One Last Song

Chapter Two

The pub had a soft and rather low energy. It wasn't packed, just small groups scattered around the room, voices mixing with the steady pulse of each note of the music. The lights still glowed softly above us, a contrast to the neon-painted bodies and glowing bracelets that dotted the room, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. It was understated, but there was a potential for something more.

I slipped in quietly, unnoticed, and made my way to the back of the room. The bartender handed me my vodka tonic, the cool glass grounding me as I took a sip, scanning the room but I didn't move from my place, leaning against a tall table next to me.

And, there he was.

On stage, with that same casual intensity, the guitar in his hands like it was part of him. His dark slightly damp hair fell into his eyes as he played, and I couldn't help but watch the way his fingers moved across the strings, commanding every note with a mix of precision and raw energy. His music was louder now, more rockish than I heard at the park, and I could feel it thrumming through the air, reverberating through my body in time with the beat.

I kept quiet, observant, sipping my drink, my eyes drawn to him, completely immersed in the music. The band behind him was tight, skilled, but it was him I couldn't take my eyes off. There was something magnetic about the way he played, the way his body moved with the rhythm, the way he seemed to own the stage without even trying. I felt the music seep into me, filling the spaces between my thoughts.

I smiled to myself, letting the music wash over me. It was good—more than good, really. It was the kind of performance that got under your skin, made you feel every note in your bones. And he knew it. He had the crowd wrapped around his finger, whether they realized it or not.

But then, as if he felt my gaze, he lifted his head. Slowly.
His eyes locked onto mine from across the room.

The noise around me faded, the crowd disappearing into the background as his gaze held mine so effortlessly. He didn't smile. Didn't move. He just stared, the intensity in his eyes making it feel like the rest of the pub had dissolved, like it was just the two of us, locked in this moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and it sent a jolt of heat through me, something electric and thrilling.

I raised my glass, the cool rim of it brushing against my lips, and took a slow sip. My eyes never left his. My lips curled into a faint smile, teasing, daring him to do something about it.
Come and get me, my smile said.

He didn't react immediately, but I could see the shift in him, the way his lips curved, just barely, into that smirk that seemed plastered non stop across his lips. It was subtle, but it was there—a slow burn, a promise. The song ended, and the applause rose around him, but his focus never wavered. He stared at me for just a beat longer before slipping off the stage, like a predator, and, for him, I was his prey.

I stirred my drink, looking down at it with a silly smile on my face, losing myself in my own thoughts and anticipation.
I didn't scan the room for him. I didn't need to. But I did feel the anticipation building in the space between us, the invisible thread pulling him to me. Or the other way around, well, I wasn't sure.

And then, a few moments later, I felt him. A presence behind me. Close. Too close.

I didn't turn, but I could feel the heat of his body hovering just inches from mine, his breath warm against the side of my neck. The hairs on my skin stood on end, and my pulse quickened. I kept my gaze trained ahead, taking a deliberate sip of my drink, as if I wasn't aware of him. As if I hadn't been waiting for this the entire time. But I was aware. I was so aware, my chest vibrated with each breath he drew against my hair.

"I'm under the impression you're waiting for me?" His voice was low, rough, and teasing. The words were a challenge, and I felt them ripple through me, settling low in my stomach.
I smiled, still not turning, still playing the game. His game.