Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Yes, she works for a big PR firm and lives in Story’s building, too.”
“Another Russian?”
“Russian’s girlfriend.”
“Sounds like a great resource.” My dad nods and pushes back from the table.
As he walks away, I lean over and kiss Nadia’s cheek. “You were right.”
She bats her lashes with a smug tilt of her lips. “Say it again.”
I kiss her again. “You were right, you were right, you were right. I’ll say it all day.” I get up because the band is reassembling on stage. “Any requests?”
“My song?”
“Sorry, Peaches. It’s not ready. I’ll play you something good, though.”
We get back up and play the second set, following the set list my dad gave me. All the while, I rack my brain for a song the band would know that I can sing for Nadia. I come with a few over-the-top rock romance ballads that would be funny, like, “You’re the Inspiration” by Chicago or “Every Woman in the World” by Air Supply, and I’m totally up for being cheesy, but I would love one that feels a bit more honest. And then I think of it– “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by the Proclaimers.
It’s an easy song to play and has a bit more of the punk edge of The Storytellers. I’m sure my dad knows it because he used to sing it to us when we were little–with a fake Scottish accent and everything.
When we finish a rendition of “Down Under,” which is supposed to be the show closer, I start plucking the riff to the song, looking over my shoulder at my dad to see if he’ll recognize it. His brow furrows, so I prompt him. “Five hundred miles.”
He grins and joins me, cuing the beat for the drums.
I bring my lips to mic. “This next song is for Nadia, my muse.”
Nadia
Flynn gives me one of those panty-melting pirate smiles. I would love to see him without his beard. I’ll bet he’s even more devastating. I hold up his phone because this time, I do want to share. I want everyone out there to see Flynn sing a song for me.
“Sing it, Flynn!” someone yells, and the place erupts into cheers. I realize that, indeed, some of his fans are showing up. There are young people in the bar, and every seat is now taken. More people come through the doors every minute.
I glance in that direction, and my heart sinks. Ugh. It’s Cadence again. Will that girl never stop stalking Flynn? What is her deal?
She gives me a bright, friendly wave, and I turn back to watch Flynn without acknowledging it because I’m not going to let her ruin this moment.
My song. Or a song for me.
“I would walk way more than 500 miles for her,” Flynn tells the audience. “I would walk to the ends of the Earth.”
My eyes burn, and I blink. Instead of looking through the screen of the phone at him, as I’ve been doing, I get caught in Flynn’s warm brown stare as he starts the song.
I don’t know it, but it has a great beat, and the lyrics make my chest balloon with emotion. Especially because he delivers every one of them straight to me, our gazes locked like we’re the only ones in the room. The words aren’t a declaration of love, exactly, but the song is. He’s saying he’d walk to the ends of the Earth for me. That he wants to be my man.
Was this what he was trying to tell me earlier? That he wants a change in our relationship status? From friends with benefits to long-term relationship?
Cadence and her two friends come and pull out the chairs beside me, inviting themselves to my table.
Blyad’.
I don’t care–I continue to ignore them, absorbing every second of Flynn’s song to me. The meaning behind it. The energy of it.
When it’s done, I hand Cadence the phone with the live stream running, jump out of my chair and rush the the stage.
The audience cheers, most of them yelling Flynn’s name. Shawn looks delighted for Flynn at all the attention he garners.
Flynn grabs my face with his strumming hand, holding behind my head to pull me in for a kiss. “This is Nadia,” he announces, turning me around. “She’s the best.”
“Thank you everyone for coming out tonight,” Shawn says. “Our frontman tonight is my talented son, Flynn Taylor, of the Storytellers. Please go and see Flynn and his sister Story perform with their bandmates all over town, four days a week.”
The pride in Shawn’s voice is evident. I don’t know why Flynn thought he might not celebrate his success, but I’m certain he was wrong.
Flynn turns off his mic and drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Did you like your song?”
I wrap my arms around him. “I loved it.” I look over to see Cadence is still filming, but she wears the most sour expression imaginable. “Your fans are here,” I murmur to Flynn. “Did you want to stay to hang out?”