorgeous mouth. I was pretty sure the band downstairs had stopped playing just so they could hear him too. Every last person in that club was hanging on his every word.

  I swallowed hard as I realized he was swiftly breaking down what few defenses I had left with his passion for politics. Every time he raised his voice, my heart beat faster. Every time the crowd cheered, I wanted to reach out and touch him, like the rock star I was becoming more and more convinced he was.

  When he was done making his speech, he glanced at me and my heart stuttered. I nearly stopped breathing as he nodded for me to come closer. Closing the two-foot gap between us, I stood close enough that my hand was inches from his beautiful ass.

  Turning back to the crowd, he leaned in to the mic and spoke a bit softer. “Another wise man once said: ‘They got money for wars, but can’t feed the poor.’ I don’t know about y’all, but I think the time for real change is now!”

  The crowd upstairs and downstairs exploded in applause and cheers. That was when I noticed the throng of people standing in the hallway and on the stairs, trying to get a glimpse of Kade.

  “I told you we were gonna change it up a bit,” he said, turning to me and leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I want y’all to sing along if you can.”

  My skin prickled with goose bumps at the sensation of his breath in my ear.

  He turned back to the multitude of eager faces. “Thank you to Feminists for Feinman for inviting me here and thanks to all y’all for coming out tonight. The last song I’m gonna play is ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’ by the late, great Sam Cooke. Some of you might know it. If you do, feel free to sing along.”

  He shifted his body a quarter turn, so he was facing me slightly as he began playing. And when he began to sing, chills coursed through every inch of my body. I remembered this song from when I used to listen to the American Idol albums, God forgive me. I knew the chorus was coming soon, and I actually remembered the words.

  Kade scrunched his eyebrows together as he sang with such passion, then he nodded at me as he slowed the tempo a bit for me to join in the chorus.

  Part of me wanted to die and part of me wanted this moment to last forever. I never sang in public unless I was drunk or it was karaoke night…and I was drunk. So far this evening, I’d only had one drink, and yet here I was singing with a man who had more talent in one of the shimmering light-brown hairs on his head than I had in my entire body. It was as if I’d entered an alternate universe.

  With each line I sang, and every encouraging smile from Kade, my confidence grew. As we sang the last line together, so close I could smell the woodsy scent of his sweat, my heart soared with glee. I had never had so much fun in my life.

  Without warning, Kade slung his guitar behind his back and grabbed my face in his rough hands. In that millisecond before his lips connected with mine, time seemed to stand still as I was hit with a stupefying realization: This was actually happening.

  I grasped his forearms, only vaguely aware of the loud chorus of whistling and cheering as his mouth fell over mine. Our heads tilted, his lips parted. An infinity whooshed past us as I waited for him to part my lips. His tongue slid inside my mouth, brushed against mine, and I moaned involuntarily as I tightened my grip on his forearms. He responded with a soft groan as I bit down softly on his lower lip.

  He chuckled as he pulled his mouth away slightly and rested his forehead on mine. “You’re so goddamn sexy,” he said in a low growl that sent shivers through me. “Come home with me.”

  Without a moment of hesitation, I nodded. Then I stood by and watched impatiently as Kade and the sound engineer took down all his equipment and hauled it off to Kade’s truck—through the back of the club, so as to avoid disturbing the ongoing concert downstairs. Every once in a while, a doe-eyed girl would come by for an autograph or a random guy would come by and chat up Kade to find out where he’d be playing next, but somehow I managed to keep my cool.

  By the time we were both seated in his truck, I could no longer keep quiet. “Why didn’t you say hi to your sister while you were there?”

  He jammed the key in the ignition and began backing out of the parking space before he responded. “I told you we haven’t spoken in a long time. It’s…just family stuff. Nothing to do with the band.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it?” I asked as casually as I could.

  This time, he laughed. “No, Miss Laney. I do not wanna unload my sorrows on a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “You’d rather unload something else on me?”

  He chuckled as he shook his head. “Your words, not mine.”

  I took a deep breath and slumped in my seat.

  He glanced at me with amusement in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing. I guess I was just expecting this to be different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I thought I’d get to know you more before we slept together.”

  He stopped at a red light and tilted his head as he stared at me. “You really want to know what happened with my sister? Will it satisfy you to know that our parents died nine years ago and about a year later is when everything just fell apart between us?”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have to—”

  “Laney, I’ll be open with you if that’s what it takes for you to be open with me,” he replied, a tinge of anger coloring his smooth voice. “What is it you do for a living?”

  I swallowed hard and turned away as the light turned green and he pulled into the intersection. “I write…a blog.”

  “You write a blog?” he replied incredulously. “What kind of blog do you write?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “A dating blog.”

  “A dating blog? For what…dating advice?”

  I sighed and stared at the dashboard as he stopped at another red light. “It’s called Anti-Romance. It’s a blog where I date unavailable men for the sole purpose of proving that romance is dead.?
??

  I closed my eyes and balled my hands into fists to hide the fact that I was now trembling. No one knew about the real purpose of my blog other than my friends, and I had just spilled my secret to a man I’d basically known for a total of four hours. The one alcoholic beverage I’d consumed tonight had been digested hours ago, but suddenly my stomach went sour.

  Oh, God. What had I done?

  “So that’s why you’re always bringing home all kinds of guys?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly calm and inquisitive. “Holy shit. Are you gonna write about me?”

  I turned to him and shook my head furiously. “No! I have no intention of writing about you.” He didn’t seem convinced. “You’re the one who asked me out,” I reminded him. “I had no intention of dating you, much less sleeping with you.”

  “You’re not making this any easier to swallow,” he said as he pulled the truck into the apartment complex.

  “That’s what she said. Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

  He laughed. “That’s okay. I walked right into that one.”

  I sighed again as I tried to think of how to explain this without baring my soul to him, but I couldn’t think of anything. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me want to do things I’ve never done.”

  He cocked an eyebrow as he parked the truck. “Such as?”

  “Like tell you about what I do for a living.”

  “So I should be honored?” he said as he pulled the key out of the ignition.

  I looked into his eyes for a moment and thought of when he asked me to be his pick girl earlier tonight. “Absolutely,” I replied. “You see, I have a rule. I don’t write about any of my dates until the relationship is over. But…” I pressed my lips together as I gazed into his eyes and gathered the courage I needed to continue. “I’ve always told myself that when the right guy comes along, I won’t ever have to write about him because…we’ll never be over.”

  He broke eye contact as he stared at the steering wheel for a moment. “You’re telling me that you plan on quitting your job when you find the right guy?”