by Sierra Hill
Remy slid the guitar strap over his head, fitting it securely across his shoulder, as he moved toward the back of the stage. Taking one last swig of his beer, he tossed the empty bottle into the trash and took a deep, cleansing breath as he made his way to the stage.
The nervous energy he felt every single time he was about to perform was like the rush of an adrenaline shot through his veins. The same feeling you get when you’re poised at the top of the rollercoaster and begin the plummet to the bottom. It was exhilarating and addictive – better than any drug high out there.
Carolee, another singer/songwriter he’d met a few times before, had just finished her set and was walking off the stage to the sound of applause and whistles. She was cute and sassy in her bright red Fry cowboy boots and a gold-trimmed cowboy hat she wore covering her short, curly hair. She saw Remy moving toward her and let out a loud shriek, swinging her guitar around her back and opening up her arms in greeting.
“Remy!” she exclaimed. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you, darlin’. You on next?” She gestured with her head back to the stage, before leaning back in to him and kissing his cheek softly.
“Yeah, I’m up next. How’s the crowd tonight?”
She waved her hand in a flip-flop motion, giving him the so-so sign. “I’ve had better, but then again, it may just be they don’t like my twang.”
Carolee was 100 percent pure country, her heroes being that of Hank Williams, George Strait and Merle Haggart. A Taylor Swift or Carrie Underwood, she was not. And even in a place like Coco’s, which was as eclectic as you can get, the mainstream acts drew a much bigger and diverse crowd.
Remy gave her a knowing smile. “You have a beautiful twang, Car,” he winked, hoping she wouldn’t read into his compliment. She was adorable, but not his usual type. He gave her a quick hug before walking on stage. “Hope to hear you next time,” he called back to her, before being blinded by the bright stage lights.
The cool thing about Coco’s was that if you were booked by their booking agent, you were able to play as many of your own tunes, or covers, as you wanted within a twenty-minute time frame. It allowed a variety of acts to be showcased throughout the day or night and gave customers a flavor of what the talent in Nashville had to offer.
He’d been told that his musical style was similar to Matt Nathanson and Gavin DeGraw – both of whom he admired greatly. While he didn’t gravitate toward one particular genre, he loved the sound of the acoustic guitar and a single voice.
Music came naturally to him and was just part of who he was. He’d been playing a musical instrument since he was old enough to walk and could write music by the time he was seven. Some might say he was a chip off the old block, considering who his dad was. Performing live was just another outlet for his passion for music.
Sitting down on the stool and adjusting the mic stand, he scanned the crowd. He’d hazard a guess that there were at least forty in the audience tonight, which again, was heavier than usual. A few months back he’d played in front of six, two of whom were so wasted they couldn’t even tie their shoes, much less appreciate the music. But this crowd he could work with.
Putting his mouth to the mic as he tuned his guitar and introduced himself to his audience.
“How ya’ll doing tonight?” he drawled, gracing them with a warm smile. “My name’s Remy Martins, and I’ll be playing some originals for y’all tonight. I’m going to start off with one I wrote a few years back called Bliss. I’m sure you can all figure out the meaning.”
He winked, giving them that panty-melting smile once again before starting in on the intro.
You singled me out,
And gave me your kiss.
Showed me what love was about,
That pure and beautiful bliss.
You touched a chord,
That was buried deep inside,
You spoke all the words,
The loathsome truth could not hide.
I loved you from the start,
Your beauty couldn’t be dismissed.
You brought life to my heart,
You were my pure and beautiful bliss.
It was halfway through the chorus when his eyes, which had been purposely connecting with all the women in the audience, found and locked in on a dazzling pair of familiar green eyes.
His pixie girl.
What grabbed his attention and wouldn’t let go - beyond the blazing emerald eyes, darkly lined with a deep, black kohl - was the vintage baby doll/steampunk ensemble she was wearing.
She was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
Her long blonde hair was pinned into two big knots on the sides of head, covered with a white satin headband and adorned with a bright pink flower. Her white lace cropped shirt was belted just under her breasts with a black ribbon and from there it was nothing but skin down to the edge of her frilly white skirt. Her entire mid-section was exposed, showing off the beautifully toned abs and the soft curve of her waist.
The skirt flared out and barely came to mid-thigh, which then rewarded the observer with a full view of her toned bare legs, covered only by thigh-high stockings and vintage black boots.
Holy hell, the sight of her had Remy nearly stopping mid-song to adjust his pants. Thank God his guitar was sitting on his lap, covertly hiding his growing erection, otherwise there would be a lot more to talk about than his impressive songwriting skills.
He’d honestly never laid eyes on a more stunning creature than Kenzie. And what was even more incredible was the fact that she hadn’t dropped her gaze from his, which, from where he stood, looked to be fueled with the same fascination he was feeling.
She smiled then, her cherry-stained lips curved in a delighted expression. He watched as she moved gracefully between seated patrons, making her way closer to the stage. A group of giggling co-eds hung to the right of the stage, dancing to the rhythm and hoisting their phones to take one selfie after another.
She sidled up to the front, standing only a few feet from stage right. Placing a straw to her lips, she sipped the drink she held in one hand and gave him a little wave with the other.
His concentration was completely shot to hell, as he launched into two more songs, his eyes focused solely on Kenzie as he sang. At some point during the second song, she’d finished her drink and began swaying to the music, closing her eyes so that their gazes no longer touched.
He felt a sudden loss without that connection, but he continued to watch her intently, waiting for the moment when she’d reopen them again. The way she moved was intensely sensual. He didn’t ever want to stop playing now that he knew what kind of physical response it evoked from her. She was beautiful, and she was right in front of him. And he wanted her.
His fourth and final song was going to be one of his own, but on a whim, and because he was overcome with a need to express what he’d been feeling over the last week, he began to sing a very seductive version of Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire.
As soon as he started in on the verse about his desire, her eyes flew open, and he could see the shock and panic that registered in the sea of green.
Shit. That wasn’t the reaction he was shooting for.
Remy had a chord change he wasn’t altogether familiar with and briefly glanced down at the strings on the guitar neck. When his eyes returned to the crowd and to the spot Kenzie had just occupied, he found it empty. The back of her head was retreating to the bar, where he caught a glimpse of a very vamped up Donita chatting with a man in a cowboy hat.
Kenzie briefly joined their conversation and then turned to head down the hallway. She was either going out the back exit or using the restroom. Either way, Remy prayed he’d get to her in time.
Finishing his set, he quickly made his exit backstage, swinging the guitar to his back and rushing down the dark hallway to the restrooms. He could hear the sounds of applause and murmurs of appreciation as he walked back through the crowd.
A line outside the women’s restroom was five deep, but
she wasn’t among those waiting. Glancing up and down the hallway, in the event he missed her, Remy shoved through the crowd, hitting the exit and pushing the door open.
He found her standing against the brick and wood exterior, puffing on a cigarette, exhaling little ringlets into the cool night air.
“Hi,” he said, her head whipping to her left to face him. She smiled, blowing out another puff.
“Hey there.”
She took another drag and then offered it to him, which he gladly accepted. Taking a long inhale, he let it go, handing it back to her.
“I hope my song didn’t run you off.”
She shook her head, scuffing the ground with her booted toe. She looked vulnerable. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her. Hell, he wanted to do more than that with her.
“You didn’t. I just needed some fresh air,” she quipped, holding up the cigarette in way of explanation. She shuffled a bit before turning to face him. The light from the alleyway illuminated her skin, which looked beautifully creamy in the soft light.
“I’m not really a smoker, just so you know. Only when I’m at a bar. Otherwise I hate it.”
Remy laughed, taking the cigarette back and inhaling and exhaling again.
It was strange seeing her here, in this type of environment, and even stranger to see her dressed the way she was dressed. He’d only seen her in her waitress uniform before now – even though he fantasized what she’d look like out of it. He coughed at the thought.
“Me, too. I gave it up two years ago. Nasty habit.”
“That was a pretty freaking awesome set in there. You’re really good,” she smiled. “I kind of pegged you for a musician the first time I saw you.”
Ignoring her comment, he decided to jump back to the question he’d asked her two days before.
“So have you given any more thought to my offer? My roommate vacated this weekend, and I haven’t heard from anyone else yet. Do you still need a place to live?”
She arched her eyebrows, her lips curved in a smart-alecky smirk. “Didn’t I already turn you down?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you really meant it. I think you declined the offer because you were uncomfortable saying yes.”
“Why would I be uncomfortable?”
“Because I’m a guy, and you probably think I just want to get in your pants.”
She snickered and shot him a knowing look. “Don’t you?”
“Well, yeah. I’d either have to be dead or gay not to notice how smoking hot you are – especially in this outfit,” he admitted, letting his eyes rove up and down her body. “But I’m not a lecherous bastard. I offered the room up because it’s a mutually beneficial living arrangement for the both of us, not because I’m just trying to get laid. My other methods work pretty well for that.”
Her eyes opened wide at his bold and boastful admission. He just shrugged his shoulders to say, “What can I say?”
Kenzie took a final pull on the cigarette before extinguishing it on the ground and stepping away from the wall. “I’ll think about it. But right now I need to get going because I work an early shift tomorrow.”
Not wanting to let her go just yet, Remy grabbed her wrist lightly to halt her progress.
“Let me at least give you a ride home, then.”
Chapter Five
It was a wonder they made it back to her place unscathed and unharmed.
Kenzie decided to take Remy up on his offer to drive her home, considering the way she found Donita groping and tonsil-diving with Mr. Marlboro Man at the bar. It was pretty obvious from their PDA that those two would definitely to be going home together and doing the nasty.
Kenzie shivered at the thought. She did not find cowboys sexy. But to each her own. And she was happy that Donita found someone that could rock her world – even if it only happened to be a one-night-stand.
She’d made her way back to the bar to let Donita know she was getting a ride home from Remy, who was standing at the door waiting for her, talking to the doorman. Kenzie hated to disturb Donita’s little make-out session, but she didn’t seem to mind, instead pulling Kenzie by her arm to the side and giving her a tight hug.
“Holy shit, sugar,” Donita screeched, pulling back to take a quick peek over her shoulder at Remy. “Your sexy Mr. Hunk of Burning Love is a freaking musician! Oh, you are sooo going to get laid tonight. I’m so happy for you!”
Kenzie chuckled, knowing it did appear to look that way, but didn’t want to squash her over-enthusiastic assumption.
“I just figured you and your cowboy here would want your privacy and I have to get up early tomorrow. Remy is just giving me a ride home. Don’t create any crazy fantasies in your head.”
Donita wiggled her eyebrows. “I bet he’s going to give you a ride tonight,” she drawled. “And you’re going to tell me all about it tomorrow. Ya hear me, sugar?” With that, she gave her a quick peck on her cheek and patted Kenzie on the rear before turning back to her cowboy. Kenzie’s shoulders shook with amusement. Her new friend had such a one-track mind.
Reaching the door, she found Remy surrounded by two of the co-ed’s that had been at the stage earlier. They were flouncing and tittering over him, which he seemed to be reveling in. Typical musician, she thought. Loves the attention and the hotties his profession affords him.
Pushing through the door, she stepped outside as she felt a hand touch her lower back. She stiffened in response, turning to see Remy right behind her, guiding her to the left.
“My bike’s down the road.”
Bike? Oh shit, that’s right. Motorcycle.
Taking stock of the guitar case he carried in his hand, she gave him an inquisitive look.
“How the hell do you ride a motorcycle while carrying your guitar?”
He shrugged. “It works. But I’ll need you to hold on to it for me tonight.”
Stopping in front of the parked bike, he swung his leg over the side and gave her an outstretched hand. Trusting that he knew what he was doing, she capitulated and hopped on. Grabbing hold of the guitar case, she secured it by wrapping her arms tightly around it, praying she wouldn’t drop it or fall off along the way. His head swung back to look at her, an eyebrow arched.
“You’re gonna need to hold on to me, too.” He smiled darkly.
Wrenching her hands off the case, he placed the handle in her right hand so the guitar rested on her right side, and then took her left hand, snaking it around his waist, dragging her tightly against his back. “There,” he stated with an air of satisfaction. “Now don’t let go.”
Whether it was the beautiful smile that overtook his face or the feeling of being enveloped in his scent, his hard back flush against her front, had her tingling in places that hadn’t been tingled for a long time.
The bike came to life with a loud booming rumble as he steered them into the merging traffic and sped off down the road. The wind whipped through her hair and face, the velocity causing her eyelashes to flutter, her eyes closing temporarily to adjust to the feel.
It could only be described as exhilarating. She’d never ridden on a motorcycle before and it was electrifying – the thrill of danger, yet the sense of comfort. Or maybe that had to do with the body she was tugged up tightly against.
Her hand pressed against his stone-like, ripped abdomen. He was lean, but hard – unbelievably strong and svelte. Her fingers itched to trace the hard edges she felt rippling underneath his T-shirt. She wondered if his chest was bare and smooth, or maybe layered with a fine, dark, course smattering of hair?
Kenzie’s mind wandered until he broke through her thoughts.
“So where am I taking you?” he asked, his voice nearly a shout against the noise on the streets.
She gave him the street address and the cross-streets and acknowledged it was just a few more blocks. He looked over his shoulder curiously, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. The hotel where she lived was not in the best part of town – mostly known for corner prostitution
and drug dealing.
It wasn’t like she enjoyed living where she did, but that was the only option she had at the time. Her eyes were awakened that very first week, when she’d been approached and cornered several times by dealers, pimps and crack heads looking for a fix. Every night she would secure the flimsy door lock and chain and stab the desk chair under the door handle, hoping that would be enough to keep the scary people out.
Fortunately for her, she soon became immune to the nefarious elements within her new community – although she made it a point to never leave after the sun went down and always kept the one and only carving knife she owned next to her bed.
Remy eased the motorcycle into the cracked parking lot, bringing it to a stop in front of the dilapidated and worn old building. The white cinderblock exterior was now looking yellowish, the red painted trim of the windows chipped and peeling.
As he killed the engine, she could see Remy’s eyes assessing the area; and she followed his gaze, seeing what he did for the first time. Trash, empty bottles, dirty baby diapers and used cigarette butts littered the walkway in front of the numbered doors of the motel rooms. Strung-out, greasy looking men and women loitered the front and side of the building, hovering together in small clusters, the red glow of their cigarettes casting beacons in the low light.
She shivered, realizing for the first time how unsavory the place really was. Remy stopped her ascent up the stairway to her second story unit with a hand on her wrist, requiring her to turn and look down from the step above.
“How long have you lived in this fucking trash heap?” he asked, the tone in his voice bordering on sharp and hostile.
Kenzie shrugged, trying to hide the wince that came from his darkened expression.
“Since I moved here from…” She was about to say Seattle, when she stopped herself. She still didn’t feel comfortable with him yet to divulge anything about her past, including where she was from. “I’ve been here a little over three months.”
“Christ, Kenzie. You’re either incredibly courageous or motherfucking naïve as hell. I mean, look at this shithole. What the fuck are you thinking?”