Page 45 of Crimson Desires
“Aster, what-,”
“Just do it,” I said in mock exasperation.
Despite his confusion, Jack complied. As soon as we got into the bar, Jack headed off to the bathrooms to change. While he was gone, I hurried to the stage at the front. Somehow, blessedly, Jack had completely missed the chalkboard sign outside of the bar’s front doors that read OPEN MIC NIGHT.
A buff-looking guy wearing a Fringe Factory T-shirt seemed to be manning the stage. I approached him.
“Hey. Do you by chance have time for one more performer tonight?” I asked.
The employee frowned. “Sorry. Cutoff was fifteen minutes ago.”
“Please? My friend has been struggling with some self-confidence issues recently, and I was hoping that this could help him. He’s really talented, I swear.” I pressed.
“Sorry. Can’t.”
“Please?”
Here’s the thing about being a young, blonde girl: you can’t get everything you want with a wink and a curtsy—but you can get quite a bit. Determined to change the employee’s mind, I channeled my inner Disney princess, emphasizing my doe eyes and pouty lips.
After a moment, he groaned in glorious surrender. “Fine. But he better be good.”
Moments later, Jack returned from the bathroom. He was wearing everything that I’d purchased for him: a pair of loose sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a white mask. The outfit concealed his identity perfectly.
Even though I couldn’t see Jack’s face, I knew he was wearing his signature crooked grin as he approached me at my table.
“Aster. You’ve got to tell me the truth: is this a weird sex thing?”
I snorted. “No.”
“Because I’m as open-minded as they come. But I’d appreciate a heads-up if I’m going to be participating in a freaky kink demonstration or something.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not making you do a freaky kink demonstration,” I said.
“Is it wrong that I’m a little disappointed to hear that?” Jack leaned forward in his seat. “Seriously, Aster. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”
I couldn’t keep the surprise to myself any longer. “You’re going to sing. And you’re going to do it in front of a crowd of people who have no idea who you are.”
“What? Why?”
Satisfaction coloring my broad grin, I spoke. “So that you can have a chance to be a musician first, and Jack Maverick second.”
Chapter Twelve
Jack
A broad-shouldered guy with a clipboard stepped up onto the Fringe Factory’s tiny stage. He cleared his throat before speaking into the microphone. “Hey, everyone. Thanks for coming out tonight for our open mic...”
The man’s voice faded into the background as he continued to talk—overshadowed by the rush of blood in my ears.
My heart thumped in my chest and my fingers itched for the microphone.
I looked over at Aster. She was looking up at the stage, contentedly sipping on a cocktail. When she caught me leering at her, she offered me a mischievous smile. The coy expression went straight to my dick.
Fuck. How was this woman real?
When I’d talked to Aster about my insecurities, I hadn’t expected her to look for a way to prove me wrong. But that was my mistake. Aster liked proving me wrong like mathematicians liked to prove theoretical equations.
The musicians that performed before me ranged on a scale from decent to godawful. Several young guys in flat-bill caps performed original rap songs. A handful of older men played covers of Kansas songs. A college-aged girl sang and played the ukulele.